This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(92)
It’s an explosion of sweetness within me. I knew it when I first kissed him that he is the joy I crave.
Now, when I dip my face to his, it’s with intent. His lips open under mine and I slide my tongue into his mouth, kissing him harder and deeper, none of the gentle niceties of yesterday holding me back today. He responds, gripping me tightly against his body, and we roll together in the long grass, among spice-scented ferns and creeping vines. I tug at his hunting tunic, eager to touch his skin and discover how beautiful he is unclothed. I’m glad for my foresight in hiding my true identity. While he thinks I’m just a nymph, he isn’t afraid—if he knew who I was, perhaps he’d be inhibited by the thought of the immortal lovers to whom I might compare him. But he would have no need to worry. He might be just a man, but the most glorious one I have ever seen. I smile, sitting up to lift my dress above my head, discarding it on the grass. The awestruck look on his face makes my blood surge hot and fierce, hunger rising and arching within me. His hands trace fire across my skin, sliding down to where I want him the most. The rush of the water, the bubbling song of the stream, covers the sound of our sighs as we move together. This first time is so exquisite, so pure and new, like the dawn rising over a world remade, golden and beautiful and just for us.
Afterward, breathless and giddy, we lie by the stream. Next to me, Adonis’ chest rises and falls, his head tilted back on the grass, gazing dreamily at the patches of sky visible between the canopy of leaves. His eyes wander to mine and a wide smile spreads across his face, slow and sweet as honey. He’s drunk with the same bliss that radiates through me.
His fingers slide across my stomach, pulling me into the curve of his body, cradling me as though I’m as breakable and fragile as he is.
For a fleeting second, I can’t help but think of Ares, as though I’m testing myself, like a human might poke at a bruise to see if it still aches.
But then I look at Adonis, twisting in his arms to take in the shape of his face and the sweep of his eyelashes, and he drives out any other thoughts.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “I was right the first time I saw you. You must be from a dream. You can’t be real.”
“But I am,” I say. “That’s why you’ll see me again. If I was a dream, I’d disappear.”
“You won’t?”
“I won’t.”
I kiss him again, and soon we have no more need for words.
27
The prayers overwhelm me as I leave the Arcadian woods, rising from a world alight with love again. They buoy me up, a wave of pleasure that surges across Gaia’s earth, carrying me with it.
I feel a glow of satisfaction that has nothing to do with Adonis. This is what I live for. This is what makes everything beautiful; this is why we all exist. I can still give this gift to everyone who praises the name of Aphrodite. Whether my heart is broken or bruised, healing or scarred, my power flows again.
At the tip of Attica’s peninsula, where the sea is wild and the waves froth and churn, I pause. Behind me, a temple to Poseidon stands on the hilltop, overlooking the water.
I came from the sea, and I always come back to it when I feel the tides of my existence turn, when everything shifts and what went before is washed away. I breathe the salt-tinged air and let the shallow water foam around my ankles, dampening the hem of my dress. I sink my toes into the sand, renewed.
A wave rears up, blue water twisting upward into a spiral that soon turns to flesh. A girl steps forward, seawater coursing down her shoulders, the waves subsiding back around her hips and streaming down her thighs as she strides out. Her flimsy dress clings to her wet body, almost transparent, her long hair plastered to her skin.
She dips her head, a humble gesture, then her eyes flash up to mine, confident and self-possessed.
I’m intrigued.
“Euryte,” she says, coming close enough that I can smell the brine on her skin and see the merging shades of greens and blues in her eyes.
“A sea-nymph,” I guess.
She nods.
“Well, Euryte, you have my attention,” I say. “What is it that you want?”
She smiles, playful as a dolphin. “Your help,” she says, “with Poseidon.”
Nymphs often ask for help with Poseidon, but usually how to dodge him, sometimes going as far as to transform into a bird or a river to escape his advances. Euryte, though, is almost quivering with desire for him. This is a novelty.
“I don’t think,” I say, eyeing the smooth curves of her body, “that’s likely to be a problem.”
She clasps my hand, wrapping both of hers around it, her fingers encircling my wrist. “Thank you,” she says. “I didn’t know if you’d even deign to hear me, much less grant me the attentions of the God of the Sea.”
“If you want him, you can have him,” I promise her.
“I do,” she says. “I’m destined to bear him a son, I’m sure of it.”
It won’t guarantee her any special treatment from Poseidon if she does. I lost count long ago of his numerous offspring, and certainly of all their many mothers.
But I like her. I’ll imbue Poseidon with fondness for her as well as desire—the latter not a challenge at all—so that he’ll remember her. I can sense all the hearts that beat under my dominion, and it’s easy to reach out for the Sea God’s and make it melt for this nymph.