God of Fire

 

 

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An Excerpt
From: God of Fire

© Copyright Jaid Black, 2000.

All Rights Reserved. http://www.ellorascave.com

 

Cuyahoga Falls Ohio, 
The United States of
America, 2001

 

            Dara Sabine bolted upright in
bed, her eyes glazed over with unquenched lust. Her silk nightgown was
drenched in her own sweat, beads of perspiration covering her body like a
wet second skin. She glanced around her bedroom, then released a sigh of
near disappointment.  

            She had been dreaming. It was
just a dream.   

            Realizing it would be a long
while before she could fall back to sleep, she threw the goose down covers
off of her legs and planted her feet on the cold oak floor. Pulling on a
robe, she padded downstairs in her slippers.

            Ten minutes later, Dara sat
before her television set eating a bowl of cornflakes with one hand and
channel surfing via the remote with the other. She switched off the TV
after scanning all of the channels, dismayed that nothing good was on the
tube at four o'clock in the morning.

            Dara heaved a dramatic sigh as
she drew her spoon up to her mouth and plunged a huge bite of cereal
between her lips. Since there was little else to do at four a.m., her mind
drifted back to the dream that had awakened her so abruptly this morning.
She grinned, thinking to herself how idiotic she'd been to get worked up
over a silly dream about a fabled Norse god.

            He had called himself Loki, the
trickster god, the god of fire.

            Devastatingly handsome, this
mischief-maker had been. Tall and well muscled, as sexy as sin itself, and
a very good kisser. He was the god of fire all right, she admitted wryly.
She had felt his fire right between her thighs.

            Loki threw her down onto the bed and made love to her with his
mouth, his tongue flicking over her clit in rapid darts. When Dara had
almost reached climax, she begged him to fill her up, to thrust inside of
her. Loki licked her nipples devilishly then smiled down to her. "I cannot,
lovely Dara, though I wish I could."

            "Why
not?"

            "You
are to wed another."

            "You
mean Paul?"

            The
trickster god laughed uproariously, as if she'd just told the joke of a
lifetime. "Nay, love. You will not wed with Paul. You will be given to a
real man, to a warrior some might say can rival even me."

            "No
one can rival you," she purred as she reached up and licked his cheek.

            Loki
basked in the feel of her mortal tongue against his immortal skin,
relishing the silk of her beneath him. He trailed his kisses down her body,
ending at the wet place between her thighs. He splayed her legs wide and
groaned, coveting what would never be his.

            Loki
took her into his mouth, teasing her clit with his tongue and lips. He
brought her to the brink of completion once more, then stopped.

            Dara
ran her hands through his hair and groaned with need. "Please don't stop
again."

            "I
must."

            "But
why?"

            "You
will know pleasure at the hands of your husband and no other. The course
has been set."

            "I
want you to be my first. You will bring me more completion than Paul could
ever hope to."

            Loki
grinned. "I told you, you will not wed with Paul."

            "Then
whom?"

            "You
will wed a warrior."

            Dara
threw her head back and laughed. "A warrior, eh? Too bad there haven't been
any around in...oh...I don't know...hundreds of years?" She reached out and
brushed her fingers through Loki's mane of hair again. "Please take me,"
she whispered thickly.

            Loki
lowered his head, drew her clit between his teeth, and sucked amorously.
When Dara began to thrash around on the bed in her passion, he stopped,
again not bringing her to completion. He looked up at her and grinned.
"Warriors do not exist in your time, but they exist in mine. 'Tis my time
to which you will come."

            "Your
time?"

            "Aye.
When people still believed. When the gods of Valhalla
still ruled."

            "You
can rule me." She pushed him from between her thighs, sat up on her knees,
and drew his hard shaft into her hands.  

            Loki
sucked in his breath as the mortal woman stroked him back and forth. Her
caress could only have been borne of him--fire.  

            He
removed Dara's hands from his erection and pushed her back down onto the
bed. "Give yourself to your husband." He sighed and shook his head. "I want
the mortal Ragnar to win."

            Dara
knit her eyebrows together, shaking her head ever so slowly. "I do not
understand."

            "Don't
try. I have already said too much."

            "But
Lok--"

            "Nay,
love. You cannot know me. Your husband will come for you on the morrow and
take you to his bed. Make haste and enjoy the journey. You will know much
happiness do you submit to him."

            And
then the god of fire shape-shifted, evolving into a dragon before her very
eyes. "Loki?" she asked breathlessly, somewhat frightened.

            He
ignored her fear, boring her with his heated gaze. "Lest you believe this a
dream, feel my mark upon you." The dragon breathed out fire, singing her
ankle with flames that branded her, yet caused no pain.  

            And
then he was gone.  

            Dara
gazed down at her foot and smiled. Upon her ankle was a tiny and perfect
image of Loki as the dragon. 

 

            Dara sat on the couch frowning,
knowing full well why she'd had such an erotic dream to begin with. It was
because she didn't love Paul. She was going to marry a man who brought out
none of her passion and her ever-efficient subconscious was merely trying
to point out as much.  

            She set down her bowl of
half-eaten cornflakes and sighed. Passion or not, she would become Paul's wife.

            But the passion, the ache...good
god! Was it possible for a real man to make her feel the way her dream
lover had? She grimaced, realizing that the man she was about to marry
never would.

            Dara shook her head, clearing it
of the last remnants of her dream. There was no way in heaven, hell, or Valhalla that she was going to stop the wedding now.
She'd be insane to do so. The man was as rich as Midas and as powerfully
connected as Napoleon.  

            She sighed dejectedly as she
picked up the remote and switched the TV back on. This was no time for her
subconscious to kick into overdrive. "Hell," she muttered to herself, "at
least The Galloping Gourmet is on
now."

 

*
* * * *

            After lunch, Dara strolled
toward the bank of the Cuyahoga River telling herself that she felt better
than she had in years. She all but skipped down the leafy path of the lush
forest nestled deep into the gorge, doggedly convinced she had done the
right thing. She was going to marry Paul. Yeppers. She was sure it was the
way to go.

            Paul D'Abois was wealthy and
sophisticated, everything Dara's doting mother had ever wanted for her in a
husband. He had his own lucrative engineering firm, several advanced
degrees, a summer home in the Hamptons, and a yacht most women would kill
to call their own.

            Dara snorted, effectively
dismissing her misgivings as trivial. So what if Paul was a little boring?
Who should care that he was a proverbial wuss among men? So what if he
spent more time preening in front of a mirror than she did? Dara Sabine was
going to be rich! Loki be damned!

            She sank down to the ground a
moment later, the weight of her weariness getting to her. She shook her
head and sighed, not wanting to contemplate the matter further. She had
given up an entire two years of her twenty-six year old life in pursuit of
making her mother's dreams for her a reality. She would not, under any
circumstances, question the value of the prize she had finally claimed as
her own. Paul D'Abois would become her husband.

            An hour later, Dara lay by the
riverbed as naked as a jaybird, enjoying the feel of the suns rays beating
down upon her. It was her own privately held land, so why not? It's not
like anyone would ever see her.

            She smiled as she closed her
eyes and the seconds turned into minutes. Her sun-kissed skin grew more
golden as the minutes ticked by, drawing out the color of her tawny-gold
eyes and golden, sun-streaked hair rather than diminishing it.  

            Dara told herself over and over
again how elated she was at the prospect of her impending nuptials, of how
perfect she would be in the role of the
Mrs. Paul D'Abois.

            And then she gave up with a
sigh.  

            Who
was she kidding?  

            She didn't love Paul and it
wasn't fair to use him to achieve her mother's goals. Hell, they weren't
even her own goals. They were the desires and dreams of a woman long dead.
A woman who had known far too much heartbreak and poverty in her own short
lifetime.

            Dara knew what she had to do.
Her dream lover Loki had been right. She had to end this farce of an
engagement once and for all. Paul wouldn't be devastated, thank god. He was
far too rich and had too many willing women surrounding him, ready to jump
in and take her place at first opportunity.  

            Besides, Dara could take care of
herself. She didn't need a man to do that for her. She'd worked herself up
from nothing to gain scholarship into Harvard. She'd plowed through her
courses and bulldozed her way into the halls of Yale graduate school. She
was a self-sufficient, modern woman. Not at all the sort to entertain the
notion of marrying a man because he held clout.  

            And
money. Yes siree, there
were quite a few buckaroos the wuss boy she was giving up could call his
own.

            Dara resigned herself to the
inevitable, knowing that when she rose from the riverbank she would do the
right thing and call off the engagement. Paul would never make her feel the
way that Loki had. The closest she would get to climaxing in Paul's bed
would be arguing with him over the significance of Gaugin's contributions
to Impressionism while watching the History Channel.

            Okay, okay, she was definitely
going to dump Paul. But before dealing with that unpleasant business, she
would allow herself to luxuriate in the sun's heat just a few minutes longer.
She arched her back, a feeling of pleasure cascading throughout her body as
the rays of the hot sun reached down and caressed her nipples, elongating
them into tight peaks.  

            Loki was right. She could find herself a warrior among
men.  

            And then she fell asleep,
enjoying every moment of nature's erotic kiss...