Planetary Passions 6: Double Trouble (Gemini) Page 4

  Of course, these men couldn’t know that she was chasing demigods from 500 B.C.E. who’d stolen her colleague’s wallet and were busy enjoying themselves on Hans’ credit cards.

  As she hurried down the street, trying and failing to hail a cab, she wondered when she’d started believing they were truly demigods come to life. Maybe that’s the most convenient explanation, she thought. I should just report them to the police and go back to work.

  But as she frantically waved at taxis that wouldn’t stop, she remembered the twins’ warm weight on either side of her and the curious magic of their voices as they sang her to sleep the night before. The melody, so alien, had haunted her and given her dreams a brightness and incredible sensation, though they were blurry and half forgotten now.

  Whoever the twins were, they weren’t normal men. And they were out there in twenty-first century Athens with fifth century B.C.E. knowledge. She admitted it. She was worried about them.

  * * * * *

  Fiona would never have found them at all if it weren’t for the music.

  She at last persuaded a cab to stop for her and then used all her persuasion to get the driver to take her to Omonia, even though it was the beginning of the siesta time.

  When she descended and paid the disapproving driver, the sun was hot overhead and doors and windows were closing against the heat of the day.

  She had always approved of the siesta time, during which people rested out of the sun and started up again around six in the evening. It made sense to live in such a fashion in a warm climate, and the camaraderie she and her colleagues found in the coffee houses and tavernas at night more than made up for the inconvenience of closed shops in the middle of the day.

  But this afternoon she ground her teeth as she walked past dark shops with locked doors, trying to find the taverna called the Plataria. The cab driver, like the men by the flea market, hadn’t wanted to tell her exactly where it was.

  She ducked into a tiny side alley to escape a motorist hurtling up the narrow street, and then she heard it.

  Someone behind a window down the row was plucking a slow, sweet melody from a stringed instrument, and a warm, sensual baritone voice accompanied it. As the notes flowed over her, the music seemed to heat her skin, much like the sun that trickled into the alley.

  She knew the voice. It was Cas, humming a song similar to the one he’d sung to her last night. He slid in words now and again, mostly about beautiful limbs and sweet honey on his tongue.

  Slowly Fiona walked down the alley, drawn by the music, no longer frantic. The song soothed her, convincing her that all her worries were for nothing.

  Come and listen, the melody whispered. There is no hurt here.

  A blue painted door stood open, leading the way inside a dim taverna. The place was deserted, customers obviously gone home for siesta, except for Cas and Pol, sitting on painted wooden chairs before a cold fireplace, and a woman.

  The woman was a belly dancer, replete with gauzy harem pants, tiny top and veils. She lay nearly flat on the floor, her legs folded under her while she leaned all the way back, her arms and hands moving sinuously. It was a position that must have taken much practice to master, and Fiona felt a twinge of envy and admiration.

  The woman was likely Turkish, or descended from the Greeks made to leave the mainland of Turkey years ago. She had long black hair that blended with her veils and a lovely face painted with makeup.

  Cas continued to sing. He leaned negligently in the chair, a cup of wine dangling from his hand, eyes languid. Next to him, Pol softly played a laoúta, a mandolin-like instrument, accompanying his brother and watching the woman.

  The taverna hung with heat and a sensuality that tangled Fiona’s senses and pulled her inside.

  When the doorway darkened, Cas looked around, breaking off the heady music. He smiled, his gaze smoldering all the way across the room. “Fiona.”

  Pol also grinned at her, but he didn’t stop playing. “Fiona, our goddess. Come in and dance.”

  What Fiona should have done was scold the pair of them, demand Hans’ wallet and drag them back to the dig to make recompense.

  What she did was lean against the doorframe, twining her hands together. “I don’t know how to dance.”

  The woman rose from the floor with enviable grace. She held out her hands to Fiona but said nothing, likely not speaking English.

  Cas gestured to the dancer with his wine cup. He truly looked like a god, lounging in the chair that emphasized his large body, his curled hair missing only its crown of leaves. He’d acquired a t-shirt somewhere—this one reading “Athens, City of Wonders”—but it didn’t take away the divinity she sensed from him.

  “She will teach you,” Cas said. “Dance for us, Fiona.”

  The young woman smiled and came toward Fiona. She seemed to understand what Cas wanted and drew Fiona to the center of the room.

  Pol played a little faster and Cas hummed along. The woman began snapping her fingers to the beat, which made Fiona think of harem tents and sheiks and men smoking hookahs.

  Smiling at Fiona, the young woman moved her arm softly to the side, fingers bent, and nodded at Fiona to imitate her. Fiona held her arm awkwardly, knowing damn well she was not a dancer. The Turkish woman gently reached over and positioned Fiona’s fingers correctly, middle finger pressed inward, as though she held an imaginary cymbal between finger and thumb.

  The woman swayed her hips. It looked so easy, but Fiona’s legs refused to move in the sensual swirl. She tried, then laughed at her own efforts.

  Cas continued to hum. His eyes were dark, almost inky black, like the heavens with no stars. He did not laugh but watched Fiona in her knee-length shorts and loose blouse as though she were the sexiest creature alive.

  The belly dancer showed Fiona simple arm movements, how to circle her wrists while lowering her arms in front of her, how to rotate her hips by swirling her ankles.

  A smile creased Pol’s face he watched Fiona try to master the moves. She didn’t mind his teasing look—a gorgeous-as-sin man grinning at her didn’t bother her in the least.

  Pol increased the beat. Fiona shot him an exasperated look, and he laughed out loud. His laughter was beautiful, velvet and warm. Cas continued to hum, the throaty sound making Fiona warm all over.

  Suddenly, she caught onto the moves the woman was trying to teach her. They danced together, legs and arms moving in unison.

  Fiona was delighted. “I never knew belly dancing was so much fun.”

  Cas rose from his chair. Pol continued to play, and the woman continued her dance. The temperature in the room increased, Fiona sweating from the heat and her movements and the look on Cas’ face as he crossed the room to her, still humming the unnerving melody.

  He stood behind her, his tall body towering over hers. Fiona halted her dance as his strong, sun-bronzed arms slid around her waist from behind. His hips moved against hers, the zipper of his jeans pressing to the small of her back.

  He gathered her to him and swayed in time to Pol’s music. His hips rocked with sensuous grace, and he pulled her to sway with him, legs strong against her thighs.

  Fiona closed her eyes. His broad chest pressed her back, his hands rested on the curve of her waist. Without thinking about what she was doing, she eased her hands onto his, feeling the sinews of his fingers. The heat of his body covered hers like a blanket.

  The feel of his cock against the crease of her buttocks pooled warmth at the join of her legs. His breath in her ear as he leaned in to nibble it only stirred the fire.

  The music went on. Cas continued the dance, his chest vibrating with the strange tune, his body seducing hers without him saying a word.

  Fiona lost track of what the other woman did and where she was. Pol played on, the sound of the strings weaving through her mind, making her sleepy and wide awake at the same time.

  Time slowed and moved like thick syrup on a winter day. Her senses narrowed to three—she heard the notes of the man
dolin and Cas’ song, she smelled the musk of Cas wrapping her body and she felt his tall form against her back.

  When she opened her eyes, the shadows in the room had lengthened and the belly dancer had disappeared. Pol, his eyes dark with desire, set the laoúta aside and rose from his chair.

  Instinctively, Fiona stepped back, but Cas was there holding her. Pol stopped before her, his scent tangling with Cas’. “You dance well, goddess.”

  He was as tall as Cas. The t-shirt stretched over his firm pectorals and shoulders, his arms corded with muscle.

  Fiona had a hard time breathing. “What happened to the dancer?”

  “She went home,” Cas said.

  “She had to get supper for her husband and daughter,” Pol put in.

  The explanation sounded so normal, so prosaic, that Fiona gasped with laughter. Then her laughter died when Pol lifted his hands and squeezed her nipples through her shirt.

  At the same time, Cas unbuttoned the waistband of her shorts.

  She gasped again. “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you pleasure,” Pol said.

  Cas murmured in her ear, “The least we can do for rescuing us.”

  “But…” She cast a worried glance at the open door. “Someone could come in. Anyone could.”

  “Maybe they’d like to watch.” Cas’ breath scalded her ear and trickled heat down her spine. “Maybe I want them to watch me pleasuring you.”

  Fiona’s knees started to bend. “No,” she whispered.

  Pol laughed. He gestured to the door with one hand and it swung closed.

  The wind? Fiona thought wildly. But no breeze stirred the narrow passage outside or rattled the shutters.

  “She’s shy,” Pol said, his fingers delicately pulling her nipples into hard little nubs.

  Cas slowly lowered the zipper of Fiona’s shorts, a loud zzzz in the stillness. “It took me a while to catch on to how these worked.”

  She remembered faintly why she had followed them and that she was supposed to be lecturing them. “You shouldn’t have taken Hans’ clothes. Or his wallet.”

  Pol flicked his thumbs over her hard-pointed nipples. “We will make recompense.”

  “Oh.” She believed them. She had no idea why. But she relaxed, relieved. It would be all right.

  That is, she relaxed until Cas slid strong fingers into her loosened shorts and pressed aside the elastic of her underwear.

  Chapter Four

  Cas’ cock hardened at the sound of Fiona’s groan. He smelled her female desire in the hot room and knew Pol did too.

  The wiry hairs of her quim tickled his fingers. “You feel good, sweeting.”

  He wondered if her pussy looked as good as it felt. She was swimming with cream, the liquid all over his fingers.

  “Make her come,” Pol said. His brother continued to tease her nipples, his eyes intense and dark.

  “Do you want to come, Fiona?” Cas asked, nibbling the shell of her ear. “We want to thank you for saving us.”

  “Thank you,” Pol echoed.

  Cas moved his fingers through her cream, easily slipping a finger into her opening. “Zeus above, but you’re wet.”

  Pol smiled in delight.

  Fiona whimpered. Her fire-red hair warmed his lips. He parted her opening and rubbed the folds of it. She nearly came, he felt it, her heartbeat speeding, her face gleaming in sudden perspiration.

  “Someone might come in,” she repeated.

  “And what would they see?” Cas rested his head against hers, whispering into her hair. “They’d see my hand inside your clothes. They’d see Pol with his fingers on your breasts. They’d smell your desire and know you flowed like honey on my hands.”

  She made a gurgling noise. Pol took a step back and quickly popped open the button of his leggings and pulled down the metal fastening. He wore nothing beneath, and his cock spilled out, dark and hard.

  “These leggings are too tight,” he said. “I’m in pain.”

  “Jeans,” Fiona said faintly.

  “What?” Cas whispered.

  “They’re called jeans. Not leggings.”

  Cas chuckled. “I will remember. Pol is very hard for you. Do you want to touch him?”

  Her cream flowed faster. “No.”

  “Your body just told me you did. Don’t be afraid.”

  Pol moved closer to her, his hands on her waist, splaying his fingers under her breasts. “Touch me, my goddess. Bless me with your magic.”

  Fiona drew a breath as though she wanted to say something then she broke off. Tentatively, she reached her fingers toward Pol’s rigid cock and laid them across the shaft.

  “Gods,” Pol breathed.

  “That’s it,” Cas said. “Make him like it.”

  She moved her fingers to the tip while she leaned back into Cas. Cas enjoyed himself playing with her folds, then he dipped his first two fingers inside her, sinking them all the way. Fiona moaned and shifted her sweet backside provocatively on his cock, which was just as hard as Pol’s.

  “You feel like fire,” Cas said as he leaned to nibble her neck. “You’re squeezing my fingers so hard.”

  She arched back against him, unconsciously squeezing still more. To reward her, Cas slid in a third finger.

  “Oh,” she said, eyes wide.

  Pol smiled. He stood with hands on hips, his body swaying as he felt what she did to him. “I think she likes it.”

  “Goddesses like to be pleasured.” Cas bit her skin, loving the salt taste of it. “Don’t they, my goddess?”

  “I’m not a goddess. I’m an arch…” Her words faltered as Cas added a fourth finger. “…aeologist.” The syllables tumbled out in a rush.

  “You freed us,” Pol whispered. “It was a terrible spell, and you freed us. Only a lady of great power could do that.”

  Fiona frowned as though she wanted to argue but her eyelids drooped. She pressed herself against Cas’ hand, the yearning woman taking over the shy scholar. At the same time, she rubbed her palm over Pol’s cock from tip to base and back again.

  Cas would have envied him if her ass hadn’t been rubbing all over him. He quickly unfastened his—jeans—releasing his cock to bump happily against the thin fabric across Fiona’s backside.

  She laid her head against his shoulder, her warm hair escaping its confinement to flow across his chest. She was so beautiful, her eyes so brown with gold flecks swimming in them, lashes long and lush against her cheek. A woman or a demigoddess or an archaeologist—whoever she was, she was made for loving.

  Cas flicked his thumb over the hard nub of her clit. She jumped and squealed, coming back down to impale herself even farther on his fingers.

  “Oh my God,” she cried.

  “Demigod,” Cas murmured.

  Pol was moaning softly, pushing his cock into her hand, his head thrown back, eyes closed.

  Fiona squirmed against Cas’ pressing fingers, her pussy so wet and slick he had to concentrate on keeping his hand inside her. He slid his thumb back and forth on the hard berry of her clit, stirring up even more cream.

  She rose up on her toes, her heartbeat speeding, her breath coming in gasps. And then she came, beautifully and completely.

  Her eyes flew open, her lips parting in astonishment. Her hips rocked faster and faster, seeking the pressure of Cas’ fingers deep inside her and at the same time rubbing her clit hard against his thumb.

  She clamped her hand down on Pol’s cock, knuckles whitening as she clutched him. He moaned, shaking his hair back, and moved his hand over hers, helping her stroke while she squeezed.

  The heady scent of her juices filled Cas’ senses. He made a quiet noise as she continued to come, her breath hot on his face, her cries of pleasure in his ear.

  Pol came all at once, putting his hand over his sweating face, swallowing groans. Fiona rose on her tiptoes, stroking Pol’s cock, rubbing her ass against Cas and pressing herself down onto his hand.

  Cas sank his teeth into her neck, enj
oying the taste of her skin, the salt of her perspiration. “That’s it, love,” he murmured, licking where he’d bitten.

  They moved together a little longer, all three of them in pleasure, Fiona and Pol mindless with it, Cas smiling and watching and feeling Fiona.

  Fiona lost her hold on Pol’s cock. Pol backed away, throwing his head back and dragging in deep breaths, trying to calm down. Fiona closed her eyes and bumped and danced against Cas.

  He pinched her clit and she screamed once, then drifted down into babbling incoherencies.

  “Sweet Fiona,” he breathed into her ear.

  Then all three of them began to calm, the shattering moment unwinding into warm stillness. Outside the window, people shuffled through the alley, the city waking again from its afternoon nap.

  Fiona opened her eyes. She looked back at Cas, eyes languid, then at Pol, who’d sat down on the wooden chair, face in his hands, his cock still out and gleaming. She stared at Pol then at Cas again.

  She realized what she’d just done and blushed furiously.

  “She’s shy,” Cas said, laughter welling up inside him. “How adorable.”

  “I like her,” Pol said.

  “So do I.” Cas leaned down and kissed her, a slow decadent kiss that told her he’d stamped her as his own.

  When he released her, she’d scarcely a moment to draw a breath before Pol, who’d risen from the chair again, tilted her head back and claimed his own kiss.

  Two demigods, one on either side of her, identical twins. This had to be paradise.

  “Our own goddess,” Cas murmured. “What could be better?”

  * * * * *

  “I keep trying to explain I am not a goddess.” Fiona sat between Pol and Cas in an eatery that was dark but lively with patrons, blood-red wine and excellent food.

  Cas lifted his glass to his lips. She couldn’t help focusing on him as he tipped wine into his mouth, swallowed slowly, and chased a red drop from his lip with his tongue. “Goddess, sorceress, archaeologist, whatever you call yourself, it was powerful magic that freed us.”

  After a brief cleanup in a tiny bathroom at the taverna, Cas and Pol announced they were hungry and it was high time to eat. They wandered out of the alley and to another pedestrian area with sidewalk cafés and shops stretching the length of the street.