He gave her a look of extreme skepticism.
“Just keep an open mind, all right?” she pushed.
“Very well.”
She paid for their dessert—she’d insisted since he’d paid for the dinner they didn’t get to eat—and they headed down the long flight of steps that would take them to the beach.
“So tell me, Margarita, why are you so opposed to fun?”
“I’m not. But I don’t care for alcohol.”
“Same difference.”
“Okay, well, I guess it has to do with the fact that I associate many bad memories with inebriation.”
“Such as?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” she said.
“You’re the one who wished to test our compatibility. I think being honest is paramount.”
She took a spoonful of her frozen yogurt, thinking it over. Perhaps he was right. “Okay. My ex-husband, Jessica’s father, was a drunk, and he beat me. How’s that for painful honesty?”
“Very traumatizing. Yes, I’m feeling traumatized.” They crossed the narrow street and hit the sand, making their way toward the water.
“Well, so did I. It didn’t last long, but it started right after I gave birth to her. I was still healing from the delivery when he slapped me the first time and told me how I’d ruined his life with my ‘shitty little baby.’ After that, he apologized but did it again and again and again until I left him. I had nothing—no job, no savings, no family to lean on. So you might say that alcohol reminds me of a time when I was at my lowest, trying to be my strongest.”
Margarita couldn’t see Acan’s face clearly, but the distant lights of the pier allowed her to make out a frown.
“Where does he live?” he asked.
“Sorry?”
“Where does he live?” he repeated.
“I’m not sure, but why do you want to know?”
“Because I have recently learned that I am also the God of Decapitation, and I wish to remove his head.”
Margarita laughed, but Acan didn’t laugh with her. “You’re joking, right?”
“Yes, I am joking,” he said in the most non-joking tone ever. “Where did you say he lives again? And what is his name?”
Margarita wasn’t sure if he was kidding, so she changed the subject. “Try your yogurt.”
He stared at the cup. “Are you certain it’s safe? It looks very menacing, like a frozen terrorist.”
“Stop being such a baby.”
Almost to the shoreline, she stopped and waited.
He took his spoon and raised it to his mouth. A moment passed while Margarita waited for a yumm or an mmm…. He couldn’t not like it. It was sweet and creamy and—
Acan clutched his throat, hacking and coughing. He dropped to the sand on his back, clawing at the front of his white dress shirt.
“Oh shit! Acan, are you okay?” Stupid question! Of course not! She dropped to her knees beside him, frantically reaching for the phone in her purse to shine a light on his face.
“Are you choking? Oh god. What do I do?” Her first aid training kicked in, and she remembered to check the passageway for obstruction. She shoved her fingers in his mouth and tried to pry his lips open to get a better look. Suddenly, he began sucking on her fingers.
“Mmmm…now that’s better.”
Her jaw dropped, and she jerked her fingers back. “Gah. What? You were joking?” She swatted his chest, and he began to chuckle. “What an asshole! I thought you were dying.” She sprang to her feet and began marching away.
Acan followed after her, half-laughing his words. “Oh, come on, Margarita. I was merely joking. Your ‘fun’ yogurt tastes like a cardboard box took a crap and then coated it with fake sugar.”
“So what? You thought you’d make it fun by faking death.”
“Well, yes. I cannot die, so it is very funny.”
Ugh. She rolled her eyes.
Acan grabbed her hand and whipped her back toward him, encasing her in his large arms. “Now it is time for my version of fun.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment, she thought about pulling back, but his warm hard body pressed to hers, his addictive scent, his soft mouth framed by bristly whiskers, all pulled her right in.
She dropped her frozen treat in the sand and slid her arms around his solid midriff. He’s right. This is so much better than that cardboard crap. She loved the substantial feel of him—like nothing could ever hurt her when she was wrapped in his embrace.
As his soft tongue delved into her mouth, massaging hers with a sinful rhythm that promised all sorts of other sinful moves in the bedroom, her mind drifted to thoughts about him. A god. He was a god. She still couldn’t believe they were real, but the evidence stood right in front of her, including his insanely large erection pressing into her belly.
He really was magnificent, in this state, of course. The party version of him, not so much. Why couldn’t he see that? Why couldn’t he see that being a drunken fool didn’t help anyone? She wondered if he really wasn’t able to resist playing this role he claimed he’d been born to do. Come to think of it, she had a lot of questions now that reality had sunk in. How many other gods were there? Why weren’t they helping him?
Slowly, her mind moved back to his hot lips and his even hotter body towering over her. His hands slid down to her hips and pulled her into him, allowing her to feel the full length of his stiffness. She sighed into his kiss, her body melting, her insides fluttering, and the space between her legs perking up.
He abruptly broke away, leaving her breathless.
“We better stop before I hurt you.” The distant light of the pier caught a concerned look in his eyes.
“Whoa!” She jumped back a foot, holding up her hands in the “all clear” position. “I almost forgot.”
“As did I. And now you see how easy it is for me to become distracted by you. Perhaps we should swing by my place before the next stop of our evening. I have several black jade accessories you can wear.”
Margarita suddenly felt like they were two horny teenagers in need of a condom. Only this guy was…well, she didn’t know how old, but she assumed very old—and his prophylactic was a stone meant to absorb his otherworldly energy.
Don’t think about how weird that sounds. Don’t think about it. And stepping away from my head exploding from the surrealness of it all…and there, I’m back.
“I think if that little stone is the only thing preventing us from going to bed together—” she swallowed “—again. Then we’d better skip your house and get on to the next event.”
“Ahh…” he said, his voice deep and filled with seduction. “But we can make my home the next event, one that will last—” he reached for her hand and placed a kiss on top “—for days, if you like.”
Her mouth went all dry. “You can make lo-love for-for days?”
“Longer. But I don’t want to break you.” He chuckled and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “My cum will make you instantly orgasm, and I can ejaculate as much or as little as you like.” His lips brushed across her cheek. “It’s a god thing.”
Dear Lord. She felt her core combusting.
“What do you say?” he asked.
“Uh-uh-uh…” She imagined them lying between silky sheets, him covering her body, pumping his thick cock into her while kissing her with those delicious lips that were framed by a thick growth of bristly whiskers. Sigh. So manly. And if he didn’t tire, he would take his time with her, and she would let him. She would let him touch and lick and kiss every inch of her body, allow him to explore her most sensitive areas while she did the same. She would stroke him gently, take him in her mouth, and watch him come. She would lick her way up those washboard abs and then suck his nipples. She would kiss those lips for hours while riding his large shaft, enjoying the way he filled her.
Oh, boy. She fanned her face. The ocean breeze wasn’t going to do the trick. And then, as if to torment her further, she caught a fresh whiff of
his skin. Goose bumps exploded all over her body, and her nipples hardened into sharp points.
She gnashed her teeth. She wanted him so badly, but…
“Nope,” she said in her firmest tone. “We can’t. We have to stick to the program—you said yourself that millions of lives are on the line here, and we already know we’re compatible in the bedroom. Even though we’ve only had partial sex on a desk and in an alley.” Jeez, who am I?
He sighed. “I suppose you are right. But are you certain you do not wish to just have a quickie at my place? I can give you a sample orgasm with my powerful cu—”
“Nope. No, thank you. You can keep your powerful, uh…man-juice right there where it belongs.” She pointed to his groin.
“Sharing it sounds so much better, but if you insist.” He sounded disappointed, and she could relate. Right now, her c-spot was so lit up that the light pressure of her underwear under her tight jeans might make her orgasm. Worst of all, the more time she spent with him, the more intense her body’s reaction.
“Why do I feel like this?” she asked, thinking aloud.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re bombarding me with some strange sexual radiation.”
“Ah.” He nodded, his face now stone-cold serious. “That is because we are mates; it’s our bond.”
“Sorry. Mind elaborating?”
“The best way to describe it is in terms of energy. Everything is made from matter, tiny particles of energy bound together via an electrical charge of sorts. Energy holds us together—holds everything together. And for mates, their molecules are attracted to each other. Like a force of nature within us, only we have minds and hearts that get in the way.”
How fascinating. “How does the reaction start?”
He shrugged. “The Universe. The Creator. Who truly knows?”
“So you don’t know?”
“Why would I?”
“Because you’re a god.”
“Yes, but like you, I was not born with answers. In fact, I wasn’t even born. I simply awoke one day. No body, no form, just alive, and searching for answers that eventually led us to your world, like birds who instinctually knew what direction to fly.”
She’d never heard anything so incredible. “So there was no manual, no bigger god to tell you all of the secrets of the universe.”
“Now, where would the fun be in that? Especially when you’re destined to live for eternity.”
Wow. Just wow. “You’re really going to live forever?”
“Perhaps forever is not the correct word. It is likely somewhere along the lines of a really, really, really long time. Which only supports my hypothesis that just like every soul born to this Earth, the gods were meant to find answers on our own.”
She would not want to live forever. She loved the idea of growing old and experiencing life as it was meant to be: every moment precious.
“So what answers have you found?” she asked.
“I like beer.” He smiled. “Beer and cheese balls. Tacos are also excellent.”
“Ha. Funny.”
“Honestly, I have learned that gods are just as crazy as humans, and not everything has a reason because the Universe has a very twisted mind. Why else would she decide to mate two complete opposites?”
“Maybe to test us.”
“Or maybe she gets bored like any living being and needs a little entertainment. Either way, we’ll never know, and it does not alter the fact that at this very moment our molecules are attempting to pull you and me closer. Just like we are subconsciously driven to find our fates.”
“Amazing.” Because she felt the pull he spoke of. She truly did. And in some strange way, it gave her peace to learn all this. She’d grown up in a happy but very strict family whose beliefs and way of life didn’t make sense to her. In her heart, she felt her calling was out there in the world among the outsiders. In her heart, she loved her parents, her two sisters, and her simple way of life, but she couldn’t ignore her desire to see the world.
When she expressed her doubts, her mother and father told her to pray and work hard and in time she’d find her way. And she had. One week before her eighteenth birthday, her father began questioning why she wasn’t courting with anyone or preparing to marry. The answer was simple: She couldn’t see herself living that life and being happy. So on her eighteenth birthday, she did the most difficult thing ever and left. With only the four hundred dollars she’d saved over the years from small birthday gifts and handmade lace she sold to tourists, she got on a bus to Los Angeles. All she knew was that she had an aunt who’d left the community twenty years ago to live with an “English” man she’d met.
Margarita—or Margaret as she was called back then—never found her aunt, but as if an angel had been watching over her, she met a strange redheaded woman on the bus, who gave her the address of a place she could stay while she got on her feet. It was a halfway house of sorts for women from all backgrounds, and it was also a Godsend. More importantly, it opened her eyes to the ugliness of the modern world her family had warned her of. These women had come from gangs, cults, abusive relationships, and from them Margarita learned that she had to be vigilant and strong. The evils of the world were real, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t good or that she should be afraid. She just had to be smart.
From there, she got a job bussing tables, learned about a wonderful thing called financial aid, and began taking classes at the nearby community college. Slowly, her old life faded into the past, and she began discovering who she truly was: adventurous, brave, and compassionate. She also loved running on the beach. She’d never felt freer or more alive. She loved hiking and swimming and anything that got her blood flowing. That was when Margaret Miller of Pennsylvania legally became Margarita Seville. A lively name that fit her. From there she decided to study kinesiology, which led her to a managerial job at the gym after she obtained her bachelor’s. The rest was history. However, not even to this day had she told anyone where she’d come from or what she’d endured to get here—fifteen years of finding herself, then a single mother, survivor, and business owner.
Every step of her journey had felt like a test. One after another. But now, hearing that unseen forces pulled people toward something or someone, well, it gave her a sense of peace. She wasn’t crazy for leaving her world behind twenty-something years ago. She hadn’t been just another teenager, rebelling, making up excuses to escape the restrictive life of her community. She was meant to be living this life; otherwise she wouldn’t be here.
“Thank you,” she finally said, the two of them quietly staring out at the ocean.
“For what?”
“You have no idea how long I’ve been living in doubt.”
“About?”
“Every minute of my life.”
He smiled. “I am here to serve.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Margarita didn’t say much as they drove toward Beverly Hills to the Randy Unicorn. But every chance Acan had to look at her, he did. She had a hint of a smile on her beautiful pink lips and a sparkle of joy in her almond-shaped green eyes. He could only guess what she might be feeling, but for him it was contentment. A strange, completely foreign contentment. He truly liked his sweet but ballsy, fuzzy cu—
No! You cannot call her that. It is wrong on too many levels. Perhaps it would help if I found another nickname.
He glanced over at her and took the off-ramp. “What do you think about pet names?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve never found a use for them.”
“So you’ve never had a pet name?”
“Nope,” she replied.
“How do you like fuzzy cup?”
She frowned. “Why would you call me that?”
“Never mind.”
“How about you? Any pet names?” she asked.
“Men do not have pet names—just nicknames.”
“Like Belch,” she offered.
“Yes.”
&n
bsp; “Doesn’t that name bother you? Sounds kinda slobbish.”
“Actually, the nickname evolved over time, beginning with the Mayans, who created a drink called ‘balche,’ a fermented beverage derived from the balche tree, also known as the drink of the gods. Obviously, they dedicated the drink to me and made many offerings. Which is why they called me the balche god. My brethren later turned it into Belch simply to tease me. I was too drunk to care, so I embraced it.”
Margarita’s face contorted a bit.
“This deity thing is difficult for you, isn’t it?” He stepped on the brakes to wait out the red light.
“Uh, yep.”
He placed his hand on her thigh. Simply touching her gave him a rush—sexual and mental. My perfect cocktail of delights: Margarita.
“Give it time. You’ll get used to all this,” he said.
“Will I?”
Ah. He’d almost forgotten. His way of life wasn’t something she approved of. Not that he could blame her if her frame of reference was a man who used to get drunk and hit her.
Note to godly self: smite evil ex-spouse of Margarita. There was no excuse to hit a woman.
He felt his insides coil. He’d done far worse a few days ago. He’d decapitated his sister plus nine others.
All right, man. Cut yourself some slack. It wasn’t exactly the same. He’d never hurt anyone while drunk, not even when he’d accidentally burned down a few hundred hotels and nightclubs with his infamous flaming drinks. And the other night, when he’d murdered his brethren in cold blood, well, he wasn’t to blame. That was all the Universe’s doing.
Wasn’t it?
Oh hell. Maybe it wasn’t. Moving on…
Tonight was his chance to show Margarita the truth. He was a caring deity. A true giver. Of drinks. And fun. And occasional orgies. He provided a necessary service to humanity, and if his awesome manly waistline and pant-wearing abilities were sacrificed in the process, so be it! Margarita would hopefully see the importance in his work.
Still, in these few short hours with Margarita, he’d come to feel something between them almost as equally gratifying as his quest to intoxicate the masses. Friendship. It was something he never sought or needed in his life. He had his sister. He had his thirsty flock. He had drink recipes and matches. But now he had her. Someone to listen and talk with. He felt at ease in her presence. Except when he thought about fucking her tight but luscious woman grotto—okay, okay, and maybe poking her in the ass a few times with his finger to see if it might make her giggle. Dirty fantasies aside, there was a certain ease about being with her. An ease laced with unabashed lust. And thoughts of ass tickling. Just for fun.