His Goddess

Candles blazed in Piero’s chamber. This night he was working on a portrait of a goddess as he had been for several weeks. Dea, a fair Florentine maiden, shivered as she posed fully revealed in the flicker of a dozen candles. Her pale pink nipples stood prominent, casting little shadows on her milky-white breasts.

On Piero’s canvas, a depiction of Dea: blue in her eyes matched the serene, azure skies. Crested waves of oils formed the benevolent sun’s rays and glorious sunset, caressing the goddess into which Dea had been transformed. The idyllic scene fiercely motivated the painter by the ravishing beauty which stood before him.

“Please, my lord…” She lowered her gaze from the ceiling to regard Piero. The slight shake in her previous stillness displayed fatigue.

“You may rest, Dea.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Dea reached for the heavy cloak which Piero kept for her to take a well-deserved break.

His tower was drafty, high as it stood on the estate and though a merry fire crackled in the hearth, little warmth reached her where Piero had set up his own sort of lighting system.

The painting must be perfect, he had told her and after all, was he not providing for her ailing father by sending his brother, the physician? Dea had acquiesced at that very important reminder. Piero’s gaze trailed down her slender, shapely legs and his cock stirred in response. No other woman stoked the flames of his lust quite like Dea.

Her golden hair captured the very essence of the sun itself in the ringlets cascading over her shoulders, down her back, all the way to her curved hips. In effect, Dea was not a maiden, but a widow of the king’s war. From what Piero had heard, her husband Carlo died but a year ago. Her father could not do his part in securing another marriage for her due to his poor health and social status as a failed man of God. She’d moved back home with her father, a former monk who had fallen for the charms of her mother. Dea had dealt with her mother’s passing just shortly before she found herself without a husband as well.

Now she watched Piero from a reclining position on his couch, the cloak unable to mask her form which by then he knew every trace of with his brush. He wanted more. She was considered used goods by other eligible suitors in the city and remained childless and unmarried. It seemed she was cursed, yet Piero loved her.

“Dea.” He always called her by her name and it did not offend her.

“My lord?” Limpid pools of sky gazed at him in the light reflected off the warm tones in the mural he’d painted in his room. She tugged at a lock of her golden hair.

“It is time.” Piero picked up his brush again as if to resume his work. It was either keep going or cover his oils, which were expensive enough not to want to ruin or waste.

Dea bowed her head slightly and let the cloak fall from her shoulders. She stood and strode to the center of the near-inferno Piero had simulated with all his candlesticks. As if moving through water, she positioned her arms in the way he’d instructed her.

It was a great deal to bear, the sight of her: her plush rosy lips, the soft arc of her cheek, the noble lines of her profile—delicate, yet sculpted in the image of her fading patriarch—not to mention the beguiling cleft between her heavenly thighs. Her breasts were high, uncommon for a woman her age, for the majority would have been disfigured by child-bearing. As it was, Dea was flawless in Piero’s eyes. Worthy of his beloved goddess Aphrodite. The graceful sway of her hips haunted his dreams. Questions burned in his mind. Did Dea see him the same way? Did his dark scowl smolder in her thoughts when out of his presence? Was he toned enough, having lived the life of an artist, rather than a soldier?

Her arm wavered and Piero laid down his brush to close the distance between them in order to reposition the limb. That close to her, his head swam in her floral perfume, a gift from him towards the beginning of their arrangement. He deliberately took his time with the artwork in order to draw out the hours allotted to bask in Dea’s own goddess-like presence and inhale the rose water, which she wore dutifully for him. His nose was drawn to her graceful neck; toward the pulse point just under her ear.

“You must maintain your posture,” he whispered and goose bumps broke out over her perfect flesh. Her lips were slightly parted as he slid his fingers over her arms, posing her like a living doll. “Stay as still as possible.”

Dea nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. Her breathing was quick and shallow, her breasts heaving with lady-like restrain.

Piero smiled. “I cannot imagine why you are not filling a lord’s bed at this moment.”

She glanced at him for an instant then looked away. “No man wants a woman who has already been conquered, my lord.”

“And yet you call me lord, and I am nothing of the sort.” His grip tightened on her shoulders, the strokes more deliberate.

She gasped and turned her face to him. Piero brushed her lips with his own and pulled her arms to a more relaxed position. “I am no lord,” he whispered. “I believe I have fallen in love with Aphrodite.” He kissed her again and slid his hand down her side to grasp her hip.

“And I am no Aphrodite,” she responded in a rush of breath, “yet you deem me worthy of your goddess.”

“You are an intelligent woman.”

Their lips pressed together. Piero brushed the backs of his knuckles down her cheek. Her naked body pressed against him and she released a sigh.

Dea moaned softly. “By all means, my lord.”

It was the only invitation Piero needed. He kissed her, hard, sucking her lip before taking her hand to liberate her from the circle of light. The same eyes that haunted him from his canvas gazed into his. He moved with her to his bed and she unclothed him, covering his skin with her kisses instead. She worked her way lower once he stood bare before her. Her warm tongue tickled his shaft, teasing him. He moved to the bed, lying back on a small pile of cushions before she was upon him again. Her fingertips danced over the tops of his thighs before she wrapped her lips around his throbbing cock.

“Ah, woman…” His head rolled side-to-side on the pillow as she sucked the tip and stroked the shaft. She held his cock in a firm grip. Piero grabbed a handful of her golden tresses and guided her down his throbbing prick. The sight of her devouring his manhood made his balls tighten. Gently, he pushed her to take in more of his phallus and she eagerly obeyed, her saliva sliding down his shaft to pool in his nest of dark hair before spilling over his sac. He groaned and shoved her all the way down his cock and she responded with a moan, vibrating his shaft.

“My sweet goddess.” He grit his teeth and growled as he came. She swallowed his seed and he released her.

She swept a hand over his rigid thigh and licked her lips.

“I wish to taste you,” he said in a low voice as his cock shifted of its own accord; a signal he was far from done with using it on her.

Dea slid up his body, her velvety skin setting his senses atingle. Her warmth slipped under his fingers until he took hold of her. Their mouths met; his lips softened under her petal-like brush; a faint taste of salt lingered in her kiss. Their teeth collided, tongues seeking, sucking. He cupped her cheek as the gravity of what was happening settled upon him.

It was love, it had to be. How else could one describe the flutter of doves’ wings within his belly? The light-headed, drunken sensation of drifting on a cloud of glittering stars?

His kisses hardened; his fingers tightened and then her netherflower was above his face. His tongue sought her dewy heat, gently at first but soon drowning in her musk with her thighs tight against his ears. His pulse matched hers. Her fingers tangled in his hair and a low moan reverberated through her form in encouragement.

“My lord!”

“Call me Piero,” he muttered as he gasped for air and returned to wriggling his tongue into the soft folds between her legs. Dea arched her back and called out again and again. Her hips rocked, mimicking the movements of a lover. His lover. He pushed her away from his face and nipped her inner thigh for good measure, causing her to jerk and moan.

“You are a beautiful woman, Dea.”

With strong arms, he guided her to slide and lay on his chest. Her blue eyes were pools of untouched water in a secret cove. They kissed again and he rubbed her arm with firm strokes. Would he take a woman already conquered? Nay, she was no more conquered than a fine sailing vessel. Her proud breasts bore no marks, her teeth were pearls. One could hardly believe anyone had ever treated her as less than a gift. His heart rose at the sight of her, the painting forgotten. He would give up painting, run away with her to the valley where old women would tell stories and she would whisper secrets in his ear each night.

Even more so did he shake inside when he rolled over her to enter, his cock questing for her core. Her long legs smoothed up over his back to cross and draw him in farther. Her mouth sought his and their sounds mingled as the buttery warmth of romantic lovemaking settled upon their writhing forms.

Piero’s nose crushed into her soft tresses, loosened and messed by the momentum of their advances. Honeyed roses and soft sweat engulfed him. He rolled his hips against hers as their bodies spoke volumes to one another. His hand moved of its own accord to clap over her damp breast and squeezed, drawing out her nipple with thumb and forefinger. She tossed her head about like a flower’s blossom upon its stem and sung her pleasure.

His cock drove deep, building a pressure and stoking a fire between them. Dots of perspiration appeared on her brow as she clung to his body, giving herself to him.

Piero paused long enough to turn her on her stomach, untangling her legs from around him to do so. He ran his hand down her back as he thrust into her again. A glorious vision she was with her golden hair cascading across her flesh to drape over a shoulder. He should talk to her father, he thought, as he pounded her from behind, shaking her form with his strong thrusts. She tipped her head back and moaned as her insides gripped his cock like a silken sleeve. The force surrounding him was magnificent and his voice rivaled hers as he cried out in utter pleasure.

With her father’s blessing, he could have this whenever he desired. Dear God, he loved this woman. He swept her hair away from her back and drew it up to expose her neck. A fragile, incredible thing she was. And the painting—he could never sell it. Even if she would not have him for her husband, her eyes would always haunt him from that picture. Forever captured in hardened oils, swirls, crests.

His orgasm rose when hers peaked once again and he probably would bruise her pretty flesh but she did not seem to mind. His hands were firm on her hips and she dug her nails into his fingers as he came inside her with low groan.

They remained where they were for a time. Piero drew in great, sawing breaths as his heart hammered in his ears. She bowed her head to the bed then lay flat as he withdrew from her.

“I have desired you so many nights,” she whispered as she fingered the embroidering on the pillow but did not look at him.

“As I have you.”

She gave a tinkle of laughter. “Had I known…”

“Our bodies knew. They spoke when we would not dare.”

He stood and got dressed, while she retreated to the cloak. Piero’s gaze flicked from her breasts to her face as he stepped back to appraise his work in progress. No harm had come to the oils and now he knew the contours of her body.

It would be easier from here on out. He tore his gaze from his depiction back to her. Her face was radiant, perhaps from the light, most certainly from the sex. He would need to add more rose to his goddess’s cheeks.

Their time was up and Piero retrieved her dress for her to put on once again. Dea drew her golden waves back away from her face, taming her wild look back to that of a sick man’s daughter.

“Join me and my father for supper tomorrow night.” Dea patted her hair as if to ensure no stray strands rebelled to tell the whole story of what had just happened.

She closed the distance between them. His answer burned in their kiss. It was a beginning.

~ Annice Sands ~

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Copyright © 2012 Annice Sands

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.