They said it so seriously, but it made her think of Malik swearing he woulddefinitelybe hungry for dinner, even if he had two pieces of cake first. She got herself some water, and she could feel Ares’ eyes on her as she went up to her bedroom alone. Kataida stripped down to her underwear and climbed into bed, rolling to her side, and let her eyes close.
She didn’t think she would sleep. She was far too aware of Ares, their energy in her home, the way their mouth had tasted, how they’d shivered in pleasure at the thought of Kataida branding them–
She sunk into the thought of it, Ares spread naked, eyes burning-bright, weeping from the pain and yet arching toward the brand,wantingthe burn on their flesh. Would they beg for it? Kataida grabbed a pillow and shoved it between her thighs,pressing her heated face into the soft down of her mattress and rhythmically rubbing herself against the pillow as she let herself think of it, what it would feel like to press a hot brand on someone’s skin.
She remembered scratching Ares’ chest, the way they’d reacted and wantedmore. They’d offered to change the shape of their body for her, but they’d had very small breasts that were slightly smaller than Kataida’s own, and she had no idea what she would have found if she’d taken off their pants.
She’d asked Theron once if he had a preference when it came to gender–it was rare, as most people’s preferences revolved more around natural alignments than anything, but it did happen. Theron never seemed to care much, and Kataida had been with lovers of all genders, but what was getting her so hot wasn’t thinking about sex but pain—causing it to someone who had very few limits and nearly sobbed at beingscratched.
But not having limits was dangerous, although perhaps that wasn’t true for gods. Perhaps it didn’t matter, when it came to her fantasy. She was alone, wasn’t she? What did it matter what she fantasized about, especially when the person she was thinking about wanted her to do everything she was so feverishly imagining?
So as she shoved a hand between her thighs to the slick, wet heat of her cunt, she thought about Ares sobbing beautifully for her, aching for the brand, fucking the mattress with a cock or rubbing off on their hand, a pillow, the bed, or on nothing at all, frustrated and desperate. She was so close in seconds, panting softly and pushing her palm against her clit, deep in her fantasies of hurting Ares, hearing them sob, and oh, gods, but would theycomefrom the pain? As much as Atlas had been a masochist, as much as theanticipationof a brand might put him under…actually doing it? Placing a burning piece of metal against his skin wouldn’t do anything but get her brought upon charges and likely sent to Stavros forreeducation about Arkoudai consent laws.
But Ares, they wouldbegfor it, they would ache and thrash and plead, and then when she did it…
“You’re calling for me,” a voice breathed, and she was so far gone into her fantasy, it took her a moment to realize that it wasn't Ares in her head, but Aresin her bedroom.
Kataida paused, her hand shoved under her nightclothes, damp hair sticking to her sweaty face, one leg thrown over a pillow. She looked over her shoulder and saw Ares, their eyes burning so bright, they were twin flames in the dark of the hallway beyond, and theexcitementin their voice…ah, but she was so close it might have made her come to hear it. Except she was far too contrary, and annoyed they’d simply ignored her privacy simply because they somehowknewshe was fantasizing about them.
“I didn’t invite you in here,” she said, her voice low and rough.
“You want me,” Ares whispered. “You’re thinking ofme.”
She withdrew her hand, sat up, and kicked the pillow to the floor. Her night clothes were simple, underwear and a light tank with thin straps, which had ridden up just below her breasts, leaving far more skin on display than she might have wanted around a houseguest who was literally a stranger.
“But did I invite you? Did I call for you?”
Ares nodded, moving into her room, their face illuminated with lust. “Oh, yes. I can tell when people are worshiping me.”
“I wasn’t,” she bit out, embarrassed and still aroused. “I was– It’s private. If I don’t invite you, then you should be here.”
“You did, though,” they said, making no move to leave. “You’re thinking of me. You want me. Why shouldn’t I be here? Where elsewouldI want to be?”
“Where I invited you,” she said, carefully, “and that wasn’t here.”
Ares tilted their head. “But you do want me. What are you thinking about? Is it pain that you want? Give it to me. You can take me apart if that’s what you want.”
Kataida almost saidyes. But the thought of it, of really indulging witha god,brought reality crashing down, chasing off the rest of her lingering desireandstifling the wild urge to say,strip, lay down for me, bring me the ropes.“Why would you offer this to me? Don’t say it’s because of who I used to be. That’s not who is in this bed right now.”
“I want you,” Ares said, voice thrumming like a war drum. “I see your soul and it burns, it’s a beacon and I want to bathe in your fire, I want to give you the world, turn it all to ash if that’s what you asked of me.”
Kataida lay on her back, breathing slowly, arms beneath her head. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I don’t want the world to burn.”
“You want to burnme.”
She smiled. It seemed silly to deny it. “Maybe. I’m a dominant, a sadist. It’s an urge, a biological instinct.”
“I’ll let you,” Ares said. They knelt by the bed, moonlight shining in their white hair, their eyes intense, too bright. “I’ll let you do anything you want to me.”
Something strange happened, then – Aresflickered, like the image in a picture book, the kind that looked like it was moving when you flipped the pages. She sat up, frowning. “Ares?”
“Yes?” They flickered again, and this time, Kataida could see their eyes beginning to glow.
“Are you–” She gasped out loud as the flickering continued, and now Ares wasn’t there kneeling by her bed anymore, but standing over by the window–another flicker, and they were near the door, wearing armor she didn’t recognize, the smell of gunpowder and ozone assailing her. “What’s happening?”
Ares tilted their head, and smiled. They looked as beautiful and wild as a bonfire there, before they flickered again, sword in hand and a quiver of flame-tipped arrows just visible on their back. “Oh, I’m being called. How nice to be wanted,” they sighed.
Before she could say anything–chastise them, ask questions, even throw caution to the winds and invite them into her bed–they flickered again and were gone, leaving only the faintest hint of smoke in the air, the soft echo of drums in their wake.
