Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Accidentally Yours #3)(18)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“Sorry?” I said.

“Get in.”

Get into what…?

A cab pulled up directly in front of us.

What the…? “But there were no cars a minute ago. It’s the weirdest goddamned thing…”

Kinich yanked open the door and shoved me in. He quickly gave instructions to the driver and then closed his eyes.

He’s closing his eyes? Of all the possible ways to react to this situation, and this guy wants a nap?

“Would you care for a blankie and a graham cracker?”

He didn’t move an inch.

“Excuse me. But mind telling me…What! The! Hell! Is going on!”

Kinich cracked open one turquoise eye, gave me a “don’t mess with me” look, and then snapped it shut again.

“Excuse me,” I screamed, “I get that whatever happened back there was very rough on you! And that you’re probably suffering from frostbite on your toes and ni**les”—look at that chest. Holy shit, he’s so damned built—“but I just had some Medusa-haired monster who smelled like cooked innards show up to my apartment to kill me.”

“He wasn’t there to kill you,” Kinich interrupted. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Thanks. Thanks for removing the turd from my punch bowl. But it still smells like shi—”

“Penelope!” His eyes snapped open. “Please be silent. I am trying to think.”

How. Dare. He! I poked his bare arm—oh…so strong. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again. Do you hear me?”

He sighed. “Damned humans. Never listen.” He focused in on my eyes. “Sleep, Penelope. Sleep.”

Like I’d been hypnotized into thinking that was exactly what I wanted to do, my eyes closed and my brain slipped into the abyss.

CHAPTER 11

“Not going to happen, buddy,” barked Andrus through the cracked door. “I already have two females to look after. And what the hell happened to your clothes?”

“Who needs clothes when you’re as hot as me,” Kinich replied with a grin. Holding Penelope in his arms made him feel like a dopey kid with a new shiny toy. “Now open the door.”

Andrus began shutting it instead.

Kinich shoved his bare foot in the opening and then pushed his shoulder into the door, careful not to crush Penelope.

Andrus stumbled back several feet. “Gods dammit! Goddamned gods never goddamn listen!”

Kinich marched through the living room, making a beeline to the guest quarters. “You know that makes no sense. We cannot damn ourselves. And just be grateful; not only am I in a good mood, I’ve got an important meeting tonight. Otherwise, I’d stick around merely to f**k with you,” he called out as he disappeared down the hallway.

Kinich stopped at the second set of doors and pushed. Like the rest of Niccolo and Helena’s lavish penthouse overlooking Central Park, the furniture was modern and white. The only splash of color came from the red pillows on the large king-size bed in the middle of the room.

He was about to set Penelope on top of the pristine white comforter but realized she was covered head to toe in…

He took a whiff and winced. “She smells like rotten cabbage.” He glimpsed at the doorway that led to the private bath, then cast his gaze on Penelope. He wondered, would she mind? He’d already seen her excruciatingly sumptuous, nude body.

You may have done more than that. He would give anything to remember what had occurred that evening. Unrelenting images hounded him day and night: Penelope’s naked, sweaty body pinned beneath him as he pumped his hard c**k inside her, lost in her smell, her groans, her moist heat. A heat that had matched his own in every way—something he’d never fathomed. He’d been obsessed with seeing her again for that very reason.

Kinich began to grow hard.

Gods be damned!

“Down boy.”

In any case, once he got a hold of Cimil, he would decapitate her for her little prank. Idiot. Sex with mortals and having offspring were not recreational activities—okay, perhaps the sex part was, but not the procreation. Definitely not that.

Thank heavens Penelope had not conceived. Not that he knew for certain if they’d had sex, but she’d removed the black jade necklace the morning after their night together. To be clear, he had nothing against children. In fact, the notion of being a father delighted him. It was one of the many aspects of human life for which the gods had been deprived. But his wants and desires were simply not on the table, and the matter boiled down to one truth: The universe demanded balance; it constantly strived for it. Life could not exist without it.

This was his belief, and he needed only to observe the world around him to see the evidence—the changing of the seasons, the food chain, Newton’s Laws of Motion. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Balance.

This meant that for each Payal created, the universe would create a counterbalance—something dark, something evil. And, as of late, evil had been busy. The Maaskab had been honing their skills, amplifying their powers. They could send the universe into a tailspin of self-destruction if they were allowed the upper hand for even one second.

Not on my f**king watch. Not even for…her.

No. He would not deny he wanted Penelope or that he eagerly wished to understand what drove his bottomless craving for the mortal’s body. But there was no endgame, and he knew it.

Mortals belonged with mortals. Gods belonged alone. That was the natural order.

But still, you can’t deny you want—you need—just one more taste…or…a first taste?

He lay Penelope on the thick, cream-colored carpet next to the bed and began untying her boots. They were thick and clunky with a fur lining. He half expected her to have on wool socks, but as he slipped them off, he saw she wore none. Her little toes were raw and frozen.

He clasped both hands around her delicate foot and directed warmth into each cell. The circulation quickly returned.

He continued rubbing her toes and noticed they were painted pink.

Hmm. What sort of underwear might she have on? Would they match?

He beheld Penelope’s serene face. She looked stunning lying there with her dark hair fanned out on the floor. And her pink, heart shaped lips…he couldn’t forget their taste or silky texture. He wondered how they might feel if she ran them over the tip of his pulsing, hard—

“Nick! What do you think you’re doing to that girl? And what the hell happened to your clothes?”