Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“But you reached for him,” he says. “You reached for him and you smiled. You volunteered. You never volunteer for me. I do not understand what is different.”
I reach for his robe, and he immediately grabs my wrist, his hand ice cold against my skin. “It is not the same, do you understand?”
Not the same because I had to be told? I wrench out of his grip, annoyed at his attitude. He’s always been a bit difficult, but today it’s really bothering me. I’m starting to feel more comfortable here in the tower, and maybe that’s why I glare back up at him. “I know it’s not the same. But you’re not acting the same as he did, and so you get a different response.”
That catches his attention. He circles around me as I get to my feet, and his gaze is intense as he watches me, so intense it feels like it’s burning a hole into my clothing. “Yes. That’s what I’m trying to say. Why is it that you are different with him than with me? Explain this to me so I might understand it.”
Some of my anger fades at that. Of course he’s confused. Hasn’t he said that they need an anchor so they can learn how to be in touch with their humanity? He doesn’t grasp the difference between my responses to him and to Zaroun. “It is different,” I say as patiently as I can, “because I wanted to touch Zaroun. With mortals, there is a difference between submission and willing submission. I will give myself to you as many times a day as you ask, as often as you ask, but what you want cannot be forced. I touched Zaroun and gave him pleasure because he was sad, and because he was kind to me. I wanted to make him feel better, and when he had joy at my touch, I wanted to do more for him. You and your brother use me like you would a chamber pot, or a towel.” I spread my hands. “I am not a person to you. I am an object, and so you can have me…” I gesture at the whole of my body. “But you cannot have me.”
And I gesture at my heart.
He stares at me for so long that I worry I’ve offended him. I swallow hard and remain where I am, doing my best not to glare up at him. He’s been arrogant and uncaring and I’m just now realizing how much I resented that. Aron—the old Aron, the Liar Aspect of Aron—treated me like I was nothing but a sleeve for his cock, a convenient cunt to plow and forget about. It wasn’t until I saw him with Faith that I realized gods had feelings just like people, and they could care, just like people.
And now that I know that, I’m not going to settle for just being a cock-sleeve for the rest of my days.
“You would not touch me unless I demand it?” the Spidae asks, his voice silky-soft. “What if I demanded that you touch me of your own volition? Like you did to my brother?”
I shake my head. “You’re still demanding it. The result is the same.”
“How do I change the result?” He seems genuinely confused and as if he wishes to learn.
For a moment, I almost feel sorry for him. The god sounds depressed, as if he’s realizing what his brother has is out of his reach. “There has to be emotion there. I have to want to touch you.”
“So give me emotion. Make yourself want to touch me. Make yourself smile…” He pauses as he says the words. “It is not the same, because it is forced again.” With a growl, he stalks away from me, heading down the ramp. “I hate this!”
He might hate it, but he doesn’t ask for me to service him, either. Perhaps I’ve given him something to think about after all.
Seven
I don’t get much sleep that night. Even though my quarters are empty of all but me, I can feel the Spidae’s presence lurking just outside my room. He’s there all night, and I can practically hear him thinking. He never comes in, and never says a word. Just lurks…and thinks.
And I know without asking which Spidae it is, too. It is the gray-eyed one, the one I’ve taken to calling “Neska” in my head. Zaroun is “dusk” in my homeland’s language, because he sees all as it ends. I call the blue-eyed aspect Ossev, which is “dawn,” or beginnings. But Neska?
Neska is what we call a troublemaker. Someone that is far too clever for their own good. It fits him and the way he studies me, like he’s trying to figure out a particularly complex puzzle.
When morning comes, though, Neska’s ominous presence is gone from outside my rooms. I suppose that’s a blessing, but I’m not entirely sure what to think of it. Perhaps he’s decided that pleasing me isn’t worth the effort, and he can just go back to utilizing my body like he would any other pot or pan. Then again, I doubt he’s ever used one of those, either.