((Follows on after Sanctuary. Contains material of an adult nature toward the end.))
Midday had barely come by the time the dressmaker Ares had sent for arrived, bearing with her two huge suitcases of clothing, shoes, and underwear. She didn't speak a word of English, bustling Ayden into a private room from which there was no sound but the occasional yelp or giggle for around an hour. But it was a productive hour - by the time the girl reappeared, she was dressed, and the dressmaker disappeared up the stairs with one of the staff of the villa to stock drawers and closets with clothing that would both fit and suit the young woman the master had brought home with him. Embarrassed by the attention, and feeling more than a little out of her depth, Ayden went in search of Ares, only to be distracted by the view once again. She stepped out onto the veranda, one shoulder finding a lean against one of the columns that held the tiled shade in place, gazing out over the rolling foothills of Mount Taygetus in quiet awe.
As for Ares, he'd disappeared as well, but to his own quarters for a time. Not to the small set of rooms he was sharing with Ayden, but to another suite, much simpler in decoration, where he tended to stay when he was alone here. This was a private place with a locked door, where very few were ever allowed entry, a place of solitude where he was not allowed to be disturbed. What he was doing there, why he had secreted himself away, was no one's business or concern but his own. He would reveal this place - this inner sanctum - to Ayden, only when he was ready, only when she agreed to be his wife and he was sure she was his. Until then, this place remained his secret.
He was not there when she returned to the veranda, but she didn't have to wait very long for him to arrive. He did his best to hide the pained expression from his face for her sake, the sight of her standing there taking his breath away and distracting him from other worries and concerns. She was certainly a sight, and he could think of no one who was more worthy of immortality than her. He slipped up quietly behind her, arms weaving around her waist as his lips found the nape of her neck. "You look lovely," he remarked in a hushed voice, as though he was afraid talking might spoil the moment.
Surprised by his quiet approach, she gasped softly, the sound fading as her lips curved in a smile that was beginning to be reserved just for him, as his arms curled about her waist. Her hand rose as she stepped out of her lean, reaching back to stroke against his cheek as she looked up at him. "Thank you," she murmured, accepting the compliment without a fight for once. And though he was doing a good job of hiding that pain from his expression, she was training to be a doctor. She could feel the tension in him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he lied. "Are you ready for our walk?" he asked, changing the subject. He had instructed his staff to prepare and pack a light meal, which he'd left, for the moment, on the table where they'd breakfasted a short time ago. "How did things go with the dressmaker?" he asked further, turning the attention away from him onto her.
She wasn't convinced by the lie, but let him have it, trusting him to tell her if something was very wrong. His change of subject, however, made her roll her eyes. "You mean before or after she grabbed my boobs and started shaking them around?" she asked, demonstrating just to make sure he was completely clear on what she was talking about.
That made him laugh, which only caused him more pain, but he was too amused to let it bother him. It had been a minor wound, not deep, a simple scouring of flesh. It should have healed by now, but instead it seemed to be festering and getting worse. He'd managed to keep it to himself for now, hoping it would mend on its own, too proud to ask his mother or anyone else for help. As an Olympian, his flesh was impervious to mortal wounds, but the dagger used to cut him was no ordinary weapon. "I should like to have seen that."
"Play your cards right, I might let you recreate the moment," she told him, a little playful and perhaps a little promising as she turned in his arms to look up at him properly. Her fingertips traced the curve of his cheek, wondering at just how this gorgeous specimen could possibly believe himself to be in love with her. "So what are we going to do?" she asked him curiously, one brow ticking upward as she smiled once again.
"My cards. I do not play cards, Ayden." He considered quietly a moment, trying to sort out what it was she was trying to say. "Did you wish to make a wager?" he asked, misunderstanding her yet again, but then she was turning to face him, and her beauty nearly took his breath away yet again. It was good she didn't ask him what he wanted to do, or she might have received a very different answer than that of a mere walk. "If you wish, I will show you the villa." All of it, but one locked set of rooms.
She couldn't help the quiet giggle that escaped at his misunderstanding, shaking her head even as she kept that gentle caress tracing his features with a tenderness she hadn't thought herself capable of. "It's a figure of speech," she told him. "It means keep doing what you're doing, because it's the right thing." On impulse, she rose up onto her toes and kissed him then, a soft, shy press of her lips to his, wanting to share some of the tenderness she was feeling, even if she didn't yet understand it. "What do you want to do?"
Each touch, each caress, each kiss went one step further in taming his wild spirit, soothing his troubled mind. He drew comfort from her touch in a way unlike he had with any other woman since Aphrodite. It was what had drawn him to her all those years ago - her gentle demeanor, so unlike his tormented heart. But this was not Aphrodite, this was Ayden. She was not forbidden, nor did she belong to someone else; she was free to choose for herself who she would love, and he hoped it would be him. Faced with such a question, he could only be honest, even though she might not like the answer. "I wish to make love to you," he replied, honestly and bluntly.
On the contrary, she liked his answer very much, if the gentle rose flush on her cheeks was anything to go by. Add to that the sudden shallowness of her breath, the way her eyes darkened with longing, and he could be pretty certain that she wasn't at all averse to that suggestion. But perhaps she wasn't quite ready to approach it as a task he wanted to complete, though she was sure he didn't mean it that way at all. Her fingers brushed his throat, her palm settling against his chest as she looked up at him, shy and confident all at once, sure that he would not walk away from her for saying what she was about to say. "Can ....can we let it happen when it happens?" she asked him in a soft whisper. "It isn't far away, I just ....I'm shy and a little bit scared of not being good enough. Maybe in the moment I won't feel that way."
"You have nothing to fear, beloved," he assured her quietly, surprisingly so for a god known for his warlike qualities. "I will be gentle," he promised, touching her cheek softly as if to prove his claims, but he did not press her further. He was confident it would happen sooner or later, if he, as she had said, "played his cards right", though this was no game. Not to him. The thought of life without her was becoming harder to bear.
Midday had barely come by the time the dressmaker Ares had sent for arrived, bearing with her two huge suitcases of clothing, shoes, and underwear. She didn't speak a word of English, bustling Ayden into a private room from which there was no sound but the occasional yelp or giggle for around an hour. But it was a productive hour - by the time the girl reappeared, she was dressed, and the dressmaker disappeared up the stairs with one of the staff of the villa to stock drawers and closets with clothing that would both fit and suit the young woman the master had brought home with him. Embarrassed by the attention, and feeling more than a little out of her depth, Ayden went in search of Ares, only to be distracted by the view once again. She stepped out onto the veranda, one shoulder finding a lean against one of the columns that held the tiled shade in place, gazing out over the rolling foothills of Mount Taygetus in quiet awe.
As for Ares, he'd disappeared as well, but to his own quarters for a time. Not to the small set of rooms he was sharing with Ayden, but to another suite, much simpler in decoration, where he tended to stay when he was alone here. This was a private place with a locked door, where very few were ever allowed entry, a place of solitude where he was not allowed to be disturbed. What he was doing there, why he had secreted himself away, was no one's business or concern but his own. He would reveal this place - this inner sanctum - to Ayden, only when he was ready, only when she agreed to be his wife and he was sure she was his. Until then, this place remained his secret.
He was not there when she returned to the veranda, but she didn't have to wait very long for him to arrive. He did his best to hide the pained expression from his face for her sake, the sight of her standing there taking his breath away and distracting him from other worries and concerns. She was certainly a sight, and he could think of no one who was more worthy of immortality than her. He slipped up quietly behind her, arms weaving around her waist as his lips found the nape of her neck. "You look lovely," he remarked in a hushed voice, as though he was afraid talking might spoil the moment.
Surprised by his quiet approach, she gasped softly, the sound fading as her lips curved in a smile that was beginning to be reserved just for him, as his arms curled about her waist. Her hand rose as she stepped out of her lean, reaching back to stroke against his cheek as she looked up at him. "Thank you," she murmured, accepting the compliment without a fight for once. And though he was doing a good job of hiding that pain from his expression, she was training to be a doctor. She could feel the tension in him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he lied. "Are you ready for our walk?" he asked, changing the subject. He had instructed his staff to prepare and pack a light meal, which he'd left, for the moment, on the table where they'd breakfasted a short time ago. "How did things go with the dressmaker?" he asked further, turning the attention away from him onto her.
She wasn't convinced by the lie, but let him have it, trusting him to tell her if something was very wrong. His change of subject, however, made her roll her eyes. "You mean before or after she grabbed my boobs and started shaking them around?" she asked, demonstrating just to make sure he was completely clear on what she was talking about.
That made him laugh, which only caused him more pain, but he was too amused to let it bother him. It had been a minor wound, not deep, a simple scouring of flesh. It should have healed by now, but instead it seemed to be festering and getting worse. He'd managed to keep it to himself for now, hoping it would mend on its own, too proud to ask his mother or anyone else for help. As an Olympian, his flesh was impervious to mortal wounds, but the dagger used to cut him was no ordinary weapon. "I should like to have seen that."
"Play your cards right, I might let you recreate the moment," she told him, a little playful and perhaps a little promising as she turned in his arms to look up at him properly. Her fingertips traced the curve of his cheek, wondering at just how this gorgeous specimen could possibly believe himself to be in love with her. "So what are we going to do?" she asked him curiously, one brow ticking upward as she smiled once again.
"My cards. I do not play cards, Ayden." He considered quietly a moment, trying to sort out what it was she was trying to say. "Did you wish to make a wager?" he asked, misunderstanding her yet again, but then she was turning to face him, and her beauty nearly took his breath away yet again. It was good she didn't ask him what he wanted to do, or she might have received a very different answer than that of a mere walk. "If you wish, I will show you the villa." All of it, but one locked set of rooms.
She couldn't help the quiet giggle that escaped at his misunderstanding, shaking her head even as she kept that gentle caress tracing his features with a tenderness she hadn't thought herself capable of. "It's a figure of speech," she told him. "It means keep doing what you're doing, because it's the right thing." On impulse, she rose up onto her toes and kissed him then, a soft, shy press of her lips to his, wanting to share some of the tenderness she was feeling, even if she didn't yet understand it. "What do you want to do?"
Each touch, each caress, each kiss went one step further in taming his wild spirit, soothing his troubled mind. He drew comfort from her touch in a way unlike he had with any other woman since Aphrodite. It was what had drawn him to her all those years ago - her gentle demeanor, so unlike his tormented heart. But this was not Aphrodite, this was Ayden. She was not forbidden, nor did she belong to someone else; she was free to choose for herself who she would love, and he hoped it would be him. Faced with such a question, he could only be honest, even though she might not like the answer. "I wish to make love to you," he replied, honestly and bluntly.
On the contrary, she liked his answer very much, if the gentle rose flush on her cheeks was anything to go by. Add to that the sudden shallowness of her breath, the way her eyes darkened with longing, and he could be pretty certain that she wasn't at all averse to that suggestion. But perhaps she wasn't quite ready to approach it as a task he wanted to complete, though she was sure he didn't mean it that way at all. Her fingers brushed his throat, her palm settling against his chest as she looked up at him, shy and confident all at once, sure that he would not walk away from her for saying what she was about to say. "Can ....can we let it happen when it happens?" she asked him in a soft whisper. "It isn't far away, I just ....I'm shy and a little bit scared of not being good enough. Maybe in the moment I won't feel that way."
"You have nothing to fear, beloved," he assured her quietly, surprisingly so for a god known for his warlike qualities. "I will be gentle," he promised, touching her cheek softly as if to prove his claims, but he did not press her further. He was confident it would happen sooner or later, if he, as she had said, "played his cards right", though this was no game. Not to him. The thought of life without her was becoming harder to bear.