Dogs and Goddesses Read online

  He pushed her against the wall, supporting her, and tore his mouth away. “Where can we go?”

  “Right here. Right now,” she said.

  He carried her over to the waist-high counter, shoving the cookies and mason jars out of the way. She lay back, spreading her arms over her head as he pulled her underwear off her. “Hello Kitty?” he muttered, tossing it to one side.

  “So I like anime,” she said, waiting for the rasp of his zipper, waiting for him to push inside her, fill the emptiness that had been tormenting her for weeks. For all her life.

  She felt his hands on her hips, and a moment later his mouth between her legs, and she let out a little shriek of surprise, reaching down to push at him.

  He caught her hands in his, holding them, as he tasted her, his tongue wicked and wonderful, and in a moment she climaxed, hips arching, straining, needing more. He touched her, one finger sliding inside her, and the feelings multiplied until she could think of nothing at all but the waves of pleasure rippling through her body.

  She came down, slowly, and he pulled away, wiping his mouth on his open shirt, and his eyes were glittering in the stormy darkness. Abby was panting, her heart banging against her chest, trying to find her voice.

  “I didn’t think math professors did that,” she gasped.

  “Only when we’re particularly inspired,” he said, pushing her back on the counter so that she lay across it, her skirts up to her waist, and he climbed up after her, between her legs, and he cradled her head in his arms, kissing her, and she could taste her own desire on his mouth, and it only made her hotter.

  She reached down and fumbled with his jeans, undoing them with shaking hands, shoving them down his hips, reaching for him, putting her hands on him, the hard, smooth length of him, and another ripple hit her, without him touching her.

  She heard the rip of paper. “You brought a condom?”

  “Condoms, plural. Always prepared, remember?” He slid his hands under her butt, cupping her, and she could feel him against her, hot and hard, and she was so wet that when he sank into her, there was no pain, just a glorious fullness that made her body begin to shiver and clench once more.

  He froze, as she shattered around him, keeping very still until the last stray shudder left her, and then he began to move, so slowly that each thrust shook her, pumping into her, and she wanted even more, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him in deeper, wrapping her arms around his neck, closing her eyes and meeting him, thrust and push and a shattering delight that was so powerful she let out a low, keening wail as she felt him climax inside her.

  And somewhere in the distance she thought she heard the dogs howling in unison.

  He collapsed on top of her, gasping, and she cradled him, shivering as the last tiny orgasms drained away, and she felt limp, exhausted, and complete. Totally and forever, and all she wanted to do was hold him.

  The thunder had died away, the wind had slowed, and in the distance she could hear the soft, soothing sound of rain as it fell outside, a gentle benediction after the anger of the approaching storm. All was as it should be, calm, peaceful. Right.

  It was quite a while later when she heard his voice, soft and wry. “Did your dog howl at the same time you did?”

  She laughed. “I think so. I don’t know where he is—he must have decided to give us some privacy.”

  “Great,” he grumbled, lifting his head to look down at her. “Let’s hope the voice in my head is just that, and doesn’t come equipped with eyes as well. I’d rather not be on display for dogs or gods.”

  “I don’t think Milki-la-el is a god. Just a mathematician.”

  “Hey,” Christopher protested. “That’s close enough. You ready to go upstairs? Not that this counter isn’t delightful, but the butcher block is hurting my knees.”

  “And my butt,” she said. She reached up a hand to push his tumbled hair out of his face. “You realize this doesn’t make sense, don’t you?”

  “Love isn’t supposed to make sense.”

  She froze, looking up at him. “Love?”

  “What do you think this is? Recreational therapy? I’m a logical man, and I can draw logical conclusions. I’ve never been at the mercy of my biological needs or, even worse, my emotions. And I am now. Totally. And if that isn’t love, then I don’t know what is.”

  “What makes you think I’m in love with you?”

  He grinned then, his dimples deep and adorable. “You can spend the next sixty years trying to convince me you’re not,” he said simply. He pulled away from her, climbing off the high wooden counter, and yanked up his jeans before he reached out a hand to help her down. “That sound acceptable to you?”

  She looked up at him, feeling the warmth and joy flood through her, and she put her hand in his. “It sounds perfectly logical,” she said.

  And she led him upstairs to her nice, soft bed.

  Kammani was waiting at the altar with Umma at her side, preparing for that night’s Goddess Way meeting—there’d been a hundred people there on Saturday when she’d announced the plague, and there’d be more tonight, and that knowledge, mixed with the strange and alien contentment that Mina’s pills brought her, was making her sure and steady again—but for some reason her black jacket didn’t feel right. The cloth strained and the buttons turned sideways as if they were about ready to pop—

  The doors opened and Sam came into the temple, wet with rain.

  “It is good!” she called to him, leaving her jacket unbuttoned as Umma and Bikka danced out to meet him. “The worshipers are flocking to us. We will soon reign again—”

  “No.” Sam stopped at the foot of the steps.

  Kammani lost her smile as she felt the desert stir inside her again, muffled by that chemical contentment. “We have called many to our side for the Goddess Way. Our worship meetings now fill the auditorium.”

  “Cheetos?” Bikka whined to Sam.

  “Not here, Shar has some at home,” Sam said to the little dog. Then he looked back at Kammani. “You don’t have worshipers; you have groupies.”

  “Groupies?” Kammani said, confused.

  “And you sent a sickness—”

  “Cheetos?” Bikka whined to Sam again.

  “Shhhh,” Umma said to Bikka.

  “I sent a plague,” Kammani said, thinking, What’s the big deal? “It has been four days and my worship swells as hundreds die—”

  Sam shook his head, looking equal parts tired and angry. “Mina didn’t tell you, did she?”

  Kammani frowned at him. In another life, a life without meds, she might even have been alarmed.

  “You sent a plague this world has conquered,” Sam said. “Most of these people have been vaccinated; they’ve taken medication that keeps them from getting sick. The others are healthy enough to survive. No one is dying. They’re just angry and they’re looking for where the sickness came from.”

  “It’s a deadly plague,” Kammani snapped, her contentment falling away. “The last time I sent it—” She stopped, seeing the pit before her.

  “Nobody is dying here.” Sam took a step closer and she could see the winter in his eyes. “But the last time you sent it, people died, didn’t they?”

  Kammani took a step back.

  “You sent the measles to Kamesh and killed them,” Sam said, his voice like a knife. “That’s why they stopped worshiping you, because you were greedy and sent the plague to command obedience, and too many of them died and the rest left the plague city. Ishtar didn’t overthrow you, the people left you, and when you were weak and alone, Ishtar took you.”

  “They were not devout,” Kammani said, and heard the whine in her own voice.

  “They were not yours to kill,” Sam said.

  “The world is mine to kill.” Kammani drew herself up. “As you are mine to sacrifice. The solstice is Saturday—”

  “I will come to the sacrifice only if you take us back to Kamesh,” Sam said. “Back to the time before the plague. I’ll b