Poseidon

Serious trouble

I refused to overthink this. I just wanted to have sex with him knowing it was fully me initiating it. And he wanted me too, and his kisses were seriously enough to make me drunk on them.

And his tongue!

I moaned ever so softly into his kiss, and he pulled back, eyes wide.

"Bad timing," he whispered. "Sorry!" he mouthed at me, and my stomach remained on that bed, and I was sucked away, and it was pretty uncomfortable, and I clung to Poseidon like second skin.

And we didn't land on a bed.

My holding on turned into me clamped around him, not daring to let go.

He wrapped his arms around me. "You need to let me go so we can stand up," he whispered into my ear.

"Where are we?" I breathed back. My voice was shaking.

He made me release him and got to his feet before pulling me to my feet.

I dared peek behind him, and it was like his place beneath the sea, only different. Less blue and more yellow-ish?

The same Greek style, marble floors and all, but warmer, somehow?

"We're in Olympia," Poseidon told me, voice soft. "And we're just getting dressed real quick, and I'll explain later. Please." He whispered.

"It goes against everything in me to just accept that," I admitted.

He smiled to me. "That's what I love about you," he said and dragged me to a closet and pulled it open. He riffled through it and handed me a dress. "Most goddesses prefer dresses." He said.

I looked at the silky fabric. "I'm not freezing," I admitted.

"Better hurry change, please, Athena," he begged me.

I turned my back to him and change out of his clothes and into the dress. I kept his boxers on, now he didn't find me any other panties.

The dress was navy and flowy, and it was super comfortable, I'd give it that. I turned to face Poseidon, who was in a toga, I'd say.

"Really?" I whispered to him.

He shrugged. "I prefer this, live with it, Snowflake," he said and placed his hand, almost awkwardly, on the top of my head.

I moved his hand as it felt like someone drizzled water over my head. "What are you doing?" I hissed at him.

"Making you look less like a drowned mouse by combing out your hair," he said and shifted my hand so he could wrap his arm around my waist. "That's it, nothing less, nothing more."

I wanted to push his arm away, but he didn't accept it, and merely held out his hand while we walked to the door.

By the time we met the door, he had the trident in his hand.

"Does it just bend to your will?" I demanded to know.

He winked at me. "Of course," he said and opened the door.

It was my turn to cling to him. My fingers were curled around the fabric of his fucking toga, and the hallway was deserted, and the room we entered was long and in the same style. Seriously, what was it with all this?