Page 7 of Match Me If You Can

Nemesis was tall. Nemesis was gorgeous. And Nemesis was dangerous. Which meant she was always the most frightening and the most desirable guest at any event. She rarely attended, which made her stock rise even higher. Hera hadn’t seen her in ages.

“What would you have me do, Revenge?”

“Give them a show instead.”

Hera narrowed her eyes at the chiseled features and then decided she had enough caution to throw to the wind for eternities.

And so she did. They danced. Which caused the entire party to watch and whisper. Then they did shots, boisterously, competing with one another for the whole world to see. When Hera winked, Nemesis smiled, and the door of the bathroom loudly banged shut as Hera’s back was shoved roughly against it.

The kiss was violent, and Hera reveled in it, the scent of gunpowder mingling with tequila and lime on her tongue. She allowed her fingers to delve into the mahogany locks and pull. Nemesis’s answer was a bite to her lower lip, which in turn made Hera moan.

A stray—perhaps too stray to actually be such—thought intruded even as callused hands pulled up her skirt by inches and a palm dragged high up her thigh.

Why had she not done this eons ago? Where had this mouth and these hands been for ages?

Better late, as they said, and Hera was one to listen to popular wisdom. On occasion. Particularly on this occasion, as Nemesis had her pinned to the bathroom door, with the entire crowd of deities partying outside. She did not demand that Hera be quiet. Which in turn made Hera swallow her whimper.

“No, don’t hide. Don’t let them have the upper hand.” Nemesis leaned in, her mouth again near Hera’s ear. The hot tongue—so hot it felt almost unnatural when everything about this goddess was ice and patience—licked up from her neck to bite gently on her earlobe. Hera allowed herself to exhale. And then, as fingers unceremoniously ripped her silky underwear, she forgot why the hell—fuck you, Hades—she thought keeping her silence was even an option.

Nemesis’s fingertips worked their way through her trimmed curls and down her wet slit, and Hera felt the bathroom tilt, just a little, just a touch. She held her breath again, and Nemesis lifted her face to look at her. To this day, Hera wondered what Nemesis had seen there, in her eyes, that stayed those fingers.

She had expected rough and fast. She had expected three fingers knuckle deep, stretching her, pulling her apart, making her gasp and scream; she had expected thrust after thrust, all hard enough to lift the door off its hinges.

She did not expect a gentle circling of her clit. She did not expect little kisses that peppered her jaw, her chin, her cheekbones. She did not expect, oh titans, Nemesis to fall to her knees in front of her and inhale.

It was, perhaps, the most erotic sight she had ever witnessed and one she never thought would involve her at all. The Goddess of Revenge, all pale skin, sharp features, and hungry eyes leaning closer to smell her arousal before the look turned impossibly hungrier still, and the full lips descended on her.

That wicked mouth took her apart. She came fast, embarrassingly so, just like a woman who had not had anyone else make her come in… Well, too long. So long, Hera felt embarrassment was an insufficient emotion to cover the length of time since anyone had looked at her in awe, in desperation.

And Nemesis seemed desperate, desperate enough for her that after Hera came once, she was simply held up, hard hands against her hips, as the red, slick mouth kept going. Lips sucked her clit in, the tongue worked its very tip, and Hera could have sworn the lights dimmed in the bathroom, her pulse hammering so hard, it was louder than the music outside.

And then… Well, then was when the real weakness came, Nemesis stood up, hands cradling Hera’s face, and kissed her, with none of the violence of their first. And tasting herself, Hera thought that she perhaps had never truly realized how actually dangerous this goddess was. And so she pushed her away. Called her chorus of bears and allowed them to whisk her off, leaving without saying goodbye. As one does after being so thoroughly fucked in the bathroom during Hermes’s party.

So yes, that moment of weakness was… nothing. It was nothing. No matter how hot Nemesis’ eyes burned. Hera chose to ignore the fire. Hera also chose to school her features. No time for those memories. No time for those weaknesses. Her plan was slowly but surely coming to fruition, and nothing would stand in her way.

“Let’s pretend I came because of the summons, Your Majesty.”

Nemesis drew out the title and extended a hand, palm up, gesturing for Hera to speak. Hera almost slapped the offending appendage. Nobody ordered her around.