CHAPTER 351: OCEANMASTER II—MAYA OF THE STORMS

"HELLO, HUSBAND...long time no see." The girl under the shower streams didn’t need to speak above a whisper to be heard.

For her voice to float like a plucked harp to him was part of her abilities. She was a special kind of siren this girl—their goddess. Her words did not just enter his ear, they echoed.

Eotigan just sat there, like a virgin lad in a notorious brothel, the linen over his thighs short of his knees. The damn cloth barely covered over his balls. He had forgotten he had a wife.

"Shit." he drawled. In his defense, it had been a marriage of convenience.

Everything about the Bringer of Storms was sensual, from the second she’d appeared under the rains in the stall like it was just some indoor waterfall and not a showerhead. She made things, sexier. Again, part of her abilities. As merfolk it was pretty curious for them not to be sexy; fluid, to move like water. Eotigan had not seen this girl in many moons but she did not need to move more than one step for him to remember those hips.

Body of a water dancer. Skin of smelting ivory. Waist like a gypsy harlot.

Eotigan still hadn’t acknowledged that she was before him, in the hot bath, physically. He was so shocked and into her—really into her—at the same time that he did nothing to stop it when his happy thoughts reached his penis. And the damn towel didn’t do shit. His arms laying on either side of the warm stone bench where he sat, he felt his dick rise and rise, turned big and bad, and hard and fat, like some evil cucumber. Now the little decency towel was hanging off the broad tip—made it look as if he’d an umbrella on his crotch. Or a weird ghost.

"Oh well, it’s nothing she ain’t seen before." He pacified himself. A most ignoble thought.

Eotigan watched her step out from under the water pattering down and move for him. Her skin was shiny and gave off steam. She looked so ethereal. Divine. Serpentine. He mostly noticed her waistbeads, anklet, navel piercing, nose ring—in that exact order, as she drew closer. Like him and other [Rank S] deities, her visible tattoos were a representation of their [Arcane Rune], or [Aqua Rune] in her case. For one of the most powerful gods still being worshipped with devout temples dedicated to their name, this girl had few tattoos.

Apparently, she liked silver more than ink.

Did Eotigan notice her ass when she sat? Fucking right he did!

His brain scuttled about. "I’m not gonna look. I’m not gonna look. I AM gonna look."

Look, he did. And what a looker she had behind there. ’Is it just me or did her butt get bigger,’ he admired profusely her fat ass as she lowered to the slab beside him. How he wished it was his cock she was dropping a squat on.

He had already envisioned thirteen positions that would work on the stone bench. In the stalls over there too. And he hadn’t said one word to her.

Her marine eyes flew up to him and he deftly averted his.

"Are you going to talk to me or you want me to suck your dick first?"

"What—" Eotigan looked back at her.

Her turquoise crescent-moon eyes were on his canopy penis. Her stare flicked between his face and his engorged sceptre. He was in fact girthy. "I said, will you keep staring or...do you want me to suck your dick?" There was her melodious voice again. Eotigan blinked. Unsure. She looked like she meant it. Her lavender hair was glittering like Mayfair. Her lips were full and sweet. "I-I don’t know," he began, "do you want to?" Absent-mindedly he sat back and shifted his lean hips, causing his pecs and V-line to harden out more. It had been months since he’d seen her. He did not want to assume. But she smiled, hearing his voice. "Oh he speaks. Finally!"

She continued bluntly, "and yes to your question. I would very much like you have you in my mouth." She put that cruel cerulean scrutiny on his crotch and fed her eyes and made a low moan. "Hmmm. You are as big as I remember, my king."

She gently touched his right thigh, loving the coarse-fine golden hairs she felt on her way to the bulbous prize. "Let’s have a look now," her voice dropped in growing heat. She pulled on the little linen hanging off of him, and he bobbed right into view. He was full and great of seed, a real hard man. She made that low moan again, biting on her bottom lip, and Eotigan bobbed before her eyes. She made an appreciative chuckle, seeing him twitch. "By the gods, my Israfel, I am going to enjoy this."

She sighed over his cock.

Eotigan felt her breathing descend over his crotch. He wanted to joke that a goddess shouldn’t have to cuss ’by the gods’. He wanted to pick up her long, purple hair and deepthroat her like a motherfucker. He wanted to bend her over this slab in this hot bath after that and make those waistbeads jiggle. He wanted to taste her glossy skin and lick her piercings. He wanted to take comfort in her big bosom and remember she was someone who knew him from the old days.

But she had called him Israfel. . .and that, that just reminded him too much of those days.

His dick was still hard though. And her mouth was fast closing in. "Y-Yemaya..." He called her name for the first time, touching her back to stop. Even then, his baritone wavered. It took a severe deal of self-control to deny a girl looking like Yemaya. "Yes?" the water goddess looked up at him while still bent over his thighs. Confronted with the picture of paradise that was her face, Eotigan understood he hadn’t thought this far ahead.

In the moment he had just wanted to stop her from putting her mouth down there and sealing the deal. He said the first thing that came to him.

"—I d-don’t go by Rafel anymore."

"What?" Yemaya sat up. She looked at him like he’d just said, ’the only way to heaven is a ladder.’

Eotigan suddenly felt the need to place his hands over his dick. He should write a book on how to stop girls from giving you head; it’d be a bestseller.

"...uuuuhhm." he shrugged, desperately looking for an out. He seriously eyed the stalls privacy. In the caldarium, astride the hot stones and steam, Yemaya could read every goddamn line on his face. And now it looked like she wanted to burst into laughter.

Great. Just freaking great.

"What?" she said again, in her whisper of a voice. Her gaze upon him was now more comical than sexual.

Eotigan’s mouth was opening to say sweet nothings when the woodboard door of the hot bath was suddenly pulled open, pushed to the side since it was samurai-styled. Inaia stepped in. She walked into the hot room like she has breathed fire upon the stones. She was in a bearish robe, but looked like she had just come short of putting on pants. Like she had rushed over. But this didn’t diminish her cool. Her own honey voice slithered in the chamber. She bowed. "Your divine Majesty, what my Lord [host] means to say is we’d like to offer you breakfast, in the proper fine dining of this ship, please. And I don’t mean his dick."

She said this to Yemaya, Bringer of Storms.

Eotigan couldn’t tell if his Subserviená had just saved him an awkward moment or unknowingly made an enemy of a [Rank S] goddess.

Yemaya looked from Inaia to him. Then her pink lips spread in an honored smile, her piercing glinting. She told him, pointing towards the door, "I don’t know who that is, but I like her. She’s got spice!"

Eotigan gave back in his mind. ’I couldn’t agree more.’

Yemaya rose from the stone slab, magnificent in her skin and rings. She looked right into the hazel eyes of Inaia and accepted her proposal with a beaming smile.

"I would love to have dinner with you."

Inaia left after that, pushing the cypress screen door closed again. Eotigan looked to his side again and Yemaya was gone. Vanished in the same water and steam she’d appeared from.

It wasn’t until they were sitting under a white Ephesian tent ten minutes later, enjoying the gold warmth of the morning sun with a few other rich patrons that the Bringer of Storms made her appearance once more.

Eotigan was dressed in blue—Kambili’s pick. At his sides, both ladies were in white. Inaia did a dress and scarf. Kambili rocked her khaki shorts. They were all barefoot. The breeze was easy. The Cruiser glided like a swan. The morn was a poem of its own. Still, when Yemaya walked in through the glass doors, ushered forward by a blushing server, Eotigan knew the morning had got nothing on her. This was the kind of wife men hoped to come home to.

There were several seats laid out under the tent; the ship’s prominent deck had being converted into a proper kind of patio-style restaurant, overlooking dawn, the sails beating above. Yemaya moved between the seats and skitter, near fluorescent in her blue skirts and silver sandals. She had spotted Eotigan right after the server; his red top calling to her. Some wintry music was in play in the background as she strolled in. Her dress was casual but her curves weren’t. There was no hiding that body, even in some simple blue cotton. Eotigan imagined everything from the breath leaving her lips to the multicolored waistbeads coasting her wide hips.

Evilly, he handpicked the table close to the furthest spot on the deck. Just so he could trace the swell of her breasts, pressing together as she moved.

"This is a blue-and-white party then." Yemaya grinned as she sat. It was Inaia who stood up and held out her chair, offering her the only other seat left at their table, opposite Eotigan. The wind spirited in her hair and he reached out to touch the long brush. At this point, the three women at the table shared a look; the Apollyon of Hel did have a soft heart after all. Eotigan was quick to pull back his hand. "Do we have you to thank for this weather, bringer of storms?" he teased.

"Actually, no. Do you think I control everything?" She teased back.

"Actually...yeah." Eotigan was unfazed. Yemaya laughed and shook her head at him. She moved her crescent pupils to the quiet half-caste by his left instead. "And who is this fair dame?"

Inaia introduced Kambili—because the girl was mute. Yemaya was like this omnipotent deity in her kindred land, and to see her literal god just sashay up to breakfast with the fam was. . .too overwhelming. Kambili was in a trance. She didn’t even know how she was still breathing. She’d have died in the presence of the Ocean Mother were it not for the handsome devil whose hand she clutched on the table. As they sipped on fresh, hot tea from ornate mugs and awaited their orders, Inaia asked the water goddess all the bubbling questions.

Yemaya was patient. She answered them all: the historical sham wedding and such. And she told the stories of King Israfel of the Atleantean Colonies.

When Kambili tried to hail her goddess, the divine Majesty, Yemaya, the goddess butted her deification of her and insisted she be addressed informally, simply, as "Maya."

Eotigan still cemented in sexy bass: "Queen Maya of the Storms."

Their breakfast arrived. They ate in silence.

Maya was putting down her napkin when she asked the hardest question of that morning. It was so unexpected and bold, even the tides stilled against that mighty ship. Maya asked,

"So tell me, my King, why did you change your name?"