“We were yours from the start, Pan,” Erastos murmured as he traded places with Drakon.
I was still trembling with pleasure when Erastos took hold of my thighs. But instead of taking me right away, Erastos lifted my hips from the water and covered me with his mouth. I screamed in shocked rapture as his hot tongue flicked over the spot his fingers had previously worked. Pleasure surged up my thighs and set them to shaking.
“Sly bastard.” Akylas chuckled. “Enough of that. Save it for the next round, after we've all been sated.”
“You ruin all my fun,” Erastos said as he lowered me to the water again. Then he set his stare on me. “I love you, Pan. I have from the moment I first saw you.”
“I love you too, Erastos,” I whispered as he sank into me.
I clung to the men around me as Erastos climbed to the peak of ecstasy with me, and by the time we crested, those who had gone before him were ready to begin all over again. But they had to wait for Praxis and Akylas.
The men carried me between them to the shallows and set me on my knees. I looked up at them in curiosity as Akylas knelt before me and Praxis behind. Praxis eased my legs apart as Akylas took himself in hand and offered his proud length to me. I frowned, a little confused, until he pressed the wet tip against my lips gently. As I opened my mouth to Akylas, Praxis slid into me from behind. I gasped, and Akylas shoved himself in deeper.
Moaning around his flesh, I began to find joy in the deed, learning what motions Akylas liked best. I sucked him in and ran my tongue over him, tightening my lips and then pushing them forcefully down his length. Then I lifted a hand and began to rub him as I licked. Akylas was shouting and shooting his desire into my mouth within minutes as Praxis tensed and pressed tightly to my hips.
When the pleasure subsided, I opened my eyes to find the others closing in. With a soft smile, I went into their arms, and the pleasure started all over again.
Chapter Twelve
After an amazing evening at the waterfall, we went home to our tree and looked over our loot. Several of the items were things that I intended to take to the Indian tribe to trade. They made wonderful blankets and shoes, fresh ground cornmeal, and had plenty of buffalo meat to spare. I was sure that they'd be interested in bartering for the knives, iron tools, and gold we'd stolen. The metal could be melted down and made into jewelry; another art they excelled in.
But there were a few things we'd taken for ourselves. Drakon, as I mentioned, took quite a few cooking supplies and he bustled about the kitchen putting them away. Straton sharpened the blades, casting satisfied smiles my way in between draws of the whetstone. Akylas was carving a piece of wood using some of the tools we'd taken, humming to himself. Praxis was polishing a gold statue of Aphrodite, which he said looked just like me. I didn't agree–the artist had obviously never met my mother. But Erastos simply lounged across my lap, playing with the ends of my hair.
“The fools,” he whispered to me. “Playing with toys instead of you.”
“Are you playing with me?” I asked him.
“In only the most affectionate way,” he drawled, his hand slipping beneath the hem of my skirt.
“Hey now”–I batted his hand away–“I need time to recover.”
“Hardly,” he scoffed. “You're a goddess, remember?”
“Leave her be, Erastos,” Straton growled. “We have exhausted our Pan.”
“Our Pan,” Drakon repeated as he came out of the kitchen. “She finally knows how appropriate her name is.”
“You're our everything,” Erastos purred, confirming Drakon's confession, and nestled closer. “Life is complete.”
“I'm glad you're all happy.” I chuckled.
“I hear a 'but' coming,” Praxis said. “And I don't mean Straton.”
“Funny,” Straton said in a dry tone, but his lips twitched.
“But, I'd like to take some things over to the Indian tribe to trade,” I said. “Who wants to join me?”
They all stood.
We packed up the items to trade, then made the trek out to the Indian village. I had once tried to explain to the men that the Indians weren't barbarians, as they had originally called the tribe. I went on to tell them that there were several tribes, each with their own name, but an explorer mistakenly labeled them all as Indians once, because he thought they were living on the continent of India. The continent wasn't India and was later named America, so the proper name for them collectively is Native American.
The warriors hadn't understood anything past “Indians,” so that's what we called them.
The Indians saw us coming and met us at the entrance to their village; a clearing filled with teepees and cooking fires. We were greeted warmly and taken to the chief. The chief's daughter, Tigerlily, sat beside him on a brightly colored blanket before their fire. Stew bubbled in a pot on the fire, and it mixed with the scent of tobacco smoke.
The chief handed his pipe to Straton with a smile, and Straton accepted with a grateful nod. This was their ceremony that was performed every time we visited. It was like an unspoken agreement to remain friends. After Straton had taken a puff and passed the pipe back, the Chief spoke.
“Welcome, Pandora and Guardians of Hope,” he said. “What has brought you to our village this night?”
