He raised himself to meet her, the soft skin of her breasts pressed to the hardness of his chest. She loved this. She loved him and in her soul she knew how foolish that was. Her hands slid over his shoulders, hanging off of him as she met his gaze inch for inch. His fingers bit into the soft skin of her flesh, eternally smooth and supple -- a faint glow of radiance that never seemed to fade. She was as golden as the jewels that she preferred, an ethereal woman quite literally. A goddess in every sense of the word, and yet never quite good enough to hold Zeus’ attention. It was a thorn in her palm, buried beneath the skin, a thing so tiny that it was invisible and yet it caused her such pain.

She shifted her weight, making a proper seat out of him. Her head had dipped to press slow, lazy kisses to the soft skin just above his beard and allowed them to travel to his ear. Her hips rocked slowly, tempting and teasing. She may only have had Zeus as her lover for the aeons that had already passed them, but he’d taught her enough -- bringing back silly little tricks that the mortals taught him so she could pleasure him like that too. And it wasn’t as if the goddess of marriage was unaware of the various pleasures that occurred in the marital bed, she kept tabs on those things too -- surprisingly.

She kept her lips on the space between his neck and ear, brushing her golden hair back over her shoulder. His hand snaked up to the back of her neck, possessively squeezing it before sliding low to trail the tips across her breasts. She hummed thoughtfully. He had been right, if she had a way of keeping Zeus from taking his pleasures -- she would have implemented already. Zeus was the strongest of them all, the champion of Olympus. He took great pleasure in getting his way, and he always got his way.

She had waited with bated breath to see his response to her decided prize for winning, although admittedly -- she was well aware of her chances of winning. Zeus had a penchant for being painfully stubborn, and she would have to work quite hard to win. Her fingers slid along his back, coming around the front to slide over the muscles of his chest before she found his shoulders. Her fingers kneaded and squeezed, impatience taking over as he questioned her to the last.

”The third.” She said indulgently. She was going to take her pleasures first -- and perhaps three for his one was exceedingly selfish. Served the bastard right. He took to the mortal women, while she was left alone to languish. He had a good and faithful wife right in front of him, a woman who would give him the world -- her world -- and yet he threw it back in her face once he was tired of her attention. His hands had guided her back, and she could feel the hard length of him. She wanted to sink onto him, to forget the wager entirely but now her pride was at stake. She made a breathy sound, her eyes briefly closing against the onslaught of sensation.

“You're asking me to be still, to play no effort in my own victory?

She grinned, tilting her head down to gaze down at him. ”Some might think it a gift. Their lover worshipping them as I would like to do. Are you afraid, little lightning god?” She said, reaching up to twirl one of the long strands of his beautiful hair around her finger. He had aligned them again, pressing her down to take the full length of him again. She groaned, tugging now on that little piece of hair as heat flooded her face. Her eyes sought the ceiling, knowing she had to get herself together or it would be over before it began.

Hera shuddered at his request, the terms he set forth determined to bring her to new levels of degradation. Crawling like a dog? Her jaw clenched at the idea. He’d call her to him every night for fifty years just to see that -- even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She shifted her hips, lifting herself and sinking back down in a slow, tempestuous rhythm. Torture, all of it.

Yet her pride would not let her say no.

She could not be afraid, not in front of Zeus.

”Yes.” She said, the blue of her gaze clear. They smoldered with heat, drawing the tendril of hair that she still had wrapped around her finger up to press against her lips. ”But if you so much as lift a finger to interfere, then you lose.”

She pulled back then, knowing that her original intentions of tying him down were going to have to be laid aside for now. He would have nothing to remind him of his instructions to be still, nothing to warn him if he so much as tried to take control from her. She lifted herself, humming thoughtfully as she considered what she might do. She pressed her palms into his chest, ushering him back down onto his back.

She kept their bodies joined, rolling her hips slowly as her fingers raked against his sides, nails biting into the flesh. ”I am going to enjoy this.” She murmured. And then she went to work. She pulled out all the stops, her hands everywhere as she crushed her mouth to his. It was so unfair, men lacked so many of the tender spots that women seemed to have. She rode him, drawing her lips down to his collarbone and nipping the skin there, the soft slick of her core taking him fully. She alternated her paces, looking for subtle signs that he was enjoying something in particular. Her fingers trailed along his body, looking...hunting for the places that he liked her to touch him the best. Her mouth followed suit, knowing that she was taking part of his pleasure and hers because she wasn't allowing him to touch. But...those were the rules. She just hoped he wasn't strong enough to follow them.