She was far better this way, far more interesting. There were little rivulets of reddish brown mud running down the pale whiteness of her cheeks, down her neck, around the firm roundness of her breasts and into her cleavage. Dionysus followed the tracks of the bloody mud with his eyes, pleased with the change. She no longer looked cold. He did not think that her nipples were pebbling in that pleasing fashion because she was chilled.
A look into her eyes made him more certain that he was right. She was excited. His head tilted to one side, trying to determine what it was that brought this about. What was it that titillated her so? Was it just the excitement of the moment, or was it a true arousal that moved her?
And then she gave him the answer when she began to play in the mud. It was confirmed when she spoke, and Dionysus' arched a brow at her, intrigued by this side of the pretty, perfect daughter of Hera. What would the bitch-queen do if she knew her baby girl got off on blood? Or did she already know? Was it a trait that had been inherited? And then a new question took hold of his brain and refused to skitter off to the edges as the others had. A question that needed an answer. A question he was going to put to action.
“Bare? You are not bare now, sister,” he told her in challenging tones. With that, he stripped off what little clothing he'd retained and stood naked in front of her, his own reaction to her mud and blood covered body plain to see. He was not ashamed of it, in fact he was rather proud and it showed in his stance. “You are right. Bare is better.”
The question pounding in his brain was loud. It was hard to hear the screams from the village over the words repeating inside his mind. They were impossible to ignore. How would Hera react when she found out that he'd defiled her ivory daughter in the mud?