"Is this ever going to end?" Armand threw an annoyed glance at his phone's display. One pestering ping after another made it clear that, without doubts, his well-earned evening was a long way off.

"How come you've still not had enough of love?" Frustrated, he leaned back in his chair, taking a sip from his espresso. He'd lost count of how many he'd had today, but looking at the amount of cups currently piled up on his desk, probably too many. Of course, an overdose of caffeine wouldn't harm him, wouldn't even give him the slightest of heart palpitations. One of the perks of being an immortal god.

What he really wanted to do was put on his formidably cushioned, sleek over-ear headphones and crank up the volume on Sir Van "The Man" Morrison's Rough God goes Riding, but thanks to his exceptional hearing, he knew this wasn't going to do the trick. He had tried it in the past, and it had done virtually nothing to mask the annoying pinging.

Ever since the central office of Clouds of Love had been equipped with the latest technique, there hadn't been a way for him to escape the everlasting demands of those love-hungry humans. And they were always hungry. Every. Single. Day.

Dammit.

His fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the immaculate marble surface of his desk, while he stared morosely through the oversized panoramic window. The blazing sun rays, which never failed to gleam with bright insistency every single day of his unending life, didn't do anything to raise his sullen mood. On the contrary, down on earth night must have fallen, with it the cool and calming blanket of inky blue. After seven thousand years, being a god of love high above the clouds had somehow lost its lustre.

Okay, maybe apart from the ability to induce unlimited amounts of coffee and boasting fabulous abs without ever having seen the inside of a gym.

Yet, that wasn't enough to keep him happy, not after so many millennia.

Many times he had considered throwing it all away, but his boss, Mr. Z, had made it very clear that quitting wasn't an option. An immortal love god couldn't just resign. This was a lifetime assignment, at least ten millennia or until a suitable successor had been found. The search for a successor had been dragging on now for a few centuries, but there hadn't been anyone living up to Mr. Z's impossibly high standards. Running away was out of the question, at least if he didn't want't to lose his status as immortal. If there was one thing he cherished as a god, it was his immortality. He wouldn't want to live like those pathetic humans, having to spend his gold on such useless things like deodorant or toilet paper. Nope. No way.

He'd rather bore himself a few more centuries with this lovey-dovey crap than lowering himself to the status of a mortal, who had the lifespan of a gnat.

Armand sighed, running his hands through his golden-brown hair, while he checked his reflection in the window. He was really proud of how it was always just the right amount of messed up to look casual, but not too much to give the impression like he'd neglected it. Just like he was equally proud of his azure eyes, a piercing blue that could outdo every patch of brilliant blue sky above Cloud City.

He rubbed his hands together.

"Okay, let's do this shit. Only way to get rid of them is making them fall in love, right?" He grinned and so did his reflection, even if it was a bit lopsided. "Do what you do best, Armand." He gulped down the rest of his cold coffee and eyed the steady stream of messages on his crystal clear display that trickled by like a busy brook in spring. Maybe for once, there might be actually something interesting among those wishes, although he didn't dare to get his hopes up. If he knew something about those pesky humans, it was that they were as boring as they were predictable.

"Not now." Sylvia pulled the blanket up to her chin. She could barely keep her eyes open, and the blisters on her heels hurt like hell. Those high heels Edgar had bought for her were a total failure, no matter how stylish they had looked in the shop. Tomorrow she'd get back to her old but trusted sneakers. There wasn't any rule about what type of footwear staff had to use at the university, so she could as well show up in whatever felt comfortable. Nothing worse than having to work a night shift at the warehouse of the grocery store with sore feet after a long day's work. Besides, high heels were undeniably instruments of torture, no matter if Edgar thought they made her look "super hot".

But sleep wasn't anywhere close.

Edgar's hands were, and much too close for her taste.

"Come on, don't make such a fuss, baby," he muttered into her ear, wedging his hand between her legs.

No matter how much she wiggled around, his hands were faster, like he anticipated her next move, which was probably the case, since this wasn't the first time he was trying to get his way like this. What made her feel sick was that he usually succeeded, with his words, his hands, and his unnervingly talented fingers, that knew precisely how she liked it. Tomorrow morning, she would look at herself in the mirror and hate herself for it, for having been weak and given in to Edgar's bedroom skills.

How many times had she tried to ditch Edgar? She'd lost count already. Every time he'd been fucking around, he'd come back crawling with a gift that had been more expensive than the last. And she had fallen for it. Every. Single. Time. His good looks, his remorse, and his supposedly fierce determination to never tread out of line again, because, yes, he really only had eyes for Sylvia. This spectacle had been on repeat for the last three years with slight variations, the variations being mainly red-heads or brunettes, rarely ever blondes like Sylvia.

She pressed her lips together to keep herself from moaning as Edgar's cock was rubbing against the crevice of her ass.

"See, you like this. I know you," he said, and she hated that it was the truth.

So many times she had sworn to herself that she would dump him for good, no matter his good looks or expensive gifts that weren't really meant to delight her, but to alleviate his sense of guilt. One day though, one day, she would do it, would walk away from him and all the shoes, perfumes and overpriced designer clothes. Surely there were plenty of other women who would quickly jump into the mussed bed she had vacated.

It became more and more difficult to ignore Edgar's hands kneading her buttocks in a way that made her squirm. Still, she clung to her dream of a future where she would be independent, even if she didn't know how she would finance a life on her own. Her salary in her first year as assistant professor at the department of art history wasn't anywhere near enough to be able to rent a place as large as the one she shared with Edgar. Even with the extra hours she worked at the local supermarket, she wouldn't be able to afford something that was much bigger than a bathroom rug, which was about the size of the place her friend Caro called her home. She might be able to crash there for a few days, but given the tininess, she wouldn't want to impose herself. Going back to her parents wasn't an option either, as that felt like admitting defeat, like she had failed in adulting.

"Mmmhh, you smell so good. Is this a new perfume?" Edgar's lips had found her neck, and he placed a kiss under her ear, just where he knew she liked it.

A tingling sensation raced through her body right to the tips of her toes.

"Just my shower gel, same as always." There was nothing better than the fresh scent of almond and oranges. None of the heavy perfumes Edgar had given her could compete with that. Maybe she should try to concentrate on her next visit to the skin care aisle at the drug store to distract herself from Edgar's persistent lips.

He nibbled at her earlobe and his hot breath chased goosebumps all over her skin. A warning. If she didn't pull the brakes now, it would be too late, like so many other times before.

"Stop it." She dragged his hand away from the place between her legs, which he had so insistently aimed for. "I'm tired, besides I have to get up early tomorrow. I have a lecture to teach at eight."

"So, what? Me too," he grumbled, lifting her t-shirt and pinching one of her nipples. Heat built up between her legs, and this time, she couldn't hold back the moan that escaped her lips of its own volition.

"Maybe you can afford to be late, but I can't," she retorted. As a well-established university professor, he had more liberty in such matters, while she, being only in her first year, had to make sure to stick to the rules as closely as possible. Especially since she had the rector breathing down her neck already. Being late was not an option. She pulled away his hand and lowered her t-shirt.

"I'll be quick."

Before Sylvia could move, Edgar had grabbed both of her wrists and turned her around, so she lay under him, her hands secured above her head. With the weight of his body, he pressed her into the mattress and pushed his knee between her legs.

Sylvia wasn't at all weak or slow, but if Edgar wanted, he could easily overpower her, tall and buff like he was. Not that it had ever come to it, but the heated gleam in his eyes in moments like this had always made her wonder if he was into those type of power games.

"Come on, I know you want this too." A victorious smirk dawned on his face, when he slid the hand that wasn't wrapped around her wrists into her panties, and he found her lips as wet as she feared they would be. "A little bit of relaxation is good for both of us." He slowly kissed his way down her neck to her breasts, his mouth closing in one of her hardened nipples, while his fingers circled around her clit with just the right amount of pressure to make her arch into him.

"Edgar," she sighed as her resistance melted away. Sylvia's body obviously agreed with Edgar, no matter what her head had to say about it.

He still held her hands in a tight grip above her head while he ground his hips against her heated core. The delicious friction made her spread her legs wider.

Dammit. If only this didn't feel so good. Why does my pussy have a brain of its own, and why does it still listen to Edgar?

This was the moment she knew she had lost the battle. Sylvia couldn't resist any longer, didn't want to. She was, where she didn't want to be, under him, naked, and willing.

"Good girl," he murmured, and then his boxers were gone and her panties followed.

He kissed her mouth, wild and hungry, his lips igniting a fire inside her. Sylvia closed her eyes and gave herself over to the passion she craved, even if it came at the price of a broken heart.