God of Wine
Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. #3
Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. #3
by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
Released November 25th 2016
Self-Published
Self-Published
CAN ROCK-HARD ABS SAVE THE WORLD? HE SURE
THINKS SO
Blurb
Acan, the God of Wine and Intoxication, has been partying for over ten thousand years. And New Year’s Eve, when humans around the world succumb to his naturally occurring spike in powers, is his big night. Only this year, things are bit different.
A plague is sweeping the immortal community, and he’s turning downright evil. All those New Year’s bashes will turn into bloodbaths if he doesn’t stop it. Sadly, the only known cure is finding a mate, and he is a giant, rude, beer-bellied mess. Definitely not husband material.
But can a little gym-time and help from the pros at Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. turn him into a divine sex-machine? Absolutely!
So watch out, ladies! The God of Wine is lookin’ for love. And he has absolutely no clue what he’s doing.
Acan, the God of Wine and Intoxication, has been partying for over ten thousand years. And New Year’s Eve, when humans around the world succumb to his naturally occurring spike in powers, is his big night. Only this year, things are bit different.
A plague is sweeping the immortal community, and he’s turning downright evil. All those New Year’s bashes will turn into bloodbaths if he doesn’t stop it. Sadly, the only known cure is finding a mate, and he is a giant, rude, beer-bellied mess. Definitely not husband material.
But can a little gym-time and help from the pros at Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. turn him into a divine sex-machine? Absolutely!
So watch out, ladies! The God of Wine is lookin’ for love. And he has absolutely no clue what he’s doing.
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Acan,
God of Wine and Intoxication, entered the upscale fitness club that boasted
some of LA’s tightest asses with one thing and one thing only on his mind:
Sweet. Fucking. Revenge.
“Fucking
human.” His eyes scanned the ocean of disgustingly healthy people, all tanned,
glowing, and annoyingly perky for five a.m. I
want to end them all. Starting with the woman from last night. Because of
her—one lowly human—he had been
unable to partake in his usual one hundred tequila shots and fifty beers or
“accidentally” burn down the posh Santa Monica hotel with one of his legendary,
crowd-pleasing, exploding mojitos. All because of a random woman he’d met in
the hotel elevator whilst in transit to last night’s rooftop party. He’d said,
“Hiya,” paid her a “compliment” and then invited her to the event. She’d
shockingly said, “Fuck off,” more or less. So he’d said, “Fuck off back, you
old bag.” She’d said, “Shove it and come to my gym so we can see who’s really
old.”
You! You are, you
wilted vag. Yeah. That’s right! She was some disgusting fitness-freak mortal
who spent her days denying the truth: she would grow old, her beauty would
fade, and her little lady “flower” would wither and die like an old tomato.
Yet
she had the gall to metaphorically
slap his perfectly bronzed cheek and challenge him to a fitness duel? Simply
because he’d complimented her by saying she had nice tits or something like
that? (Honestly, he couldn’t remember.) But
nooo… She’d turned her nose up at him in the elevator. So what if he hadn’t
been wearing any pants! Or underwear. Honest
mistake.
What a fuzzy cunt! With his horribly
clear vision, due to the lack of alcohol, Acan zeroed right in on the blonde
woman in her forties as she did squats and hip thrusts inside the fishbowl
aerobics room.
“There
you are…” His growl faded into the background as she raised her toned arms
above her head, clapping her hands, laughing and “wooing” with the other fitness
hags in the room. Acan suddenly felt his heart beating so hard that his knees
began to knock. His breath stuck in his lungs, and his eyes didn’t seem to want
to move away. She is so…radiant. So
lively. Her lovely creamy skin, pert nose, and beaming smile reminded him
of an angel. With really nice jugs.
And something about the woman’s tight, tight ass and long legs made him feel a
little tingly.
What? No. I can’t
stand her. Must be the lack of tequila in my system, making me all crazy. Being sober was
awful.
“Hey,
dude. No offense, but that’s pretty fucked up,” said a male voice.
Acan
looked down—way, waaay down since he was over seven feet tall—at the stumpy
little weight-lifter dude with bleach blond hair, wearing a black spaghetti
strap tank top.
“What?”
Acan pushed his snarled brown hair from his eyes, but it wouldn’t move. Why is my hair so sticky? Was it always
like this?
Stumpy
dude’s eyes flashed to Acan’s groin. “Pants, man. Pants. I mean, yeah, that’s a
huge shlong, but there’s a time and a place to impress the ladies. Yunnooo?”
Acan
looked at his lower extremities. “Hell.” He’d forgotten his pants. Again. And
his fucking underwear. Again.
That’s the fifteenth
time this week! I think. Either way, going to kill Jill, he thought. Jill,
his full-time assistant slash deity-nanny, was supposed to make sure he didn’t
go out the door showing off the man-gear anymore. Of course, it was now five in
the morning, and she was never on duty this early because he was never awake
before noon unless on his way to bed after partying all night, which was almost
every night. Jill didn’t usually get in until—well, he didn’t really know. He
was passed out most of the time.
It’s a tough job
being the party god, but someone’s got to do it.
Acan
jerked his head, playing it cool. “Thanks, dude.” He turned to leave, wondering
how he’d arrived to the gym naked. Uber? Chauffeur? Battery-powered kiddie
tank?
Gods, I hope I didn’t
ride my bike.
That seat was the worst on his bare balls.
“Hey!”
an angry female voice called out.
Acan
turned. Dammit all to hell. It was
her. The giant CrossFit fuzzy cunt. Okay, she was hot and all vivacious and
whatnot. But so? She was rude! And she didn’t know her place in this world. He
was a god, a force to be feared and…well, to have fun with. After all, he was
the embodiment of festive excess.
“You
showed up. I didn’t expect…” Her voice faded as she realized he was down a pair
of pants (and underpants) and up one man—involuntarily, of course. “I didn’t
expect to see your penis.” She swallowed and made a disgusted face. “Erect.”
He
crossed his arms over his chest. “What? Never seen a god before?”
“If
you’re referring to a beer-bellied slob reeking of stale beer, who’s standing
nude and aroused in the middle of my gym, then no. I’ve never seen a god.”
“Boom!”
He threw up his arms, making eagle talons with his fingers. “Well, now you
have.” He turned and strutted from the gym with his head held high. Godsdammit. I gotta get a drink.
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Author Info
MIMI JEAN
PAMFILOFF is a USA Today and New York
Times bestselling romance author. Although she obtained her MBA and
worked for more than fifteen years in the corporate world, she believes that
it’s never too late to come out of the romance closet and follow your dream.
Mimi lives with her Latin Lover hubby, two pirates-in-training (their boys),
and the rat terrier duo, Snowflake and Mini Me, in Arizona. She hopes to make
you laugh when you need it most and continues to pray daily that leather pants
will make a big comeback for men
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