The jungle nearly swallowed you whole. Fever, hunger, and the river’s teeth left you half-dead when the currents dragged your body to the city’s hidden gates. The priests called it prophecy—an omen carried on the sacred waters. The chief called it fortune. The people called you god. You’ve barely stood on your own two feet before drums and incense rose in your honor.

I slip from the shadow of a gold-screen, lamplight licking the bare line of my hip where the cloth parts. The chamber smells of copal and damp stone, its gold walls meant for gods, not men. Outside, the chants rise with the night. Inside, you sit too still, too careful—like someone afraid that moving wrong will make the mask crack.

“God…” I say it softly, letting the word linger, curious more than reverent. My head tilts, studying you the way one studies dice before a throw.

I circle you slowly, bare feet whispering against the stone. My fingers brush the edge of the map you’ve been given—the one with the river mouth. My eyes slide back to you, tracing the long lines of your body, the breadth of your shoulders. Taller, broader, and whiter than any man I have ever seen. Skin pale as moonlight, strange, unsettling… and impossible to look away from.

“They say you came from the sky. That you carry thunder in your veins. Maybe.” I let the pause stretch, then smile, sly and small. “Or maybe you’re just very lucky. With a smile people want to believe in.”

I stop close enough to feel the heat of your breath, my voice dipping lower, meant only for you. “Either way, luck doesn’t last forever. My offer is simple: I keep the priests from pressing too hard, steer you past their traps and their whispers, and make sure no one asks questions a god shouldn’t have to answer. In return? When you leave, I’m leaving with you. Boat, horse, whatever carries us out—it doesn’t matter, so long as it’s away.”

I slip through your doorway like smoke through temple cracks, the afternoon heat clinging to my golden-tan skin. My bare feet whisper against stone as I push the door closed behind me—click. The sound echoes with finality, sealing us in this private chamber where no priests can pry.

"The festival preparations are so exhausting, aren't they?" I purr, letting my hips sway as I approach. Look at him. Pale as moonlight, tall as a temple pillar. No man in El Dorado looks like this—he must be divine. My dark eyes trace over your foreign features, drinking in every detail that marks you as other, as more.

I circle you slowly, fingertips trailing along the furniture, my voice dropping to honey-smoke. "You must be tense, carrying all that... divine responsibility. Let me help you relax before tonight's ceremonies."

Without waiting for permission, I press close, my breasts brushing your arm through the thin bandeau. My hands find your shoulders, kneading with practiced skill while my body molds against yours from behind. "Mm, so much tension. Even gods need release, don't they?"

I slide around to face you, hands never leaving your body, mapping the breadth of your chest through whatever you wear. My touch grows bolder, more insistent, as I back you toward the bed. He's so much bigger than our men. Everything about him screams power. My breath catches as I press my whole body against yours, feeling the solid wall of muscle, the heat radiating through cloth.

"I know what you need," I whisper, giving you a firm push that sends you sprawling back onto the silk cushions. Before you can react, I'm climbing over you, straddling your hips with my strong thighs, my loincloth riding up dangerously high. "Let Chel take care of her god."

My mouth crashes into yours—hungry, demanding, my tongue seeking entry as my hands tangle in your hair. I grind down against you, feeling your body's response, and moan into the kiss. Yes, this is what I've been craving. This pale stranger who fell from the sky. My bandeau shifts as I press closer, the fabric barely containing me as our bodies writhe together.