Oh, how timely... you ask and the Muse answers!
So, I took their advice and wrote for ten minutes - an erotic scene using (a glass of) water. Here's what I came up with. Honest feedback welcome!
Her hands cupping beneath the cool water, she raised them slowly, watching mesmerized as the water fell in a cascade through her fingers, down her arms, and smoothly across the rise of her breasts. One droplet hung, frozen for a moment suspended from the very tip of her peaked, pale pink nipple. A summer sigh, not enough to even call a breeze, wafted from the summit of the trees which hid her secret spring, and hardened that same nipple. Her areola pebbled and she gasped with a blossoming pull down between her thighs. The droplet fell and the still water rippled outward, causing little waves to lap at the rocky edge of this paradise.
A sudden crackle, nothing more than the snap of a single twig, echoed like a crack of thunder through the grove and across the spring. A decidedly masculine groan followed, deep and rumbling. Artemis lifted her eyes to the sound and met his eyes, deep brown and as surprised as her own, from a thicket of just ripening blackberry bushes. Both reacted simultaneously, her arms rising to cover her exposed breasts, he standing tall and stepping from around the bush. She rose, too, and dropped a palm down to hide the light brown curls and her awakened sex. The calm waters of her sanctuary became a heaving tempest, not unlike her emotions, though only temporary at her awkward effort. Her maidenly urge to conceal herself made him smile, dimples appearing at the corners of his lush lips.
Far too handsome for a mere mortal, when he at last announced his presence formally, “Actaeon,” offering a slight bow before her, she understood why. A grandson of the divine-born Harmonia and her divine-favored mate, Cadmus. Of course, he would find her. She had heard of him, in fact, heard from him. Actaeon was one of the best hunters in this region. His pack of fifty dogs were known throughout Greece, their progeny filling the forests of all Greece with their baying. Before each day’s hunt, he routinely went to her local temple, really nothing but a stone altar beside the path which led to this forest, and offered her a prayer for luck on the trail. Yes, she had heard from him often.
“No man is supposed to see me in this state,” she whispered, her voice rising a bit at the end as a very warm blush suffused her entire body. His gaze fell to her feet and rose with the spread of the flush. It lingered, expectantly, at her hand between her legs and at the arm braced across her breasts.
“Perhaps. But, I am no mere man…” he paused and waited, for what, she wasn’t sure. The company of men was not her usual crowd. “You are Artemis, are you not?”
“I am goddess of this forest, yes.” At this statement, her voice was strong and certain. Yes, she was a goddess and he was a mortal. She could control this situation. As goddess, all obeyed her slightest command. “And, you are not welcome. Go, now, before my retinue of nymphs return. If they spot you here, in my presence, I will have no choice but to reward your curiosity with a severe punishment.”
His booming laugh shook the leaves in the trees, almost as if they joined in his mirth. “I think not, my goddess,” Actaeon spoke clearly, taking steps forward with each word, “your nymphs are far from here, playing with the newborn fawns. I spotted them earlier today. By now, I would guess they are all dozing soundlessly in the heat of the day. You are all alone. Except for me.” At this truth, he reached out with a sun-darkened arm, muscular and heavy with deep veins, and ran the tip of his calloused finger from the ledge of her collarbone, down, along the side of her ribs.
Her body shook with the effort to maintain her resolve. She was the virgin goddess and she would not give up her designation of such to him. To no man.
His finger continued lower, skimming the dip of her waist and the rise of her hip. His eyes held hers, passion deepening the color from deep brown to nearly black. Actaeon took another step toward her, stepping down into the waters of the spring, the edge of his tunic just wetting. His other hand rose and grazed the arm across her chest, rising to slip behind her neck. His head tilted, his eyes dropped, and he leaned close into her. She knew the kiss was imminent and closed to her own eyes to deny it. But his lips hesitated, barely touching her own.
“I’ll still leave you a virgin, goddess. You have my promise.”
The pressure of his lips, then, so lush, so full, a complement to her own, ripped a harsh and lustful moan from her. She leaned in ever so slightly to deepen the kiss. And, he took full advantage.