Wicked Beauty (Dark Olympus Book 3)

Ajax waylays me before I make it into the gym. The big man clamps a hand on my shoulder. He’s got a few inches on me, putting him at damn near six five, and he’s shaved the sides of his head to give him a Mohawk of curly black hair. Ajax’s skin is a dark brown and he’s got plenty of it on display because he’s only wearing a pair of shorts and a muscle tank top that’s more holes than fabric. He grins. “I was thinking.”

“Dangerous of you.”

Ajax laughs. “Yeah, yeah. We both know I prefer a big hammer to a political roundtable, but things change.”

“You’re going to suggest an alliance for the first trial.” Patroclus predicted this. He’s done his research and run his scenarios, though sometimes the way his mind works is downright spooky. This one, however, even I could have seen coming. Ajax, Patroclus, and I are known quantities. We’ve worked together in the past, so it makes sense to align ourselves in an effort to eliminate as many people as possible in the first trial. The alliance doesn’t have to last longer than that to be worthwhile.

He laughs again and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Yep. I’d say there are a few champions no one wants to see become Ares. No reason to make it easy for them to pick us off.”

Interesting. I frown. “You’re allied with others?”

“I get around.” He drops his hand and shrugs. “What do you say?”

I say that Ajax is savvier than either of us gave him credit for. Still, it changes nothing for the first trial. There are a few champions I would like to see eliminated early, and Ajax as an ally makes that more likely to happen. But with that said, there’s no reason to muddy the waters. I have Patroclus. He’s all I need, and frankly, it would benefit us if Ajax is eliminated early.

I smile and shake my head. “Not this time, friend.”

“Damn. I was hoping to get you on my side. Ah well, it was worth a shot.” He clamps me on the shoulder one last time and ambles down the hall in the opposite direction I’m headed. “See you tomorrow, Achilles. Good luck.”

“I don’t need it.”

His laughter trails behind him as he rounds the corner and disappears. I head for the gym. Patroclus will have some theories on who Ajax would have allied himself with; I’d put good money on Atalanta. Ajax worked with Hector for a few years, and I think they’re on good terms, but Hector is a package deal with Paris, and no one wants to see Paris as the new Ares. None of us have had close contact with Atalanta, but her reputation precedes her. She’s steady under pressure and is pretty fucking brilliant. Not as brilliant as Patroclus, but definitely more than me and Ajax.

The gym is a nice setup, but I expect nothing less from Athena. She has her priorities in order, and she would have seen this room outfitted specifically to her directions like everything else in the house. Plenty of variety to fit the needs anyone could dream up.

I catch sight of the Minotaur on one of the benches, but he makes no move to lie back and pick up the bar with a truly outstanding number of weights piled on it. No, he’s staring at something I can’t see, his expression that of a hawk watching a particularly juicy mouse wander the field below it. That can’t be good. I stride down the space between equipment and stop short when I see what he’s looking at.

Patroclus…and Helen.

She’s on her back on the mat taking up one corner of the room, one long leg stretched up over Patroclus’s shoulder. He’s on his knees, pressing her leg down toward her chest. Rationally, I realize it’s a hamstring stretch and that they have all their clothes in place, but my brain sees the position and says fucking. Especially when he shifts forward and presses her leg another inch lower. They’re close enough to kiss, and even from here I recognize the flush of his skin.

He’s turned on. Really, really turned on.

Fury rises. I told them to stay away from each other, and it took all of ten minutes for her to have him on the floor, hot and bothered. Fuck, he knows better, too. Does no one listen to me when I talk? I clench my fists, fighting against the instinctive desire to stalk over there and rip him off her.

A snort has me looking at the Minotaur. He arches a scarred brow. “She’s moving fast with that one.”

I was just thinking the same thing, but that doesn’t mean I like other people noticing. “Shut the fuck up.”

He gives that snort again and leans back, easily picking up the bar and beginning to press it to his chest and up again. I watch for several repetitions before I turn back to Patroclus and Helen. She’s switched legs, and it irritates me further that neither of them even noticed me standing here. That spurs me into motion, the possessive ugly thing inside me taking control. I stop a foot from them and snarl. “Get up.”

Patroclus startles, which pisses me off more. He’s damn near impossible to sneak up on because he’s always thinking ten steps ahead, and yet he’s so focused on this woman that it put his big brain on hold. He sits back and shifts his hips as if I can’t tell that he’s got a raging boner. I glare at him and then turn my attention to her. “Up.”

Helen looks good. Damn it, I hate that she looks good. She’s got on a pair of pants and a sports bra that cling to her sweaty skin, showing off her toned stomach and nice tits. She sits up slowly, her expression pure challenge. “He was helping me stretch.”

“I can see exactly what he was doing.” It would be bad enough to have been the one to catch them, but with the Minotaur watching, judging, fucking laughing, I can’t get ahold of my anger. “You.” I point at Patroclus. “Get your head on straight.”

“Achilles—”

I ignore the exasperation in his tone and turn to Helen. “And you. Back to your fucking room, princess.”

“Funny thing, that.” She pushes to her feet, and I fucking loathe the way Patroclus watches her as if he’s going to jump in and catch her if she stumbles. The Minotaur is right; she’s working fast, and she’s working on my man. Helen stretches her arms over her head, pure challenge in those amber eyes. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Helen.” Now Patroclus turns that exasperation in her direction, which is another indicator of how close they’ve gotten in such a short time. He might be soft, but he’s very careful about who he extends his circle of protection to because of it. It usually takes ages for him to warm up to a new person. How the fuck did she manage it in just a few days? It can’t be because she knew him before I did. It can’t.

“I might not be the boss of you right now, but I’m going to be your husband, and you will stop acting like a spoiled little brat.”

Patroclus sucks in a breath, and Helen’s spine goes ramrod straight. “Say that again,” she snarls.

I don’t bother. Instead I grab her and toss her over my shoulder. Patroclus starts to move forward, but I hold up a hand. “I don’t want to hear shit from you right now. Do your workout. We’ll talk later.” I don’t give him a chance to respond. I just turn and haul a cursing Helen out of the gym and through the halls. After the briefest hesitation, I go through my door instead of hers.

I barely have a chance to set her on her feet before she swings on me. I dodge back, easily catching her fist. “Sloppy.”

“I’ll show you sloppy, you asshole.” She aims a kick for my balls, and I turn my hips. The impact hits my thigh and she’s put enough strength behind it to stagger me. She’s quick, too, dancing back a step and snapping another kick at my face.

I catch her ankle and yank her off her feet, following her to the floor when she immediately tries to jump back up. She’s scrappy; I’ll give her that. She manages to elbow me in the face before I wrestle her to the floor and pin her wrists on either side of her head. “That’s enough.”

“Fuck you.” She’s so furious, she’s vibrating, her amber eyes practically shooting lasers at me. “No wonder you want to be Ares. You’re just like the last one: a fucking bully.”

“Shut up.”

But she doesn’t. She snarls in my face and tries to throw me off her, like I don’t outweigh her by a shit ton. And she keeps running that godsdamned mouth. “Poor little Achilles got his pride hurt because Patroclus was nice to me. Gods, you’re pathetic.”

“Shut up,” I grind out.

“Make me!”

There is no excuse for what happens next. One moment I’m ready to haul her to her feet and kick her ass out my door. The next… I don’t know who moves first. Maybe she arches up. Maybe I dip down. The end result is that I’m kissing Helen Kasios, precious princess of Olympus, the woman I fully intend to marry when I become Ares.

She tastes like victory.

I jerk back and stare down at her. She looks nearly as shocked as I feel, nearly as furious. This was a mistake. “I—”

“Shut up.” She arches up again, and this kiss sweeps away what little rational thought I have left. There is nothing soft in this. Maybe if there was, I’d figure out how to stop. I can’t think, though. Not as we go to war with each other, a battle comprised of tongue and teeth and surprisingly sweet little moans she makes into my mouth.

Helen shifts beneath me, rubbing her calf up my leg. I release her wrists and hook a hand under her knee, fitting us more closely together. She runs her hands down my chest, and the only warning I get is a slight tensing of her body before she hooks her foot around my thigh and flips us. She lands astride my hips and, fuck, Helen has never been more beautiful than she is in this moment. She’s a fucking mess, but she’s real.

The frenzy rises between us, as if we both can sense that slowing down will let reality creep back in. I don’t know what she’s running from. I don’t fucking care. I’m still so furious, I’m running on instinct alone, and I reach between us to grab the fabric of her pants and yank hard. It tears along the center seam, so I do it again, ripping the damn things in half.

Helen arches back and slaps me, the blow turning my face to the side. “These are my favorite running tights, you piece of shit.”

“Bill me.” I flip us again, using the change in position to settle between her thighs. She wrestles my shirt off and rakes her nails down my back, the pain making me thrust against her. We both moan, our air mingling in a furious exhale. I should gentle the kiss, should slow us down, but Helen dips her hands into my shorts and digs her nails into my ass. I thrust against her a second time and then a third, each one working my shorts lower on my hips until she shoves them the rest of the way down.

Fuck.

This is out of control.

I start to pull back, to try to insert some kind of reason, but she tilts her hips and then my cock is nudging against her entrance. We both freeze. She’s so wet, so damn welcoming, that I slide a little inside just from the force of our harsh breathing. Helen gives a breathy little whimper. “More.”

I should stop. I should tell her to wait, to slow down until we can talk about this. This wasn’t what I intended when I hauled her in here. Fuck, I don’t even know what I intended. I can’t think past how good she feels, how wet she got from this fighting, how badly I want to sink the rest of the way into her.

“We shouldn’t,” I manage.

“You’re right.” But her nails prick my ass again, and I sink another inch into her. I can’t see her face from this position, can’t stop myself from turning my head and setting my teeth against the soft skin of her neck. She responds by arching up, taking me another inch deeper. She gasps. “I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.”

Helen shivers. “Then fuck me like you hate me, Achilles. Stop pussyfooting around and do it properly.”

The last thread of my control frays and snaps. I jerk back, her moan of protest only spurring me on. I yank her pants the rest of the way off and then do the same to her bra. She tries to slap me again, but I grab her wrist and use the hold to flip her onto her stomach. She’s already lifting her ass as I move between her thighs, and then I’m inside her again.

This time, I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate. I use my bigger body to bear her to the floor and pin her there as I fuck her roughly. She moves as much as I allow, lifting her hips to take me deeper, but it’s not enough. I work my arms beneath her, clasping her throat with one and pressing the other between her thighs to stroke her clit. She’s completely wrapped up in me, completely at my mercy.

Except it feels like I’m at her mercy when she starts speaking.

“Yes. Like that. Harder.” She grabs my arms, her nails once again setting to my skin. I’ll be wearing her marks for days, and the thought only spurs me on, making me rougher.

“You’re a fucking menace.” I find the touch she likes on her clit, the one that makes her flutter around my cock hard enough that I have to fight not to lose it. My orgasm is already threatening. She feels too fucking good. “Come around my cock like a good little princess.”

“Make me,” she gasps, pressing her throat harder against my palm. “Unless you’re just as bad at this as you are at everything else.” Another moan. “Maybe I should ask Patroclus for an assist.”

“You bitch.” I don’t stop, don’t slow down. I keep fucking her as she comes apart around me, her poisonous words fated to linger even after we’re done.

Helen cries out as she orgasms, her body shaking sweetly even as her pussy clamps around me. I don’t even try to hold out. I just keep thrusting into her until need overwhelms me, filling her up with me.

It’s only when I roll off her and drop onto my back that reality starts setting in. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. “Fuck.”

“Yes, we did that.” She sits up.

“Are you okay? I…” I make myself look at her, make myself search her expression for any sign that we went too far.

Helen picks up her pants and frowns at them. “I’m fine.” She glances at me, her face carefully blank. “You’re not about to go soft on me, are you?” When I don’t immediately reply, she sighs. “It was just sex, Achilles. You’ve had sex before, haven’t you?”

“Not like this.”

She hesitates. “Patroclus said you weren’t exclusive—”

“We aren’t.” But I’ve also never been with anyone like this, so rough and out of control. I am always very fucking aware of how easy it would be to hurt my partners on accident, and as a result, I’m always leashed. Except with Patroclus; our history means we know each other’s limits more thoroughly, and I still am careful not to cross his lines. Helen and I don’t have that history, that trust. We don’t even fucking like each other. I can’t say that to her, though. It feels cruel, even if it’s the truth. Instead, I focus on something small and mundane. “You can’t wear those pants.”

“Don’t worry. I fully intend to bill you for them.” She climbs slowly to her feet. There are faint rug burns on her knees, but fuck, she looks like a magnificent mess. It makes me want to…

I jerk upright. “We didn’t use condoms.”

“I know.” Helen sighs again. “I’m on birth control. I’ve been tested recently enough that I can confidently say you’re safe.”

Somehow, that doesn’t detract from the tightening in my chest. I can’t believe I lost control so thoroughly as to forget a condom. “The only person I have unprotected sex with is Patroclus, but we’re both tested regularly since we’re not exclusive.”

“Then there’s nothing else to say.” She turns for the door.

I’m on my feet before I decide to move. “Helen, wait.”

Another of those sighs. Gods, the woman sounds so exasperated with me that I want to toss her to the floor again. This time, when we’re finished, neither of us will have the breath left for sighing. Oblivious to the direction of my thoughts, she smooths back some of the hair that’s escaped her braid. “Look, there’s really nothing else to say. I lost control. You lost control. It ultimately doesn’t change anything for either of us, so let’s never speak of it again.”

She’s being remarkably coolheaded about this, and I don’t understand how the fuck she’s pulling if off when it’s everything I can do not to yank her to me and kiss her again. I snatch my shirt off the floor and stalk to her. Helen rolls her eyes at me. “My door is—” I pull the shirt over her head and wait for her to get her arms through it. She gives me a bored look. “Are you happy now?”

“No.” Somehow, this is even worse than her naked. Seeing her in my shirt… I already knew I was a territorial asshole, but I didn’t expect to have those urges rising up with this woman. “No, I’m not fucking happy.”

“Didn’t think so.” She turns and walks out of the room without another word.

I stare at the door for a long time. “Fuck. Fuck.” There’s no doubt about it. No matter how I try to spin this out—and I’m having a shitty time coming up with a reasonable explanation for why I fucked Helen Kasios on my floor like a godsdamned animal—there’s only one conclusion to be had.

I just screwed up spectacularly.