Wicked Beauty (Dark Olympus Book 3)

I wake up pressed against Patroclus, his larger body spooning me from the back. His very, very large cock is making itself known. Good morning. Instigator that I am, I roll my hips a little, rubbing along his length. His low groan in my ear is so very Patroclus that I smile without opening my eyes. I’m not sure when he ended up under the covers with me, but I’m not complaining.

This is…nice.

“Are you awake, Helen?”

I reach up to trail my fingers over his forearm where it bands across my ribs just under my breasts. “Yes.”

“We should get up.” But he holds me tighter, burying his face in the back of my neck. I think I feel the brush of his lips against my skin, but I can’t be sure. He’s right. We should get up and start the day and face the reality of what almost happened last night…

I don’t want to. Not yet.

It’s been so fucking long since I’ve woken up next to someone, and even longer since I’ve enjoyed the moment instead of going through the motions of getting them out of my apartment as quickly as possible. Maybe it’s my history with Patroclus, maybe it the man he’s become, but he makes me feel safe. He let me spew all that bullshit at him last night and didn’t tell me to stop indulging in self-pity or being dramatic. He didn’t call me weak for having messy emotions after being attacked. He just listened and then told me to go to sleep in that deliciously stern tone he adopts when he’s got my best interests in mind.

My treacherous desires whisper that this is what it could be like if things were different, if we were different people in a different situation. If I let down my barriers a little and he wasn’t already in love with a big golden dick. Achingly honest conversation that’s somehow gentle despite the rawness. For the first time in my life, I haven’t been watching my words and hiding behind doublespeak and carefully curated words. Both Achilles and Patroclus bring out different parts of me, and they’re honest parts. I don’t know how to deal with that, but this isn’t the time or place for that sort of soul-searching, not with the stakes so sky-high.

Truthfully, I don’t want to deal with anything right now…except the man trying not to thrust his hard cock against my ass.

Patroclus really is too polite.

That stops me for a moment. “Patroclus?”

“Yeah?”

I don’t want to speak the words that might stop this, but I’ve already done this man wrong when he didn’t deserve it. I can’t do it again. I won’t. I close my eyes. “I, uh, get reckless when I’m hurting or scared.”

He goes still behind me. “Are you feeling reckless right now?”

“Yes.” I can’t help expanding the answer, giving him the truth he seems to ask for without saying a word. It’s easier with my eyes closed. This hardly feels real. Can something that’s mostly fantasy actually hurt me? Don’t answer that. “But I meant what I said last night. I want you. That’s not me being impulsive or reckless. That’s the truth.”

“Helen…” He curses against the back of my neck. “I should care that you might be using me to escape. It should bother me.”

My chest goes tight, but I can’t blame him if he pulls away. I’ve never really talked about this before outside therapy, and never with a person I’m aiming to seduce. It’s so much easier to let my partners see what they want to see so I can get what I want—a few hours of pleasure where I don’t have to think about anything but the next touch, the next kiss. This isn’t a carefully orchestrated hookup, though. This is Patroclus. With him, in this moment, I can stop being selfish for once. “Do my reasons bother you?”

“Maybe they should.” His arm goes tight around me, and he curses again. “I don’t give a fuck what I should be doing or feeling. I want you too much. Let me touch you, Helen.”

The relief his words bring makes me almost giddy. I sink back into him, letting his strength buoy me. Patroclus might be a brainiac, but his body is all soldier. I want to explore it at length. I inhale deeply, relishing the way the move drags the underside of my breasts against his forearm. “Touch me, Patroclus. Please. I need you to.”

I expect him to do it all at once. I really should know better, even after spending so little time with him. Patroclus is a man with a plan, and that’s never more evident than it is right now as he shifts his hand to press to my stomach. His thumb brushes the curve of one breast, a slow drag that has me shifting restlessly against him.

He moves to tug the thin strap of my pajama top over my shoulder, easing it down to free my breast. It’s an almost teasing move, and it only feels more so as he traces the line of fabric, brushing my exposed breast to tug down the other strap, too. It takes a little more work since I’m lying on my side, but once again, he doesn’t rush. It’s a fucking torment. “Patroclus.”

“I like the way you say my name.” He cups one breast and then the other, trailing his fingers over my nipples. Not enough. Nowhere near enough.

I worry my bottom lip, but I can’t keep silent. “More. Please.”

“I like the way you say ‘please,’ too.” His voice sounds rougher than normal, but he doesn’t move faster as he trails his hand down the center of my stomach and teases the strings of my shorts. His touch isn’t tentative, but he’s sure as fuck not rushing. Not like I want him to. Each small tug against the strings creates an answering tug deep inside me. I press my lips together, determined not to beg. Not yet.

Finally, what feels like an eternity later, he dips beneath the band of my shorts. I expect him to move slowly in this the same way he has in everything else, but it’s as if all his patience has been used up. Patroclus cups my pussy, his touch rough. We both exhale harshly at the contact.

I have no desire to be owned outside the bedroom, and not even in the bedroom most of the time. The power balance in my life is too precarious, too keen to tip to weigh against me. But right now? With Patroclus guiding us? I love it. I bite my bottom lip and whimper a little. I can’t pretend it won’t have consequences, but when have I ever let consequences get in the way of doing what I want?

It feels too good to stop.

Now that Patroclus has me where he wants me, he slows down again, gentling his touch as he explores me. He traces my opening with his middle finger, still cupping me almost possessively. He doesn’t act a caveman and shout mine, but he’s holding me like he owns me, like he’s claiming me. It doesn’t matter that we shouldn’t. It’s happening.

Achilles said that, too. That we shouldn’t.

A voice inside me whispers that I’m being even more reckless than normal, that I’m playing with these two men’s relationship just so I won’t have to feel vulnerable, but it’s too quiet in the face of my desire. Or maybe I’m really that selfish. Patroclus says he doesn’t care, and that should be enough to spare me any unnecessary guilt.

It’s not like I’ve been honest with partners in the past about the fact they’re just a convenient escape.

It’s not like they’ve cared enough to ask.

I meant what I said last night, what I said this morning. I’ve liked Patroclus since we were kids, have wanted him since I met him again as an adult, when he essentially gave me an itemized list of why we couldn’t go home together the night before the trials started. I’m not sure I care if he’s using me as a weapon to hurt Achilles. All that means is that we’re both using each other for selfish purposes. I should just enjoy it instead of thinking so hard. The whole point of indulging in this reckless behavior is that I’ll stop thinking.

“Helen.” He goes still.

“Yeah?”

“You’re thinking very hard right now. Do you want to stop?”

I’m already shaking my head before he finishes speaking. “No. Absolutely not. Give me more.”

For a moment, I think he might stop anyway. This isn’t the impulsive wave that overtook me with Achilles. This is intentional and maybe that means it’s a mistake. I don’t care. I still don’t want to stop.

Apparently Patroclus agrees, because he shifts behind me and wedges his other arm between me and the bed. The new position brings me even closer to him, gives me the sensation of being entirely wrapped up in this man. He palms one breast; it’s less a stroke than him holding me to him, but I’m not complaining. Not when he’s working two blunt fingers into my pussy in the process. Methodical. Patroclus is so damn methodical. It’s sexier than I could have anticipated. It’s more than that, though. He holds me like I’m something precious, something he’s all too capable of shattering into a million pieces.

The difference between him and Achilles is stark, but they’re similar in one aspect: no partner I’ve had in the past has touched me like either of them. I’ve never been cherished. I’ve also never been tossed around like an equal, my strength taken as a given instead of a fantasy. Neither of them treats me like I’m a princess to be coaxed into giving up my supposed virtue or a weak thing that a harsh word will leave crumpled and broken on the floor. The entire time Achilles and I were fighting, I was an enemy to be conquered through mutual orgasms. I never expected it to be so sexy.

Patroclus is fucking me slowly with his fingers like this is the only chance he’ll get, and he’s determined to maximize it for all it’s worth. He presses the heel of his hand to my clit. Not enough to give me the friction I need to get off. No, he’s still teasing me. His mouth brushes the shell of my ear, his voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it. “You’re not for me, Helen. You were never meant for me.”

I can’t decide if the words sting or just stoke the need between us hotter. Nothing sparks as fiery as something that’s destined to be temporary. It makes me greedy, makes me want to soak up every second of this because I’ll likely never get it again. I drag in a rough breath. “Then let’s make it count.”

He gives a choked laugh. “Yeah, we’ll make it count.” He shifts away and moves me easily despite the awkward position, pressing me down onto my back. It’s so seamless, I’m still blinking in surprise as he slides down my body, taking the blankets with him. Patroclus pauses to worship my breasts with his mouth, but he’s got a destination in mind and I’m not about to start complaining as he tugs off my shorts and settles between my legs. He presses a kiss to one thigh. “Achilles will get restless and come looking for us before too long.”

Again, that lash of almost sting. I most certainly should not want to get caught with Patroclus’s mouth all over my pussy, but the reckless wave inside me only gets stronger. What will Achilles do? I honestly can’t focus enough to guess for certain. Start a fight or join in? Start a fight and then join in? The possibilities set me aflame. I won’t pretend I hadn’t considered sharing a bed with both of them. I have.

Still…I’m not so far gone that I can jump into this without a little clarification first. If I’m going to feel guilty about this later, I have to know how much guilt is truly mine to shoulder. I have enough already; I don’t need to carry anyone else’s. “Are you using me to prove a point?”

He’s oh so serious. Even in this, with heat turning his dark gaze scorching and his breath ghosting against the most private part of me, Patroclus contemplates my words with the utmost severity. I like that about him. A lot. He doesn’t just fire off an answer and intend to bullshit his way around it being false later. He actually thinks about it and then gives me honesty. How novel.

Finally he nods. “A little. Does that bother you?”

Yes. No. I don’t know. I can’t think properly. I drag in a breath, determined to match him honesty for honesty. “Maybe it will later, but I need you too much right now. Kiss me, Patroclus. If you need to prove a point, do it by making me come.”

His slow smile has my whole body lighting up. Gods, this man is handsome. It’s different from the perfect features Achilles is blessed with. I noticed Patroclus had grown into a good-looking man the first time I met him as an adult, but each time since, it’s like that attractiveness has been compounded again and again. My heart gives a strange little lurch, but I ignore it, just like I ignore the inevitable consequences of doing this.

“I need you too much right now, too.”

Then there are no more words. He leans down and drags his tongue up my center. Slow. Methodical. Determined to learn every inch of me. He presses my thighs even wider apart and dips his tongue into me. First a tease, then a full thrust that has me moaning too loudly. I try to arch up, but he responds by shifting, banding one forearm over my lower stomach and using his shoulders to wedge my legs open even wider. I’m pinned and loving every moment of it.

Still, I’m not one to lie there passively and take whatever he wants to give me.

I dig my fingers into his short hair and tug, urging him up to my clit. He doesn’t hesitate, following my unspoken instructions to give it the same thorough treatment he’s given every other bit of my pussy. He tests out motions, his gaze on my face, until he finds the one that has me arching and moaning and writhing against him. “Yes, like that,” I moan.

Pleasure builds in me, higher and higher. Patroclus never deviates. He doesn’t speed up or slow down and shift the pressure the slightest bit. He winds me tighter and tighter and…

The bedroom door opens.

Achilles steps into the room and pulls the door shut behind him. We both freeze. I’m so fucking close, I could cry. I should have known this wouldn’t last, that we’d get interrupted before things escalated enough to truly offer me a reprieve. I should have known this was a foolish, impulsive thing that would most certainly backfire in an aborted orgasm.

I should have known…a lot of things.

I tense, waiting for Patroclus to scramble away from me, to sputter out excuses, to fight or leave. He doesn’t move. If anything, he tightens his grip on me, a silent command to stop trying to inch up the bed away from him. I freeze. Patroclus gives me a quick look as if testing my reaction. Whatever my face is doing, apparently it satisfies him. He turns his head just enough to look at Achilles. “You’re interrupting.”

Achilles’s slow smile doesn’t reach his dark eyes. “Yeah, I know.” He stalks to the chair next to the bed and drops into it, stretching his big body out and taking up too much space. He waves a negligent hand in our direction. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Oh my gods.

I look down my body and meet Patroclus’s gaze. I expected him to look ashamed or guilty. Maybe regretful. I sure as fuck didn’t expect his desire to burn even hotter. He doesn’t seem happy, but there’s no doubt that Achilles’s casual command sparks something in him.

Still, he is Patroclus, and because he’s Patroclus, he hesitates. “Are you okay with this?”

I don’t know. I feel like I’m free-falling. It’s one thing to know I’m neck deep in a messy relationship and sinking deeper. It’s entirely another to… I don’t even know what’s happening here. But my aborted orgasm beats just as strongly as my need to escape for a little while. Didn’t part of me hope this would happen? Yes. I didn’t expect it to happen like this, but it’s not as if it was outside the realm of possibilities when I urged Patroclus to touch me, to make me come.

I glance at Achilles and, wow, his smile might not reach his dark eyes, but he’s looking at us like we’re a banquet laid out for his pleasure and he’s not sure where he wants to start. I shiver. There’s no taking back what I’ve done, and maybe that’s an excuse, but I don’t care. I don’t want to stop. I want to charge forward and see what happens next. “I’m okay with it.”

“If you change your mind—”

“For fuck’s sake, she said she was good with it. Even I can see she’s about to fucking come. Get on with it.”

Patroclus turns his head to glare at Achilles. “Audiences should be seen, not heard.”

“Said no one ever.”

“Gentlemen.” I wait for them both to look at me. I can’t stop shaking. I’m about to come out of my skin with need, and they’re bickering like an old married couple. “If you’re going to argue, go do it in the living room and I’ll finish myself off in peace.”

Achilles snorts and Patroclus offers another of those little smiles I’m starting to like so much. He doesn’t give me a chance to decide if I’m bluffing or not. He just dips down and resumes stroking my clit with his tongue in the exact same rhythm that had me dancing on the edge before we were interrupted. I whimper. “Oh fuck.”

“Take off your top, princess. If you’re going to put on a show, do it properly.”

I don’t even think. I just obey, wrestling my pajama top off while Patroclus works my pussy like we’ve been lovers for years instead of less than an hour. I manage to get the offending garment off and toss it at Achilles. He snatches it out of the air and sifts the silk top through his fingers almost contemplatively, but his gaze never leaves us.

Patroclus’s gaze threatens to light me aflame. Later, I’m sure I’ll have some complicated feelings about playing the part of a pawn in a game between these two men. Right now, I’m too close to coming to care about anything but Patroclus’s tongue working my clit. So close… So fucking close… I palm my breasts, pinching my nipples as he edges me closer and closer to orgasm. It felt so good before, but with Achilles watching…

There are no words.

I’ve never done anything like this before. Oh, I’ve been plenty experimental when it comes to sex, but only with a trusted handful of people over the years. Being Zeus’s daughter means anyone caught in my bed would see horrific consequences. Olympus likes to pretend it’s forward-thinking, but that so-called progressiveness doesn’t include the purity culture that pervades the upper circles. As a result, I’ve never trusted someone enough to let them watch while I fuck. It would be all too easy for them to record while I was distracted and then…

Patroclus turns his head and nips my thigh. “Stop thinking so hard.”

“Means you’re not doing your job properly,” Achilles rumbles. He stretches out his legs. “Two fingers.”

I barely comprehend his words when Patroclus moves, releasing my thigh and pushing two blunt fingers into me. He shifts the angle a few times, searching…searching. He grins. “There.” He flicks his fingertips against my G-spot. Holy shit, that was fast.

My whole body goes molten, the feeling only compounded by the fact that he’s following Achilles’s directive. I look over at the other man, but his gaze is on Patroclus, his eyes narrowed. “Now, her clit. Make her come, loud and messy.”

Once again, Patroclus obeys immediately, moving back to my clit. The combination of him stroking my G-spot and licking my clit and… “Fuck!” I orgasm, back bowing and my heels digging into the mattress. Patroclus doesn’t move, doesn’t stop, just keeps going, driving my orgasm higher and…

“Don’t stop,” Achilles barks.

I cry out. It’s almost a scream. The pressure builds and builds and then something gives inside me, and I squirt all over Patroclus’s hand. Only then does he gentle his touch, easing me down until the only thing I’m able to do is stare at him and shake. He gives my pussy one last long, thorough kiss and lifts his head.

Achilles’s low laugh draws our attention in his direction. His body language is perfectly relaxed, but the way his giant cock presses against his sweatpants gives lie to the image he’s projecting. As I stare, he palms his cock roughly and grins. “That’s a good start.”