“We don’t. We requested one after we got here because Achilles is a bear without his morning caffeine.” Patroclus holds up a mug, and I realize he’s already got one in front of him. “Cream and sugar, right?”
I change course, heading toward the table and accepting the mug from him. How could he possibly have memorized my preferred way of drinking coffee? He wasn’t even in the room when I made it yesterday morning. I consider him but decide it’s a question for another day. I sip the coffee and offer a reluctant smile. “Perfect.”
“Helen…”
The small pleasure of a perfect cup of coffee fades. “I know. Time to talk.”
Patroclus glances at Achilles. Again, I’m struck by the intimacy of the moment. They’ve obviously known each other a long time because they’re doing that couple thing where they have an entire conversation without speaking. I ignore the stab of jealousy. It’s not that I want that with either of them, but I do want that level of comfort in a relationship.
Unfortunately, that means letting my guard down, and the last time that happened, I ended up with Paris.
I take another sip of my coffee. This is where they either let me down gently or try to hard-sell me on quitting. The former, I’ll accept. The latter? Good luck with that. I take the third chair at the table. There were only two last night, so one of them must have brought this one in this morning. A tiny thoughtful gesture that I have no business feeling emotional over. Gods, I’m a mess.
“We should keep fucking.”
Patroclus makes a choked noise and starts coughing, but I’m too busy blinking at Achilles. Surely he didn’t say what I think he just said. “What?”
“It was fun. I want to do it again.” He stares at me as if daring me to contradict him. “You want to do it again, too.”
I’d be smart to argue. The sex was mind-blowing, to say the least. I was telling the truth when I said I compartmentalize well—thanks, Father—but even I can’t be sure my heart won’t revolt and get involved if I keep sleeping with both of them. Maybe I could hold out against Achilles, but…
I glance at Patroclus. He’s a mottled red, but he seems to be breathing okay now. “He didn’t discuss this with you first.”
“No,” he bites out. “He didn’t.”
Achilles shrugs and drinks his coffee. He puts on a good act like he doesn’t give a shit, but there’s a thread of tension in his shoulders that tells me he cares about the destination of this conversation more than he wants to admit. “I don’t have to talk about it with him first. Patroclus will let guilt get in the way of doing what he wants, but what he wants is to bend you over the table and—”
“That’s enough, Achilles.” Patroclus sets his mug down hard enough to splash coffee onto the back of his hand. He doesn’t seem to notice, though. He’s too busy glaring at his lover. “It’s like you never fucking think before you speak. We took advantage, and—”
That’s about enough of that.
I know he doesn’t mean it to sound like he thinks I’m weak, like I can’t stand up for myself or make my own decisions, but I’ve had too many people ignore my own words because they wanted to control me. I don’t think there’s a drop of malice or manipulation behind this, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s overriding me about my own thoughts and feelings. “Why don’t you ask me?”
He stops short. “What?”
“Ask me,” I repeat. He’s being stubborn right now, and maybe another time I’ll enjoy provoking him to get a reaction, but right now I have to draw my own line in the sand. Either he’ll respect it and we can keep negotiating, or he won’t and this ends now. When he doesn’t immediately speak, I prod. “It’s very easy. You say ‘Helen, now that the afterglow has worn off, are you feeling any different about fucking us?’ Now, you try.”
Achilles snorts, and Patroclus glares. Finally, he says, “Helen, now that you’ve got some distance, I would like to apologize—”
“No.”
“What?”
I shake my head, holding his gaze. “No, you don’t get to apologize and pretend like I’m not an adult with agency. I was not drunk, drugged, or otherwise incapacitated. You both asked me several times if I wanted to continue, and I consented enthusiastically. Are you really going to try to argue that I’m not capable of making my own decisions simply because you want to flog yourself with guilt?”
Patroclus stares at me, mouth agape. Achilles, the ass, leans over to press a single finger to his jaw and close it. He grins. “It’s not often someone leaves him speechless.”
I wait, but Patroclus is still staring like I’ve grown a second head. I have no business feeling disappointment in his reaction. I thought he might be different from the others I’ve interacted with all my life, but apparently he’s not. He formed beliefs about me before we even met again as adults, and he’d rather stick to those beliefs than actually get to know the real me.