Cayde
Idon’t fucking know how to feel.
I’m shaking with rage as I leave, storming out of the house, but I don’t head to class. I’m too angry. So instead, I blow off my classes for the morning at least, heading for the gym.
I’d have thought that coming all over Athena’s face would have let off some steam, and ordinarily, it would have. But then Dean had to fucking ruin it. He hadn’t been able to stand her defiance. And it had pissed me off, too. But he’d taken it to another level.
Watching him holding her there, forcing her to another orgasm on his hand while her face was still dripping with my cum, telling me that she was his, that the town was his—it was too much. I’d lost control.
And I’d done the thing that this very morning I’d said I wouldn’t do.
Refused to concede the game.
I'm sure my father will be pleased if he gets wind of what’s going on. If he’d known I’d lost, his rage would have been immeasurable. But I’m not.
I’m tired of this shit.
I’ve been tired of it since Daniel died.
I don’t even want it anymore.
I want the power, sure. The money. The pussy. The abject fear and groveling of everyone around me. But what I don’t want are the fucking expectations. The insistence that I do things a certain way. That I behave a certain way. That I take who I am, who I really am, and shove it down behind the façade that my father forced me to build up, physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Just the smell of the gym, the old sweat and rubber mats and metal and cleaning spray, reminds me of it, of all those hot, sweaty hours spent sculpting myself into something that I didn’t even want to be. Or maybe I would have if left to my own devices. Who fucking knows? But I wasn’t given that choice.
The most fucked up thing is that now it’s become a way of life. Now it feels like a necessary part of my day, like eating or shitting or jacking off if I don’t get laid. Now it helps me burn off the frustrated energy that comes from living in a house with two other guys who used to be my best friends but now are my rivals, fighting me for a town and a girl that we all want to fuck, and with a girl who originally fought me and now seems intent on defying me.
Athena Saint. She’s been plaguing me for so long now that having her in my head, under my skin, no longer feels like an itch I can’t scratch. She feels more like a part of me now, an obsession, something I live with and can’t break free of. And nothing I do anymore satisfies it.
Nothing will, except for finally getting to fuck her. Finally teaching her where she really belongs, squirming on the end of my dick while she screams out in pleasure. It infuriates me that it was Dean’s cock she was coming on today, not mine. Never mind that mine was in her mouth, that I felt her moans. I should have been the one behind her, the one owning her, fucking her. Me. Not him.
And Jaxon? He pisses me off even more because he seems to think he’s above it all now. The game is over, as far as he’s concerned, so he doesn’t even have to join in. The way he left while we were fucking her, as if he didn’t even give a shit. Like he didn’t have a rock-hard boner from the whole thing. Like he isn’t just as desperate to get inside of her as the rest of us.
If he wants to play that game, let him, I think, hefting the barbell above my head. He was never going to win, anyway.
Except he almost had. If he hadn’t turned her down…
I let the weight fall with a grunt, and another type of pain pierces me as I think back to days when we would have been doing this together, training in the gym at the high school. This fucking game, this power trip that our fathers and their fathers and their fathers before them started, has taken more from me than just my inheritance. It’s taken my friends.
It’s taken my brothers.
My relationship with Jaxon and Dean can never be the same after all of this. And I know why it’s that way, why after being raised together our whole lives, we’ve had this division thrust in the middle of us.
Our fathers are the types of men who believe that loving anything makes you weak. It doesn’t matter if it’s a woman, or a friend, or a brother, or a dog. What keeps you strong is discipline. Anger. Hate. Determination. Love is for the weak, the small-minded. Love makes you break into pieces. It forces you into choices that have no good outcome.
It ruins your fucking life.
Just look at Cain and Abel.
I don’t stop working out until I’m sweating through my shirt, sore and hurting, my muscles screaming out for me to stop. This is a pain I understand, a pain that I know. A pain that makes sense to me.
Rugby is like that. The blows, the tackling, the chase, it all feels calming, like the only time that my head ever really shuts the fuck up. Out there on the field, I’m not thinking about my father, or the expectations on me, or my friends, or the town, or Athena. All I’m thinking about is hitting instead of being hit, the leather of the ball in my hands, the copper taste in my mouth if I take a blow. The ache in my legs and the smell of grass and sweat, and the rush of winning. For a little while, everything else fades away.
Sex used to be like that for me, too. Until Athena.
Until it just became an obsession with getting her. I haven’t actually enjoyed a girl’s pussy in—fuck, I don’t even know how long. Since the day I saw her on those stairs.
Sometimes I think if I could have her, I wouldn’t even care about the fucking town. Dean could have it. I’d even be his left hand, his muscle, if I came back every night to those pouting lips and blue-grey eyes and full breasts, her face begging me, defying me, raging at me as I pounded into her again and again.
Fuck, I’m hard again.
I don’t bother trying to take care of it as I shower off. It won’t matter. Jerking off does nothing for me these days. There’s only one thing that will, and right now, she’s off-limits.
But if I have my way, she won’t be for long.