Athena
The country club is right on the water, nudged up against the rocky shore with the back deck stretching out over the lapping, small waves of the inlet. It’s all whitewashed stone, with a cupola on the roof and a front balcony as well, and I can see several well-heeled members drinking there, soaking up the afternoon sun. The circular drive is lined with luxury cars being handed over to the valet, and I feel my stomach turn over with nervousness as Dean pulls into the line, killing the engine.
I don’t belong here. I know I don’t. This isn’t my type of place at all or my kind of people, and they’re all going to know it as soon as I walk in. It’s like that first day at Blackmoor Academy all over again, except this time I don’t have the armor of my uniform rebelliously changed to look the way I want it or my heavy makeup or really anything at all. I’m in uncomfortable clothes and shoes, dressed up to look like the kind of girl who goes to a place like this, but they’re all going to know I’m a fraud.
Normally I wouldn’t care. But today, I feel a sick anxiety twisting in my stomach as Dean hands the keys over to the valet and comes around to open the door for me, like a perfect gentleman.
Well, if he can pretend, then I can too.I take a deep breath, taking his hand and plastering a pretty smile onto my face as I get out of the car, careful not to flash anyone.
The place even smells weird to me, like old lady perfume and carpet cleaner and the whiff of cigar smoke that seems to cling to all the men. It smells like people who have nothing better to do other than sit around and count their money, which is probably pretty accurate.
Dean keeps his arm tightly linked through mine as we walk through and into the dining room, probably to make sure I don’t run off. “Speak only when you’re spoken to,” he hisses through his teeth as he leads me over towards a round table with four older men seated around it already.
“I can’t imagine they’ll say anything interesting enough for me to want to respond.”
His hand tightens on my elbow. “None of that, Athena. Not unless you want me to put you under the table so I can fill your mouth up with something that will keep you from talking. And you know I’ll do it, and I’ll punish you if you don’t, right in front of everyone in this room. Do you want that?”
“No,” I whisper, and I mean it. I feel an answering pulse between my legs, a fluttering warmth at the thought of Dean making me suck him off under a tablecloth while he talks business. Of him bending me over one of these round tables and flipping my dress up, fucking me hard and making me come while all of these old, stuffed-shirts, boring men and their dried-up boring wives watch in horror. They’d all be so jealous of me, jealous that I’m getting filled up with a thick cock while all they can do is dream about what that used to be like. They’d look at Dean and see how young and handsome he is, and they’d wish they were me, even if that meant getting fucked in front of a couple dozen country club members, on display for everyone to see.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?I don’t want that. My cheeks are flushing with embarrassment just thinking about it. I’m also wet, and I squeeze my thighs tightly together, remembering with panic that I’m not wearing any panties, as per Dean’s instructions. I’d almost disobeyed those, but I’d figured nothing was going to happen, and I’d also known that at some point between now and when we get home, he’ll wind up checking.
But now I’m very worried that I might leave a wet spot on the seat, or my skirt. Dean will never let me hear the end of that if I do.
“There you are, Dean.” One of the men stands up as we approach, probably Dean’s father. There’s a definite resemblance there. Dean’s father is still handsome in the face, with iron-grey hair and the same strong jaw that he gave his son, but he’s a solid thirty pounds overweight at least, which takes away from the effect a bit. It’s even more obvious with Dean next to him, all six foot five inches of lean, hard muscle. “I see you brought the pet.”
“You asked me to.” Dean shrugs. “I figured it was a good chance for her to go for a walk out of her cage.” He smirks, pulling a chair out for me. “Sit down, Athena.”
The absolute last thing I want to do is obey him, with five pairs of condescending eyes on me looking at me like I’m some kind of animal who might do tricks if it’s properly trained. But I also don’t want to test whether or not Dean will actually follow through on his threats of what he’ll do if I talk back.
So I sit.
“She’s well trained.” Dean’s father smirks, and it makes me shudder because I’ve seen that smirk on his son’s face. “You’re doing a good job of making sure she knows her place, then.”
“I’ve got a place for her,” one of the other men says, chuckling. “But I imagine Dean’s keeping her well filled, aren’t you, son?”
Dean tenses next to me. “We don’t need to talk about that,” he says curtly. “We’re here to have lunch, right?”
Interesting. Clearly, Dean doesn’t like the other men making lewd comments about me. I shift a little in my chair, letting the neckline of my dress slide apart a little, so there’s a better view of my cleavage. If the other men at the table hitting on me will get Dean riled up, let me see what he’s like when some of that composure cracks apart, then I want to see it.
“Not one to kiss and tell, eh? Sure he’s your son?”
Dean ignores the ribbing. “Athena, this is my father, Mark Blackmoor,” he says, nodding towards the man sitting to his left. “And then Jacob Woodruff, Alan Bosworth, and Jack Romero.” Dean gestures to each of the men. “You gentlemen all know who this is.”
“The Blackmoor House pet,” the man who’s been making the comments—Bosworth, I know his name is now—says with a grin. “Athena Saint.”
“The housekeeper’s daughter, right? A Cinderella story if I’ve ever heard one,” Jack Romero says with a smirk.
“She’s no princess,” Dean’s father says. “And she never will be because Dean won’t be making the mistake Philip St. Vincent made.”
I glance at him sharply. What is he talking about?
Dean clears his throat. “Are we going to order?”
“We’re waiting on one more,” Romero says. “Oh, there she is.” He stands up, and I crane my neck around to see who’s walking towards us. “Winter, honey! Over here.”
Winter. The girl walking towards us looks familiar, as if I’ve seen her somewhere before. Then I remember—Mia introduced me to her at Cayde’s rugby game. Winter Romero. Tall, gorgeous, and red-haired—and when she stops at the table, she looks right at Dean.
It’s like the way she looked at him and Jaxon at the game, in a way that made me strangely jealous, but there’s something more to it this time. Something haughty and possessive, as if she has a secret about him that no one else knows.