Athena
It’s time to put my plan into motion
And that starts with turning the tables on Cayde.
Since I ran into him on the steps that first day at Blackmoor Academy, he’s been my waking nightmare. He’s tormented me, bullied me, harassed me, plagued me. He’s demanded I give him things that I didn’t want to give anyone. He’s taken things from me that I would never have willingly relinquished.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I ignore the parts of myself that thrilled at him forcing himself into my mouth, how wet I got at the taste of him on my tongue, knowing he was watching, touching himself, pleasuring himself as I was humiliated over and over again. I cling to that memory of the library when I told him no, and use it as evidence that I would never want to tell him yes.
There’s always a chance that he’s planning to just let Dean take his prize. That he’s going to consider the game won and slide into his new place as Dean’s lackey instead of the other way around.
But I’m not going to let that happen.
All this time, there’s been an entire plot going on, with me at the center of it, and I had no idea. The future of this whole town rested on the choice of my first lay, and no one bothered to fucking tell me. Which, to my way of thinking, means that I didn’t actually choose. How do you pick the winner of a game that you didn’t even know was being played?
So I’m going to make sure they keep playing. I’m not going to let Cayde give up on me. I’m going to make sure that he keeps doing the very thing that a few days ago, I wished more than anything he’d stop.
Trying to fuck me.
He’s staring at me in shock right now from the other side of the shower door, and he looks almost comical from the shoulders up, his sandy-colored hair plastered darkly around his face from the water. But the rest of him is far from humorous.
Cayde St. Vincent is the biggest of the three guys—maybe not in dick size, but the rest of him. He’s built like a bodybuilder, like a fucking tank, but none of it is fat. He’s all muscle, from his bulging arms to his chiseled chest and carved abs, all the way to the deep lines running down to his girthy six-inch cock. The thighs framing that particular tool are thick like tree trunks, running down to calves that look like a fucking sculpture of a Greek athlete.
In short, Cayde looks like he never does anything but fucking chug protein and go to the gym.
It’s why he’s so good at rugby, I imagine—he barrels down the field like the fucking Juggernaut, plowing through everything in his wake. I have no idea what his grades are like, but if anyone is the brawn in this house, it’s Cayde.
Frankly, I don’t know how I feel about it. My personal taste in men has always run more towards guys built like Dean or Jaxon. I know Dean’s body intimately now—he’s muscular too, with carved abs and those delicious lines running down to his equally gorgeous dick. It’s an elegant musculature, long and lean, like an Olympic runner or swimmer. His body screams nobility and sophistication.
There’s nothing noble or sophisticated about Cayde’s body. It’s a body built for breaking things, for intimidating, for crushing and terrifying everything in his wake. But deep down, I feel something in me pinging with desire at the sight of it, a sort of lust mixed with a healthy fear that feels sweetly forbidden, like eating something that you know could kill you.
Before he can recover from his shock, I yank my tank top over my head, and, while his eyes are still fixed on my tits, shimmy out of my panties and step into the shower, pulling the door shut behind me.
Cayde recovers instantly. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” he snaps, his brow furrowing heavily, his green eyes darkening with anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Athena?”
It’s now or never. Brazenly, I reach out, grabbing him directly between his legs. He’s already half-hard, his cock swollen from the hot water and the sight of me stripping down, and the moment I touch him, he goes rock-solid, his girth stretching the ability of my fingers to wrap around him. “What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask, a sly grin curving the corners of my mouth as I stroke him slowly, running my hand all the way down to the base and then back up, my thumb rubbing over the slick, velvety head.
His jaw clenches hard, a groan slipping from between his full lips, pressed hard against the need that I can see building in him. His abs ripple, his powerful thighs flexing. I know that he wants to thrust into my hand, to force me down onto my knees, bend me over so that he can finally shove himself into me and take what he’s always wanted. I know what torture this must be for him, seeing me here in front of him, wet and naked and easily here for the taking, and know that he’s not supposed to touch me.
This is my sweet revenge, and I’m about to enjoy every second of it.
With what must take a massive amount of self-control, more than I knew he possessed, really, he grabs my hand and jerks it away.
“You can’t do that,” he says stiffly. “You belong to Dean now. Get out.”
Oh, so that is how he’s going to play things. That’s going to make it all the more fun.
“Dean might have taken my virginity,” I say slowly, my voice low and sultry. “And maybe I’m not even supposed to sleep with anyone else. Maybe my sweet, wet, used pussy isn’t for anyone else but Dean.”
I see Cayde’s jaw clench, the muscles there working as he grinds his teeth together. Oh yes, I think, forcing myself not to grin as I grab his cock again, working my hand along the throbbing length. This is going to be so much fucking fun.
“But maybe,” I add, as if I’ve just thought of it, “all the other things aren’t off limits to us. No one said anything about that. After all, it’s just my pussy that decides the victor, right?”
It feels better than I could have imagined saying these things to him, to let those filthy words slide off of my lips. They’ve been saying them to me for what feels like forever now, until I started to feel like my entire day was just a litany of pussy, cock, fuck, whore, toy, mouth, holes, cum, on me and in me and all over me. I got so fucking sick of it, sick of being beaten down with their constant desire.
But now it’s me, using it on him. Letting him hear me talk dirty while I hold him in the palm of my hand, willingly stroking him, touching him, making him feel like I want him. Tormenting him with what he’s not supposed to have after he tried to force it on me for so long.
“Do you want my mouth?” I ask, leaning up against him, my lips against his ear as I stroke him faster. “I know how much you love it when I suck you off—”