He twists his hips away so that he doesn’t come on my jeans—something Cayde didn’t bother to do that night in the hallway, I think wryly—and he shudders against me, another moan vibrating against my lips as I feel the pulse of his cock in my hand, his whole body arching into me with the pleasure of it.
It feels almost surreal, the press of his body against mine, the smell of his skin, the rigid length of his cock throbbing as his cum spurts onto the sidewalk, and I wish desperately that it were in my mouth, inside of me, that I could feel and taste the hot rush of him the way I did that night on the cliff. I’m wet and aching, wanting him, but I know that when he’s finished, we’re going to go back to the manor and pretend like this never happened.
For a second, when he pulls back, reaching for his softening cock and tucking himself back inside of his jeans, I think that’s exactly what’s going to happen. He’s going to tell me that we need to go home and lead the way to the bike, and we’re going to drive silently back into town.
But instead, he looks down at me, something hot and dark in his eyes, his hand still braced above my head, his body still pinning me to the wall. “I needed that,” he says, his voice low and hoarse. “You making me come, I needed that so fucking bad.” He runs his tongue over his lower lip, his eyes fixed on mine, and I repress the shiver that runs through my body, a tingle that seems connected directly to my clit.
“What do you need, Athena?”
There could be all kinds of answers to that, honestly. But all I can manage is a whimper when Jaxon, apparently knowingexactlywhat I need, reaches down and slides his hand into the front of my jeans.
I gasp when his fingers brush over my clit, and I hear him groan, his lips hovering over mine. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he mutters, moving his forefinger in a slow, circular motion over my aching clit, his hand cupping my pussy as he leans into me. “Did you like playing with my dick like that, out in the open, where we could get caught? Did you like feeling me come, hearing it? Is that what you wanted?”
I whimper again, squirming against him, wanting more. Wanting his fingers on my clit, inside of me, his tongue—I remember all too well how good it feels for him to go down on me, how hot and soft and perfect his tongue feels massaging my pussy, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.
“You like being watched, don’t you?” he murmurs in my ear, his lips brushing against the shell. “You liked everyone watching you at the party. You liked struggling not to come while I licked your pussy. You liked Cayde and Dean watching while I caned you. You like that we could get caught out here, with my hand down your jeans, rubbing your clit.”
I want to tell him no, of course not. That I’m not enjoying it, getting off on it, but that would be a lie. The thought that someone could walk out or down the alleyway at any moment and see me here, pinned and gasping against the wall,isexciting. More so than I’d ever want to admit. My clit is pulsing against his fingers, my hand clutching his shoulder, and I’m so close to coming.
He kisses me then, hard and hot, his tongue plunging into my mouth as his fingers rub against my clit, in quick fast circles that make me moan. It’s my turn for my hips to jerk against his hand, grinding desperately for more. And he gives it to me, nibbling at my lower lip as he plays ruthlessly with my clit, pinching and rolling his fingers over it until I’m arched upwards into his hand, the warmth of his palm pressing against my wet pussy as his tongue thrusts into my mouth. I feel myself falling over the edge, my scream of pleasure muffled and swallowed up by his kiss as he pins me hard against the wall, his hand moving furiously inside of my jeans as my arousal soaks his fingers, my pussy clenching needily as the orgasm rolls over me in waves.
He doesn’t pull back for a moment, even as the climax recedes, leaving me weak-kneed and panting against the wall. His forehead stays pressed against mine, his lips brushing mine, his eyes closed, holding me close to him. It would be a sweet moment if my traitorous brain didn’t choose that precise second to speak up and wonder—
Is he thinking ofher? The girl in that photo? Am I just a memory of someone else to him?
My stomach knots as he pulls away, and the loss of his touch makes me ache for a moment, even though I know it shouldn’t. I shouldn’t care this much.
For a brief, wild moment, I want to tell him to take me away from all of this. To just get on the bike and drive away, as far and as fast as he can. But I know he won’t, and I know that even if he did, it wouldn’t fix anything.
So when he pulls back, nodding towards the bike and asking if I’m ready to go home, I just nod in return and follow him. I sling my leg over the side and wrap my arms around his waist, and know that it will be like none of this has happened when we get back. I’ll have to keep playing my own game and hoping that in the end, I’ll be the one to win.
If there’s anything I’ve learned after my father died, it’s that there are only two choices in the world I was born into. Fight, or flight.
And my only option now is to fight.
Athena
I’m so exhausted from the night out with Jaxon that I sleep through my alarm the next day. It’s noon when a knock at my door pulls me out of the deep—thankfully dreamless—sleep that I was in. I blink awake hazily, licking my dry lips and glancing over at my clock, only to immediately feel a stab of guilt. I’ve never been the type to sleep all day, even when I was in high school.
“Athena?” I hear Cayde’s voice through the door. “Are you okay? Jaxon didn’t let you fight last night, did he?”
I’m only wearing a tank top and panties, but it hardly matters; they’ve all seen me in much, much less anyway. I swing my legs out of bed and head for the door, opening it to see Cayde’s handsome but frowning face on the other side.
“You know, we had plans today,” he says, deadpan. “You alright?”
I pause, momentarily brought up short by two things—one, that he’s hinting that either he andIhad plans that I didn’t know about, or he and Dean had plans that were meant to include me, and two, that he’s actually asking almost right off the bat if I’m okay.
“I didn’t know. And honestly?” I quip, narrowing my bleary eyes at him, “I don’t know if the textbook definition of ‘okay’ applies to me anymore, ever.”
“Fair enough.” Cayde leans against the doorway. “Well, our plans don’t start until early evening. But the way things were going, it looked like you might sleep that long.”
“I would have woken up pretty soon on my own,” I say defensively. “I wouldn’t have sleptallday.”
“Whatever you say, Sleeping Beauty.” Cayde grins, but there’s still a faint concern in his eyes as he looks me up and down. “You didn’t answer my question from before. Jaxon didn’t let you fight last night, did he? We agreed—”
“I didn’t fight,” I cut him off. I don’t mention that Jaxon didn’t either, or about Pixie, or where we went afterward. Anddefinitelynot about what happened up against the wall of the bar. “I just watched.”
“So—” Cayde frowns, peering into the room. “You just slept five hours later than usual for no reason?”