I feel myself jerk again at that, my body shuddering against her as pleasure and pain ripple through me all at once. I’ve got a handful of regrets already, more than someone my age really should, and one of them will forever be that I let someone else take Athena to bed first. I know that no matter what happens, I’ll wonder ‘til the day I die if things might have been different if I’d done just that, if I’d been the one to “win” instead of Dean.
But I can’t change any of that now. And if the way things happened means that all of this is going to come crumbling down—this town, our families, all of the horrid history that’s plagued this place for so long—then maybe it’s for the best.
All I know is that I feel right now as if I could spend a lifetime right here on this floor, buried inside of Athena while she arches against me, her fingers digging into my shoulders as her sharp indrawn breaths turn to moans.
This feels different, somehow, than the other times. With the sharp, still-bleeding catharsis of the way she just fucked me, this feels softer somehow, more intimate. It’s different from having her up against my wall, fast and desperate, and it’s definitely nothing like that horrible night when I violated her trust in a way that I’m not sure I can ever do enough to make up for.
I want this to last. I still have no idea what will happen between us when the moment is over, when we walk out of this room, and I want to remember this. I want to remember her small breasts against my chest through her tank top and the heat of her skin against mine, the slippery hot wetness of her, the grip of her thighs around me, the taste of her mouth. I want all of it, and for the first time since Natalie, I let myself go, just a little.
I let myself feel something besides pain and grief and anger and desperation.
Athena breathes in, her lips brushing over mine, and I feel her arch up against me. I want to take it slow, but it’s nearly impossible. She feels too fucking good, and I can feel myself speeding up, wanting to thrust into her again and again.
She pulls me down, her arms winding around my neck and her lips tilted up to mine, and I groan, the sudden intimacy of it almost too much to bear.She feels so fucking good,I think to myself, the refrain repeating over and over in my head as I slide my hand down, holding onto her hip as I slide in all the way and rock deeply against her. I want to stay here, buried inside of her, feeling her move against me, and in this moment, I never ever want it to end.
I don’t know what the future can possibly look like for us, and I know that whatever happens, it’s probably going to involve Dean and Cayde. I’d never pictured myself sharing a girl that I have the kind of feelings for that I do with Athena with anyone, let alone Dean and Cayde. We’d shared girls back in high school, but that was just fucking, a three-way power trip with one girl in the middle of all of it. And we’ve certainly shared Athena sexually—but I can feel it becoming more than that, with all of us.
Can I share a girl I’m in love with?The thought comes into my head out of nowhere as I lean down to kiss her again, and the feeling of adrenaline that follows it is enough to make me groan aloud, my body shuddering with that and the pleasure of the way she feels now that I’ve slowed down again, my thrusts in and out of her body measured and letting me feel every bit of sensation between the two of us.
I can’t be in love with Athena. I know how that ends—and there’s no reason to believe there’s a future for any of us, let alone the four of us together.
But if there was—
Don’t think about it. It doesn’t matter right now.
I close my eyes, slanting my mouth over hers, tasting her and breathing her in as I start to thrust harder. She’s moaning now against my lips, her body tightening around mine, and I can feel that she’s on the edge. I want to feel her come apart around me, to lose control, and I reach up, cupping the side of her face in my hand as I kiss her as if I could devour her from the mouth down. I can feel myself getting close too, on the edge for the second time in a matter of minutes, but I don’t want to come yet.
“Jaxon!”
And then Athena cries out my name against my mouth as she comes, her body wrapping around mine like a clinging vine as she starts to shudder and come apart, her moans vibrating against my lips and making what little self control I had left crumble to dust.
I can’t stop it. I feel her clench around me, her back arching and pressing herself against my chest, and my orgasm rushes up in a wave of pleasure that takes me completely off guard. I let out a sound that’s somewhere between pain and pleasure, thrusting into her hard and holding myself there as I feel her pulse and flutter around my length, the sensation so overwhelming that my vision blurs a little at the edges.
“Athena—” I moan her name, the sound breaking as the next throb of my climax ripples through me, and I feel her tighten around me, clinging to me as we come together.
I don’t want it to end. I want to keep feeling like this, for as long as I possibly can.
Maybe it’s not real. Maybe this is all a fantasy, and I’m going to wake up from it and things will go back to the way they were before. But for now, itisreal. I have Athena in my arms, and she wants me again, even just for now.
And I’m not going to take that for granted.
12
ATHENA
When I was young, I loved the beach.
My mom would take me to the coast sometimes, past the country club and all of the fancy places we’d never be good enough to go into, and we’d walk along the rocky stretch of beach, letting the waves lap at our feet and picking up the smooth stones and sea glass as we went.
There’s been so many times when I’ve closed my eyes and tried to take myself back to that place. It doesn’t always work—sometimes I can’t remember what it felt like to be that happy, that carefree.
But when I fall asleep beside Jaxon, after we’ve climbed back into my bed and wound ourselves around each other again, I dream about that beach. I dream about being very young, maybe eight or ten, my hand wrapped tightly in my mother’s as we walked down the beach together, the sound of the waves crashing in the background.
I dream of sand between my toes and the scratching of sea glass against the soles of my feet, how cold the ocean was when it touched my skin and how my mother grabbed me and pulled me back when she thought I might actually wade in.
All of the little things come back—the way her hair shone in the cool New England sun, the smell of the sweet perfume she always wore. It was cheap perfume, some vanilla sugar thing from the drugstore, but I’d always loved it. My mother smelled like cupcakes and sunshine, and even when I was older, that’s what I always associated with her.
In the dream, she’s not gone. I don’t feel grief as if I’m seeing her again knowing that she’s dead, or longing as if I know that I’ll never really see her again. All I feel is that old familiar peace, the comfort that came from being next to her, and it makes me want to stay in the dream, to stay back then when I was young and safe and I didn’t know everything that would come for me in the future.