Chapter 18 Beg
BEG
Being aware of all fate and wary of any disruptions, Sidarphion seldom intervenes. He will answer only those desperate enough to beg.
Redacted from Praying for Favor: On Gods and Supplication
Before going to Cassius’s room to trade books, Claudia met up with Alistair to smoke.
It was glorious, but now she feels like her insides are soup.
She keeps doing this thing where she locks eyes with herself in any reflective surface and makes weird faces just to make sure her mouth still works.
So far, so good. Maybe she should’ve smoked a little less, but she’s about to use luxos.
For the first time. On Cassius MacLeod. Even more terrifying—she’s about to break her promise to Dorian.
She cannot be sober for that.
Though, this isn’t the kind of high that makes her act out of character—on the contrary, it enables unflinching honesty.
It loosens anxiety’s grip on her personality and lets her act how she would if she was not afraid of being seen as imperfect.
With her four books pressed between her hip and her arm, she walks down the corridor toward his room.
She pauses before his door and smooths her hair. Then, she undoes her robe, revealing her green lace nightdress that matches her eyes. The bodice is not entirely opaque—that’s why she picked it. Well, that’s not true; Alistair picked it. He knows best.
With a deep breath, she gently knocks on Cassius’s door. He opens almost immediately, and while he’s wearing his signature smirk as their eyes meet, his face immediately darkens as his gaze moves down the split of her robe, the lace on her skin.
He doesn’t speak. It’s almost as if he can’t.
Unfortunately, Claudia is just as struck, for Cassius also has his robes undone, and his white shirt underneath is completely unbuttoned.
She forces herself to look into his eyes, away from his body. “May I come in?”
He nods and steps out of her way, never taking his eyes off hers until she turns her back to him.
Cassius’s room is dimly lit with tapered candles on bronze sconces, flashing red and gold against deep blue walls.
It smells like him, like autumn and money.
There are books everywhere. Five tall shelves line one wall, and papers bury his desk.
A half-finished piece collects ink from a leaking pen—he must’ve been in the middle of writing when she knocked.
Claudia hears the door close behind her.
Glancing over her shoulder, she says, “Ready to give me what I need?”
“What?” He sounds confused, amorous, and maybe a bit drunk. Or maybe Claudia can’t hear correctly from the drugs. The air in the room is heavy with tension. She can feel his eyes scraping down her back while she walks toward his bed.
She turns, facing him. “The books.”
He blinks. His lips part and he inhales through his nose.
“Right.” He crosses the room so he’s pressed in the corner diagonally from her.
They couldn’t be farther apart as Cassius relaxes against the edge of his desk.
He grabs four books from underneath the spill of papers and sets them in a pile at his side. “Here they are.”
They stand in silence, just staring at each other, both waiting to see what the other does next.
This is the time she should be seducing—no, luxosing—him (which is different and entirely academic and, in fact, scholarly), but she’s choking on the moment.
In the glow of the golden candlelight, he’s too infuriatingly beautiful.
How did she ever think she could have the confidence to entice him?
He’s the legacy student, the theoretical descendant of an omnipotent being, and she’s the girl who got rejected. He’s her rival. He hates her.
And yet, he’s looking at her like she’s the one cut from the skin of a god.
Deep breath. She rehearsed this. First, an appeal to the masculine instinct to problem-solve rather than listen. “Cassius, I have a big problem,” she says.
His body becomes tense, rigid. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re going to beat me in this debate. I don’t have a chance.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Pity? Amusement? He releases a breath. “Claudia, I—”
“Unless you help me.” She sets her books down on his bed and straightens her spine.
His brow furrows. “Why would I do that?”
This is a good sign—he didn’t immediately say no.
“You said you wanted to win this debate fairly, so I have to ask: Would you be willing to share any additional materials that might help me form my argument? Something that isn’t in the history books.
Something only you know because of your connection to this school.
Maybe even… something about your ancestor. ”
He smirks, leaning back against his desk so that his shirt opens further. “You really want to know about that, don’t you?”
She nods, tucking her hair behind her ear. Now, time to stroke his ego. “You know so much more about the gods than I do, Cas. Can’t you help me?” Her robe slips off her shoulder when she crosses her arms and pushes her breasts together. “Have a little mercy?”
There’s a flash of desire in his eyes, followed by realization. Then disappointment. “I know what you’re doing, Star Girl.”
She bites her lip, leaning back against the bed, running her palms over the silk sheets. “Is it working?”
He stiffens, surveying her body and pondering. His expression is exaggerated like he’s taunting her just for asking. “I am not a descendant of a god. The story is far more tragic than that.”
He looks toward the door, but when he looks back at her, there is a glimmer in his eyes. Something different. Something hungry.
Finally, he shrugs. “I do have something that could help you. Something that my third-great-grandfather wrote about the truth of our ancestry. How bad do you want it?”
Excitement makes her hands tingle. She fights a smile. She didn’t expect him to offer so quickly. “I don’t just want it. I need it.” Luxos is easier than she thought.
“Prove it.”
She tilts her head. “How?” Hopefully, he’ll ask for a kiss, and Claudia will get everything she came here for—his family secrets, and a glimpse at his greatest fear.
Cassius licks his lips, and the candles flare. “Beg.”
The room goes blurry for a second as a shocking jolt of attraction runs through her body. This isn’t the first time he’s mentioned begging. She never thought he actually meant it.
“Please, will you—”
“On your knees.” His voice is darker than it has ever been.
A breathy laugh escapes her. “What?”
“Get on your knees, Claudia. I won’t repeat myself.”
This is… unexpected. Strange. Humiliating? Exhilarating. Her body freezes, caught between want and rationale.
Is this really about the book? Or is this much bigger than one tiny trade? This feels like the start of something new and all-consuming, like a lit match tossed into a tinder-dry forest.
Slowly, she sinks to her knees and lets her robe drop from her other shoulder. It pools around her body. Candlelight catches on the angle of her shoulder, the jut of her collarbone, the blade of her jaw.
Cassius watches her, a slight smile playing on his lips, as he joins her in dropping his robe.
The only thing left is his billowing white shirt, hanging open and loose, and a pair of tight black trousers.
Golden light skips along his sculpted torso, stumbling over his rippling muscles.
His eyes burn with fierce, dominating intensity.
Claudia has never wanted to touch anyone so badly.
Not even Dorian.
In only her small green gown, she clasps her hands together as if in prayer and says, “Please, Cassius.” She looks up at him through her lashes and licks her lips. “Please.”
A sharp breath escapes him, followed by a deep, almost inaudible growl, as if an animal were hiding in the back of his throat. He points to the bed with his chin. “Reach behind you and grab a book you brought me.”
She obeys.
“Now hold it in your mouth. Bite down hard and don’t drop it.”
She doesn’t let herself think. Clenching her jaw around the book, she sinks her teeth into the worn, salty leather.
“Bring it here.”
She starts to stand, but Cassius stops her with a halting gesture. “No. Crawl.”
Oh.
Fuck.
Wetness pools between her legs. She feels her slick skin sliding against itself while she inches slowly toward him. The burgundy wool rug burns her knees, but she likes it. She puts even more weight on her legs and scrapes them across the carpet, reveling in the sweet sting.
She has always been this way. When she first learned to touch herself, she couldn’t do it without simultaneously tugging on her own hair, or biting her tongue until it bled. For Claudia, pain heightens all pleasure—especially sexual. It makes pleasure feel earned.
Kneeling at Cassius’s feet, now eye level with his hips, she sees his hardened length pressing into his dark pants. Smiling down at her, he takes the book from her mouth and hooks her chin, lifting her gaze up to his.
Passion blazes in his eyes.
“Good girl,” he says.
Her strong gasp turns into a deep, guttural moan. Hearing him praise her is all she’s wanted for so long—granted, she imagined it in a more intellectual sense, in an academic setting.
But this… Oh, this is so much better. This sets her heart on fire.
Good girl. She’s never been called that before, and it’s a complete, earth-shattering revelation; this, she realizes now that she’s tasted it, is what she’s always wanted.
Always needed. A chance to do something perfectly and to be praised so explicitly.
This is everything. Fucking everything.
Somehow, she’s been made good by the man she hates the most. He’s supposed to hate her, too—he told her so just days ago—but now she’s pleasing him, and all she wants is to satisfy more of his commands so he’ll call her that again.