Chapter 7 The Lover
THE LOVER
PATRO
Augustus and Kharon stepped out of the locker room, Alexis sandwiched between them with flushed cheeks and dilated pupils.
Chthonic crowns gleamed atop their heads.
Emotions choked me.
Alexis was my mentee.
I was the one who’d housed her, clothed her, and guided her through the crucible. She was my charge. I’d helped her first. I’d introduced her to Sparta.
The SGC was this August, only a few months away, and since Alexis was still technically our mentee, her performance would in some ways be a reflection of us. We should be the ones by her side, preparing her.
Sure, in the beginning we’d been slightly hostile, me especially. And yes, she was nothing compared to Achilles. But there was still something between us—a nascent spark—potential energy.
Alexis wiped at her face, flashing her hideously expensive diamond.
It was a kick to the teeth.
A reminder.
I was standing before three Spartan royals, and I was … nothing.
A nobody.
Heart hammering painfully in my throat, I tasted the past.
Patroclus, your human heritage makes you weak. Stop struggling. The Gorgons are going to fix you. They’ll break the bitch out of you.
I was a spoiled human child, arrogant and haughty. Showered with toys and told I was superior because of my wealth and breeding.
Then Aphrodite came to collect me.
I was a tortured Spartan teen.
My fourteen-year-old self screamed inside my head.
He’d never stopped.
Torture makes the man was the infamous Gorgon tagline.
Sometimes I wondered if it would have been better to be born in rags because the fall would have hurt less. A pampered child doesn’t suffer well. Better to be nothing all along, than to think you were a somebody and have it all ripped away.
Alexis made a noise, and I came to a halt—I’d been stalking toward her mindlessly.
Two-colored eyes narrowed as she tilted her head to the side like she recognized something in me that I didn’t want her to see.
Shivers prickled down my spine. I felt sick.
Augustus slowly draped his arm over Alexis’s shoulders. There was a warning on his face. He reeked of danger.
Kharon smirked beside them as he pulled on his black creature cloak. “The locker room is all yours, honeys.”
His familiar greeting was acid on the open wound that once was our friendship.
How far we’d fallen.
“Fuck you,” I mouthed.
Kharon bared his teeth and reached for his chest holster.
Achilles moved in front of me protectively, and Alexis frowned as she looked between the three of us.
Skin crawling with sweat, I shoved past all of them and threw open the door, eager to wash the filth of training away.
Kharon’s taunting chuckles rang behind me.
Ripping off my clothes, I turned the shower up until it was scalding and scrubbed as hard as I could, digging the washcloth deep into my skin.
It wasn’t enough.
The dirt remained.
When the past rose up to choke me, as it always inevitably did, the only thing that ever helped was cleanliness—it was my religion, the only piece of my spoiled self that I had left. I’d always been obsessed with feeling put together.
Grinding my teeth, I scrubbed harder, reaching for more soap.
It was basically empty.
With a desperate groan, I chucked the bottle onto the tile floor.
I raised my fist to the wall and swung—Achilles caught my wrist.
Vermillion eyes softened as smoke rose out from his muzzle, water spraying across our naked flesh.
He smelled like fire and rage, like home.
Knuckles cracked as he gripped me tighter—DEATH was in stark relief across them. I flexed my hand—LIAR stared back at me.
I tried to yank away.
Achilles slammed himself forward, pinning me against the shower wall with his body.
Our chests heaved together.
Eyes locked.
He raised his hands between us. “You’re getting yourself all worked up,” he signed angrily. “It’s not worth it.”
I laughed miserably, choking on disbelief and angst as water sputtered off my lips. “You said you wanted her too.”
“I said,” he signed, “that I cared and viewed her as ours … our mentee.” His fingers moved slower. “I do, but you’re falling apart. You’re my priority. Not her.”
“So, you’re just giving up on us?” I scoffed, shoving against his wide, bronzed chest.
He flexed and leaned into my touch, his skin scorching hot.
“They’re our brothers!” His fingers slashed perilously close to my face. “You’re having nightmares about the Gorgons, you’re barely eating, you’re a mess—you need to stop this … before you get bad again.”
Fiery despair exploded in my gut.
Stifling a sob, I pushed him back with all my might.
He banged against the shower wall, bronze skin heaving as he stared down at me.
Hands fisting, his tattooed cock stood erect against his chiseled abs.
The beast of the House of Ares was back.
He’d never really left. He just liked to pretend that he was someone else, someone nicer, someone with morals.
I clicked my tongue. “You’re so predictable.”
Achilles moved in a blur, pinning me with my back against the wall and my hands above my head, as hot water sprayed over both of us.
Reaching down with one hand, our gazes locked together—faces millimeters apart—he squeezed my aching cock. His touch tethered me to reality. The anguish abated.
I tipped my head back.
He stroked me expertly, hard and fast, then shallow and slow, just the way I liked. Our hearts pounded through our sternums; our chests were pressed flush against each other.
He released me abruptly.
I cried out, needing him close.
Eyes smoldering, he picked up the discarded soap bottle and turned it over. He banged it against his palm, then squeezed, veins standing out along his forearm.
Thick liquid slowly poured into his hand.
His hair was loose, plastered across his wide shoulders, and his muzzle dripped water. It smelled like something was burning.
Achilles arched his eyebrow.
He didn’t have to speak; I knew exactly what he wanted.
Slowly, I turned around and widened my stance.
Wet hands trailed down my spine, his nails pricking lightly against my skin, as he caressed the sensitive skin at the top of my ass.
His hands drifted lower.
Soapy fingers danced across my hole.
I shivered, breath catching.
He slowly worked the digits into me, and I groaned with pleasure, widening my stance.
There was a pop as he pulled his fingers away.
His muzzle pressed against the side of my face as he leaned closer, blanketing me with his body. His breathing was ragged and loud against my ear.
He was so close, yet so far away.
Another wave of anguish washed over me.
“You said you wanted her too,” I whispered, the leather of his muzzle digging into my cheek as he pressed against me from behind. “You’re taking their side. You’re abandoning me—”
Achilles wrapped his hand around my throat and squeezed, cutting off my words.
Familiar hardness pressed against my entrance.
Achilles thrust forward without warning, seating himself fully.
I bellowed, the fullness so intense it bordered on pain, as I stretched to accommodate his size.
He stilled.
We stood, locked together, breathing in tandem, drowning in heavy emotions.
His fingers loosened around my neck.
“We’re going to have to marry someone because of that stupid law,” I whispered hoarsely, trembling all over. “I don’t want to marry some Olympian stranger.” My voice cracked. “It will ruin what we have—”
Achilles’s fingers tightened, so once again, I couldn’t speak.
My head spun.
He expertly shifted his hips, pulling back at an angle as he thrust—I saw stars as he hit my prostate—his rhythm pinning me against the tiled wall, pleasure mounting.
Our hips slapped together, the sound wet and obscene.
He reached around and squeezed my cock.
I shuddered as I came, leaking all over his hand.
Achilles dragged his thumb against my sensitive head.
He brought it up to my mouth, rubbing it across my parted lips, then his hips flexed, hardness pulsing, as he also came. Leather creaked as he fought against the muzzle.
Slowly, his hand dropped away from my face.
He didn’t pull away.
We stayed connected, pressed against the wall, drifting down from our pleasure, as the shower sprayed down on us.
Achilles massaged my shoulders.
I leaned my forehead against the wall and reached back to grab his thigh. My nails dug into his skin, eyes closing in the afterglow.
When he finally pulled himself out of me, he grabbed my hunched shoulders and turned me around, gently cradling me against his heaving chest.
His heart pounded thunderously against my ear.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered, tilting my head up to him. “She respects our love—what we have. I thought maybe …”
I trailed off, unable to verbalize my tangled thoughts as the scent of fire intensified. Any other person would want Achilles for themselves. They’d try to take him away from me. He’s the only family I have left. He was all I had. There was no one else in my life who truly cared.
Achilles studied my face.
A part of me was already crumbling to pieces, my soul cracking at the thought of another person trying to ruin what we had.
There was a fire in his eyes—a promise—that we would be okay.
Tattooed fingers slashed through the hazy air.
I jolted.
His words hung in the air between us, explosive and slightly deranged.
“For you, my love—she’ll be ours.”