Chapter Six
Athens
When Karter starts fucking around like this, I forget how to be mad.
“Karter, put me down!” I’m laughing, breathless as he spins me like a ragdoll in his arms, ignoring every word I say.
“I mean it,” I gasp. “You and Wyck don’t need to be tearing each other apart because of me. I’ll stay here while you all go out. I’m not ready to see him.”
He stops, just barely, eyes darkening.
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“And it’s not like you did either.” I try to defend him, but my words feel weak even as they leave my mouth.
His jaw ticks. “No. I did. I knew better, and I still fucking did it. I let my dick speak louder than my head. It’s not like Wyck and I haven’t clashed before… but this time?” He puts me down, and for once, he looks haunted. “I didn’t give a shit how it would affect you. That’s on me.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” I say, stepping back with a sigh. “You were there when I needed you. If Wyck can’t handle that, then, tough tiddies.”
He chuckles at that, shaking his head.
“I’ll read through the journals while you guys go out. Be right back.” I turn around, and slam face-first into something solid.
Something warm. Something breathing.
“Excuse me.” My voice catches because why the hell am I apologizing to a door?
But then, I realize that something… isn’t a thing .
It’s him.
Wyck.
His voice slithers into my ear, low and thick like smoke curling around a blade. “It’s my fault.”
I sway.
“Wyck,” I whisper, dizzy.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt. I came to apologize.” His eyes, those dark, dangerous eyes, lock on mine. “That shit downstairs? That wasn’t me thinking. That was me losing it.”
I blink. “What?” Let him talk. Let him finish.
“You belong to no one, Athens. Not even me. That’s a hard thing to admit. But you’re ours . Mine. His. All of us.” He smirks, tossing my own words back at me. “I shouldn't have acted like an… alpha-hole , was it?”
My face burns. “That’s… an unusual word to use when talking about yourself.” Nervous laughter. God, I’m so embarrassing.
“Yeah, I thought so too,” Karter chimes in, grinning like he’s enjoying the show.
“We’re all going out tonight,” Wyck says, gaze shifting to Karter’s silence. It’s not a request. It’s a decree.
I cross my arms. “I can’t. Not with all this shit happening. Not when Bash is probably out there sending people to find me.”
Wyck’s entire expression ices over. “I don’t give a fuck about that grease-slicked bastard. Last time we talked, he said you two were married . That he was about to come into some money to dig himself out of whatever mess he’s made.”
The air in my lungs turns to ash. “Married? No. We’re not married. What the hell is he talking about?”
“Don’t know yet. But my guys are digging. Niko and Felix are trailing my father. Dash has his phone tapped. There’s more coming, more lies, more secrets. But tonight?” He leans in, voice molten and dark. “Tonight, we breathe before we burn.”
I’m spiraling. “How can I just go out when I don’t even know who I am anymore? Everything’s lies, and I’m lost in the middle of it.” I spin, throwing myself onto Karter’s bed like the world’s most dramatic martyr. “I don’t want to party. I want to cry until my soul’s as empty as my name.”
“Too fucking bad, Brat.” Karter’s voice rumbles behind me like thunder. “Wyck’s right. We all need this.”
I pout. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
A pause.
Then Wyck’s hand wraps around mine. “Come with me.”
Oh no. I glance at Karter as Wyck drags me down the hall. Help me. I mouth.
Karter just shakes his head. Nope. You’re fucked.
Wyck leads me into his room, past the soft lighting, past the quiet menace that always lingers there, and stops in front of his closet. “There.” He nods to the left side.
“What is all this?” I ask.
“See for yourself.”
I walk forward, fingertips grazing fabrics that could’ve been stitched by sin itself. Dresses made to cling and destroy. Shoes lined up like weapons of seduction. Bags that scream power and poison.
His hand finds my hip. “Looks like you’ve thought of everything,” I murmur.
“Not everything,” he breathes, lips at the shell of my ear, voice dark enough to summon shadows.
He’s so close now, I feel the heat rolling off him like a fire barely leashed.
And I know.
I’m not leaving this room untouched. Not by Wyck. Not by this night.
Not by whatever darkness we’ve all been drowning in together. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Heat coils up my spine, suffocating the small space of his closet like smoke curling from the mouth of hell. It’s too hot. Too close. Too much.
But I don’t move.
I need the burn. I want to see what catches fire first, me or the room.
Wyck’s chest presses against my back, arms slipping around my waist like chains made of silk. His fingers glide down my stomach, slow, reverent… cruel. Every brush stokes the inferno building beneath my skin, and my head drops back to his shoulder like it belongs there.
“Wyck.” It’s a whisper soaked in need.
He hears the moan buried in it. Of course he does.
“I’ve missed you, Athens,” he breathes, and one of his hands slides up to my throat, thumb grazing the hollow of it before his palm settles there, pressing. Not tight. Just enough to own it.
“I want to fuck you,” he admits, voice dark silk and sharp teeth. “But I care more about what’s spiraling in that pretty little head of yours. And if I’m reading you right, and I always am, then sex should be the last thing either of us are thinking about.”
His breath ghosts along my cheek, and my body trembles.
“It should be,” I admit, turning in his arms. His grip loosens around my throat just enough for me to meet his eyes, and it’s a mistake. That stare devours. “But it’s not.”
I press my hand to his face. He leans into it like I’m the only balm that ever quieted the demons.
We’ve fucked in the shadows of the Devil’s Playground, behind masks, above altars, beneath strobe lights and secrets. But this moment? This one is too real .
He sighs. “No matter how bad I want you, we’re not fucking tonight.”
That sounds like a challenge.
“We’ll see about that.”
I drop to my knees before he can stop me. My fingers work fast, unbuttoning his pants, ignoring his curse, the flash of warning in his eyes.
“If you won’t fuck me… then I’ll fuck you .”
His body goes still. The kind of still that comes before a storm.
“Athens, get up.” His tone is clipped. Final.
I look up at him, eyes wide and innocent, until I free his cock from his boxers and it springs to life like it’s been waiting for my mouth all day.
“Doesn’t look like he agrees.” I purr, licking the tip, slow and sinful.
He hisses through his teeth, eyes blazing with restraint.
“If you don’t stop.”
“Then what?” I squeeze the base of his cock, just enough pressure to make a point. “You’ll punish me?” I smirk. “Haven’t you figured out yet that I like being punished?”
His eyes flare, rage, lust, need, everything crashing at once.
And then?
His hands fist in my hair, brutal and possessive. My thighs clench.
“When you say shit like that…” he growls, dragging me closer. “…makes me wonder.”
“Wonder what?” I ask, already knowing I’m about to live the answer.
His smile is wicked. “If you’re going to be my dirty little girl tonight.”
I should laugh. But all I do is moan around the head of his cock.
“Or…” His voice dips lower, more lethal. “…would you rather be my dirty little slut ?”
My eyes fly open, he read my goddamn mind.
And I let him feel my answer. I hum around him, throat tightening as I take him deeper, farther, until he brushes the back of my throat.
“Fuck,” he grunts, hips jerking forward as he loses that iron grip of control. “That tells me everything I need to know.”
Good.
Because I want them all to know.
I want to be their secret weapon, their ruined obsession. I want them to use me until there’s nothing left but bones and breathless moans.
Wyck’s grip tightens, dragging my mouth over his cock as he fucks my throat in slow, filthy thrusts, watching every reaction I give him.
And I give him everything .
“Harder,” I mumble, voice mangled around him.
He does.
He always does.
This time, when he thrusts back in, there’s no hesitation.
Just force.
Just ruin.
He drives himself deeper, past resistance, past reason, past mercy.
“Flatten that tongue, baby,” he growls, voice wrecked and dripping with control. “I want the back of your fucking throat, and your tongue’s in my way.”
There’s something wicked about the way he says it, like he’s molding me into something darker, something filthier. I obey without hesitation, ignoring the desperate scrape of my gag reflex. He wants submission? He can have it.
I feel his cock twitch the moment I yield.
He’s close. I know that twitch. I live for it.
Our rhythm is brutal and perfect, a collision of want and war. He fucks my mouth like he owns it, like he’s branding the back of my throat with every savage thrust. Each moan he releases is laced with sin, gritted out between clenched teeth like he’s trying not to fall apart.
He tilts his head, and our eyes lock.
That smirk.
That fucking smirk.
It splits across his face like a warning, and then he snaps , fucking me harder, faster, like he’s chasing madness. His legs falter. His hips jerk.
He’s there.
His orgasm surges, cum spilling from his cock just as I pull away to watch. His hand wraps around himself, finishing the job like a goddamn devil painting the world in white heat.
I watch, transfixed.
No words. No shame.
Only hunger.
A silent command flickers in his eyes, and I move.
My lips seal around him, and he feeds it to me, thick, hot, and perfect. I take every drop. Let it coat my throat. Swallow it like sacrament.
He groans like I’ve given him salvation in the form of sin.
When he finally staggers back, chest heaving, dick sliding from my mouth, he looks wrecked. Feral. Divine.
“Fuck, Athens…” His voice is raw. “You suck my dick like that again, and I’ll burn this whole town down for you. I’ll put the world in your goddamn hands.”
He yanks me up by the arms, crashing his mouth to mine, tasting himself on my tongue.
It’s violent. It’s dirty. It’s perfect.
Then he slaps my ass, hard, and steps back to fix himself.
“That was fucking hot. Now quit playing. Get ready. I want every Devil downstairs in thirty.”
“I don’t know what to wear,” I throw over my shoulder with a smirk. “I’ll ask Karter. He’s got taste.”
I’m gone before Wyck can object.
Standing in the hallway like trouble incarnate, I call out, “Karter, get your fine ass over here!”
His door cracks open. “What is it, Brat?” he groans, voice heavy with amusement and something far darker.
I twirl my hair around my finger, batting my lashes like the tease he knows I am. “I need help picking something out. Make me look fuckable.”
He stalks toward me with a lazy hunger, hand sliding around my waist before kissing me slow and deep. Then we’re headed to Wyck’s room, and he’s already picking through the closet like he’s dressing his favorite doll.
Minutes later, my outfit is laid out across Wyck’s bed, tight, dark, sinful, and I’m off to clean up.
I slip into his bathroom just as he finishes washing his hands.
“All yours,” he says, brushing past me like nothing happened.
“Thanks. I left the outfit on your bed. Karter picked it, so if you hate it, blame him.” I grin, shutting the door before he can reply.
Clothes off.
Shower on.
I step under the scorching stream, sighing as the heat licks my skin like fire.
“Ahhh… Feels like Hell. Just like my life.”
And God, do I fucking love it.