Chapter Athena
ATHENA
“Hey, neighbor.” Ruby opens her door. She’s wearing a black bikini, partially covered by an emerald silk robe. The contrast between the dark swimwear and her pale skin is striking. “Come in, I’ll make coffee.”
“I brought sweets.” I follow her into the kitchen, trying not to focus on the way the silk clings to her curves, and set down a silver platter on her counter. “Fresh dates from my private supplier in Dubai, and melomakarona from Greece—they’re honey cookies.”
“Thank you. These look delicious.”
I watch as she examines the walnut-studded sweets dusted with cinnamon. “You left rather abruptly last night.” I’d walked her out, watching as she paused to collect herself before heading up the stairs to the library. She’d seemed dazed, overwhelmed perhaps, but not upset.
“Yeah… It was a lot so I told myself I was tired, but when I got home, I couldn’t sleep.” She moves to her espresso machine to make us coffee, and I’m enjoying this glimpse of domestic Ruby. “My mind kept…” She trails off, busying herself with the grinder.
“Replaying?” I supply, leaning against her kitchen island.
Her hands tremble as she tamps the grounds. “That’s one way to put it.” The machine hisses and steams. “All the naughty stuff aside, I never imagined…” She shakes her head in wonder. “A state supreme court justice, three Fortune 500 CEOs, that hedge fund manager everyone’s terrified of…”
“Impressed by the guest list?” I can’t help but smile at her obvious fascination.
“More like shocked. They were so…normal. Friendly. Nobody was trying to network or make deals. It felt genuine.” She froths almond milk, pours it on top, and hands me a cappuccino.
“That’s the point,” I say. “No business allowed in the club. But if you ever need a favor from a certain judge or want to pitch to that hedge fund manager…” I shrug. “You know where to find them. Many lasting partnerships have started over shared secrets.”
“It’s brilliant, really.” Ruby pours her own cappuccino. “A space where powerful women can just be. No agenda. And how did I not know they were queer?”
“Hence the NDA.” I grin. “Well…there’s that and the fact that some can’t be seen tipsy or stoned or even just dancing in public.”
Ruby studies me over the rim of her cup. "So how did it all start with the club?
"It actually started as something much smaller,” I say.
“When I still lived at the Olympus, I used to host these intimate gatherings in my suite—just a handful of queer women looking for connection. We talked about how nice it would be to have a real space where we could all come together without worrying about being seen or photographed or ending up in some tabloid. I thought about creating something within the Olympus itself, but that was too risky.” I take a sip of my coffee.
"When I was house hunting, one of the main selling points of this place was actually that underground space. It used to be a wine cellar."
"So you bought the house specifically for the cellar?" Ruby asks.
"It was a major factor. All I had to do was renovate the space and the rest is history."
Ruby chuckles. “And here was me thinking you were running an illegal gambling ring.” She takes a bite of melomakarona, her eyes widening as she chews. “Mm…these are good.”
“An illegal gambling ring?” I shoot her an amused look.
“Yeah. I had this whole narrative in my head—casino boss Athena, making shady deals in her underground lair, probably keeping someone’s kneecaps in a trophy case somewhere.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Sorry to disappoint. No kneecaps, though I do have an impressive collection of designer hats.”
“The hats!” Ruby exclaims, tapping the brim of my fedora. “I love them, by the way, but they slotted right into that dangerous stereotype. Meanwhile, you’re just running a very exclusive…what do you even call it? A social club? A sanctuary?” She dips another cookie in her coffee.
“A sanctuary. I like that.” I take a sip of my cappuccino. “Speaking of sanctuary, shall we move this outside?”
Andreas has truly transformed the poolside with white loungers arranged around the clear water and desert plants in terra-cotta pots. I have to give it to him; he’s got a good eye for detail.
Ruby drops onto a lounger and her robe falls open. The black bikini reveals more than it conceals, and I force myself to look away. I’m fully dressed, as I’m heading to the Olympus soon, but even if I wasn’t, I’m not one for sunbathing.
“So,” I say, taking the adjacent lounger that’s shaded by a parasol.
“Anything you want to talk about?” I need to address what she witnessed last night.
Watching women together, seeing scenes of domination and submission—these aren’t things one generally encounters on a Saturday night at their neighbor’s house. “How did last night make you feel?”
A blush creeps onto Ruby’s cheeks. “I felt alive,” she admits.
“For the first time in…God, I don’t know how long.
Watching those women together, so free, so uninhibited…
It was incredibly sexy.” She absently runs her finger around the rim of her coffee cup.
“But I also felt guilty. Like I was betraying Claire by having those feelings again.”
“But you know that’s not true. Claire would want—”
“Want me to move on, yes.” She gives me a small smile. “Everyone says that. And logically, I know it’s true. Anyway, I was lying awake at three a.m., feeling guilty while I thought about…” She catches herself.
“About what?”
She stares into her coffee. “That room, with the bed. The women together. And then…” Her voice drops lower. “The other room. The one with the handcuffs.”
She reaches for the sunscreen on the table between us and starts to apply it to her legs. Her movements are practical rather than seductive, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her hands as they glide over her skin.
“You seemed particularly interested in that room,” I observe carefully.
“I’ve never considered it to be something I might want to try. But I can’t stop thinking of it, and about…” She swallows hard. “Never mind.”
I set my coffee down, my heart racing. “No. Tell me.”
She bites her lip, now frantically working the lotion into her arms so she doesn’t have to look me in the eyes. “It must be nice to be able to let go. To trust someone else to…” She doesn’t finish the statement, but her meaning is clear.
Sensing it might be too soon for this conversation, I gesture to the sunscreen. “Can I help you with that? I don’t want your back to burn.”
She stares at the bottle like it might bite her, then at me. I can’t help but laugh.
“Come on, Ruby. It’s just sunscreen.”
She hesitates, then hands me the bottle.
“Turn around,” I say, letting a hint of command slip into my tone. Her reaction is immediate—a slight shiver, a quickening of breath.
Interesting.
I consider straddling her but decide against it. Instead, I perch on the edge of her lounger, warming the lotion between my palms before touching her skin. The first contact draws a soft gasp from her—whether from the coolness of the cream or my touch, I’m not sure.
What starts as a simple application becomes something more intimate. I knead the tension from her neck, trace the line of her spine, map the curves of her shoulder blades. Each stroke of my hands draws a deeper response—a sigh, a subtle arch, and finally a low moan.
The sound awakens something dangerously spontaneous, something I’ve kept dormant.
In the club, intimacy is choreographed, controlled—a dance of power and submission.
This is different. Raw. Unscripted. The simple act of touching her bare skin affects me more than any scene I’ve orchestrated underground.
Her skin is smooth and soft beneath my palms as I work the delicate knobs of her spine.
I love the way her muscles jump when my fingers find a sensitive spot.
I shouldn’t be touching her like this—she’s vulnerable, still processing her first night at the club, still grieving. But I can’t seem to stop.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur. Her muscles tense at my words. “Sorry,” I add quickly, though I’m not. “Just objectively speaking. I’m not trying to—”
“You want me in those handcuffs, don’t you?” She doesn’t turn around, but I hear the tremor in her voice. It’s not a joke.
“Yes.” My hands move lower, skimming her sides, and she arches into the touch. Suddenly I’m acutely aware of how intimate this has become.
Last night, as Ruby moved through the club, I saw something awaken in her.
The way she watched those women together, the flush in her cheeks, how her breath caught when we entered the playroom—it was like watching a flower slowly unfold.
It was beautiful, and as much as she’s been thinking of last night, I’ve been thinking of Ruby.
“I should go,” I say, standing abruptly. Not outside the club. The loss of contact feels physical.
Ruby sits up quickly, adjusting her robe. “Wait, what? You’re leaving?” She searches my face with concern. “Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”
“No, of course not.” I grab a towel from the lounger and dry my hands, trying to appear casual, though I’m a little flustered.
“I just remembered I have a meeting at the Olympus in twenty minutes. I completely lost track of time.” I toss the towel aside and try to slow my breathing. “Will you be at the club tonight?”
“I don’t know…”
“You’re one of us now,” I remind her. “You can come and go as you please, even when I’m not there. You know my gate code and the password. It’s your playground too.”
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, considering. “I need some time,” she says finally. “To process everything. But maybe Friday, after work?”
I nod, gathering my composure. “Friday then.” I pause at the foot of her lounger, allowing myself one last look at her. “And Ruby? When you’re ready to explore those handcuffs…” I let the sentence hang unfinished, enjoying the way her pupils dilate. “I’ll see you around, neighbor.”