Chapter 40 Athena
ATHENA
Ruby’s bedroom ceiling has subtle imperfections in the paint—a tiny bubble here, a hairline crack there, barely visible in the dim light from the bedside lamp.
I trace them with my eyes, creating constellations from the flaws.
I tried to read but couldn’t concentrate.
Then I attempted meditation, streaming a guided session on my phone, but my mind wandered after a minute.
If I were at home, Zeus would be sprawled across the foot of my bed, his weight pinning down the covers. I’m not used to sleeping without him and his purring presence.
Ruby’s bed is firmer than mine, the pillows fluffier. Even though I can’t sleep, I like being here, surrounded by her things, sleeping where she sleeps. It makes me feel close to her.
The sheets are fresh, of course—Ruby had them changed before our swap—so they don’t carry her scent. But her cashmere cardigan does. I found it earlier, hanging in her closet, and couldn’t resist pressing it to my face. I felt ridiculous, but I did it anyway.
It’s only one a.m., and I’m never in bed this early. Never. But my mother is down the hall, sleeping in the nearest guestroom, and Demetria is on the other side of the house in another guestroom, presumably texting Julian.
I check my phone, then toss it aside on the bed with a frustrated sigh. No messages.
The club will be busy tonight. Is Ruby there? And if she is, what is she up to?
I grab my phone again, and opening our message thread, I stare at the blinking cursor. What would I even say? Hey, just wondering what you’re up to? I type, delete. That makes me sound possessive, and God help me, I’m feeling possessive. Finally, I settle on something casual.
Having a good night? Such a simple phrase, yet loaded with everything feared and unsaid.
I press send before I can overthink it, then immediately regret it.
What if she’s busy? What if she’s with someone?
The images flood my mind before I can stop them—Ruby in one of the playrooms, but not with me.
Morgan has been eyeing her since day one.
Alex too. What if they’ve made their move now that I’m not there?
What if Ruby’s learning that she doesn’t need me for the experiences she craves?
Five minutes pass. No response. An eternity compressed into three hundred seconds of anxiety.
Sorry, were you sleeping? I type. That makes no sense. If she’s sleeping, she won’t reply, but it’s too late. I’ve already sent it and the message hangs—senseless, desperate, revealing everything about my weak state of mind.
I toss the phone aside again, disgusted with myself. I feel this…this churning in my gut at the thought of someone else touching her. What the fuck is happening to me?
The phone vibrates against the comforter just as I fling an arm over my eyes in frustration. I snatch it up, heart racing.
Hope I didn’t wake you. Was in the shower, just saw your message.
Relief floods through me, so intense I almost laugh. In the shower. Not in the playroom with Morgan and Alex. Not in someone else’s arms. Just…in the shower. You didn’t wake me. Can’t sleep. How was your night?
Her response comes quicker this time. Good. Went to the club for a bit. Chatted with Donna most of the evening. How was yours?
My fingers relax around the phone. Donna. The state supreme court justice. Not Morgan. Not Alex. I exhale slowly, unaware I’d been holding my breath. It was nice. Just family time with lots of food. Donna’s lovely. Do you like her? I cringe as soon as I send it. Could I be more transparent?
Yeah, I do. She’s good company. The three dots appear—Ruby’s typing. Those familiar, agonizing ellipses that always seem to hold entire universes of potential meaning. They hover, promising something, then vanish. Gone. Then they return.
Wait. Are you jealous? Then a wink emoji.
I’m caught. Heat blooms in my cheeks, and I’m grateful she can’t see me. I consider denying it, but what’s the point? She’s already seen through me. Maybe a little. It’s not a feeling I’m used to.
I like it. It’s cute.
I roll my eyes. I am not cute.
Yes, you are. And for the record, you have nothing to be jealous about. You’re the only one who brings out a certain side of me…
My breath hitches, a sharp intake that draws the words into my skin. What side might that be?
The three dots dance. Tease. My naughty side. No emoji this time. Want me to tell you exactly what I was thinking about while I was in the shower?
My mouth goes dry. The power has shifted. She’s no longer just responding—she’s orchestrating. Controlling. And it’s sexy. My hand slides between my thighs, my fingers running through my slick heat. I’m so turned on I’m throbbing. Only Ruby can do that to me.
Go on, I type. Two words. A surrender.
I was fantasizing about you fucking me.
Tell me more, I type, my breath coming in short gasps.
From behind. Grabbing my hair, your arm around me, your mouth on my neck…
Circling my clit, I throw my head back and moan softly. I’m almost too aroused to type. I can make that happen. How do you want me to fuck you? With my fingers? I send it, then wait a few seconds. With my strap-on?
It takes a while for her to reply, and I suspect she, too, is trying to multitask.
I want you to fuck me with your strap-on, she types. Hard.
My fingers move faster, matching the rhythm of her words. Are you touching yourself, Ruby?
Yes.
I imagine her in bed, naked, like me, and I want to be there so badly it hurts. The Domme inside me is tempted to tell her to hold off, to wait until we’re together.
How does it feel? I ask.
It feels amazing…but something is missing. You.
I bite my lower lip and swallow another moan, not wanting to wake my mother. I’m so close, trembling, bucking my hips. Send me a picture. It’s a crazy demand, and I’m surprised when I receive an attachment.
There she is, in bed. Her bottom half is covered by white sheets, her top half is bare, her breasts full, her nipples erect as she stares into the camera for the sexiest selfie I’ve ever seen. Her hair tousled and face free of makeup, her eyes heavy lidded, her hand reaching under the covers.
You’re beautiful. I pause before I send another message.
I want you. Intimacy is easier at a distance.
A sexy exchange over messages, a striptease viewed from my car…
It’s almost like it doesn’t count, like it’s merely a fantasy that can never touch my heart.
It’s not the same though; I long to touch her.
I’m right here, she replies. Now it’s your turn.
My turn? I hesitate for a beat before I make a split decision. How about I come over instead? Stop what you’re doing. I’ll see you in my office.