Chapter 6 ATHENA
ATHENA
I grew up playing games with my father—quiz games, chess, anything that demanded strategy and bluffing.
As a child, I always won. He let me, of course, but then I thought I was brilliant.
As I got older, the wins grew fewer. By the time I was thirteen, it was almost impossible to beat him. That’s when the lessons started.
“You should know the taste of losing,” he’d say, smiling as he wiped the board clean. “Life isn’t fair, darling. You can’t win every time, and not everything is worth sacrificing just to say you won.”
I never understood what he meant—until tonight. Because the man in front of me isn’t just clever, he’s calculated, and I lost to him.
He’s sitting across from me like a king on a throne, watching the panic simmer behind my eyes, smirking. His long fingers brush his jaw as if he already owns me.
“You won,” I force out, chin high. “What do you want?”
“Endless possibilities,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Tell me, Athena, are you ready to give me what I really want?”
My throat goes dry. His stare burns.
“I want your necklace.”
My hand darted to the necklace, clutching it in my palm. I haven’t taken off the necklace since my parents gifted it to me. I was 10 and it’s my favorite gift from them. My heart sinks just thinking about him taking it away from me.
“No. Choose something else.”
“But I want this.” His voice is soft, unyielding. “And I won. Fair and square, didn’t I?”
My father’s words echo in my head: ‘‘You have to pay the price when you lose, especially when you don’t know who you’re playing against.’’
I should have listened.
With shaking hands, I unclasp the necklace. My skin feels raw without it. I slide it across the table. He takes it without hesitation, looping the chain around his long fingers like a prize. His smirk sharpens.
“You can leave now,” I snap, standing abruptly. I need him gone.
But he just leans forward, elbows on the table, the scar under his eye catching the light.
“I’m feeling generous,” he says, pocketing the necklace. “I’ll give you a chance to win it back.”
My heart slams once.
“I don’t trust you.”
“You don’t have to.” His grin widens. “You just have to beat me.”
“What if I lose again?”
He doesn’t answer. His gaze drags down my body—slow, devouring. My robe clings to my damp skin, bikini still wet from the pool. Something inside me snaps.
“Are you that desperate to see what’s under my robe?” I challenge, my voice a low hiss. He lifts his eyes to mine, no shame in them. Just heat. Raw, blistering heat.
So I let the robe slide from my shoulders.
It falls to the ground in silence. The black swimsuit leaves little to the imagination, my skin flushed from wine and night air.
“Go ahead and look, psycho.”
But he doesn’t. His eyes never leave my face. And somehow, that’s worse.
“So,” he murmurs, low and husky, “do you accept my offer, dollface?”
“Stop calling me that. What’s the game?”
“Stop calling me that,” I breathe. “What’s the game?”
He stands slowly, powerfully, and closes the space between us in a few terrifying steps. His height consumed me as he stared down at me.
“You’ll find out tomorrow,” he says. “Midnight. At our place.”
“Our place? Romantic.” I laughed.
He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he lifts one hand and tucks a strand of red hair behind my ear. My knees threaten to buckle when his fingers trail down until they rest against my pulse.
His fingers slide lower, grazing between my breasts and my breath stutters.
He walks behind me, his palm trailing up my chest as he presses himself to my back.
He’s fully dressed and I’m nearly naked.
My ass grazes his thighs, and I feel the shift of his body against mine.
Then his hand wraps lightly around my throat. He tilts my face, lips brushing my ear.
“And just for the record,” he whispers, “I already knew what’s under that robe. Cute little swimsuit. Though personally, I think you’d look better without it.”
A strangled gasp escapes my lips, and my thighs clench.
And just like with our first meeting, he kissed the distance between my ear and neck, this time, my skin was familiar with the contact of his lips on me.
His words still rocking me. He shamelessly admitted that he had been watching me long enough to know how my body looked in just my matching bikini and bra suit.
After that, he just disappears. The sound of the door opening and closing echoes like thunder in the silence he leaves behind. My hand flies to my throat, the same spot his fingers just claimed. My body is buzzing, throbbing, aching.
I storm upstairs, shower until my skin is raw, but he lingers. His scent, his freaking lips.
By the time I crawl into bed, wearing nothing but black panties and one of Mason’s shirts, my body is still on fire. Mason slips into bed an hour later, arms wrapping around me like he always does, his breath warm, his presence familiar. But it doesn’t feel the same.
His lips press to my neck, and nothing happens. No spark. No burn. Just… comfort.
I lie still in his arms with my eyes wide open, haunted by the feel of another man’s mouth in the same place. And the worst part? I don’t want to forget it.
I want more.