Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
D ray
As usual, I’m the first over the finish line and the first to hit the showers. The shadow weavers’ wash room is separate to the commoners’. I’m also betting it’s a hell of a lot nicer – more a hammam than a locker room, with scented steam drifting through the large open space; the walls, floors and ceiling tiled in a decorative green and the lighting dim. It makes the place feel as if you’re walking on the sea bed.
Under the circle of showers that hang in the center of the room, I wash away the grit, grime and sweat from my body, reliving that run. Reliving one part of it in particular, closing my eyes and letting the scene play out against my eyelids. My cock’s rock hard and standing to attention between my thighs. I wrap my hand around it and run my fist up and down – editing that scene and amending it to make it even more x-rated.
“Fuck,” I mutter into the water, letting it run down my body like a soft caress.
I pump my cock in my hand, but as my balls tingle and begin to tighten, I stop, biting down hard on my lip – so hard I probably draw blood.
I want to save that for tonight.
I smile. Yeah, tonight is going to be fun.
My cock’s not happy about it, dribbling pre-come into the water and twitching in agitation.
I cut off the shower and march over to the plunge pool. I dip my big toe into the water. Ice-cold. This is going to hurt. I smile to myself and jump right in – the cold water hitting my body like a thousand sharp knives. I go right under, the water soaring over my head, and my feet hitting the bottom of the pool. I kick off and shoot right back to the surface.
“Shit, yes!” I mutter as I break through the surface and shake the water from my eyes and my face.
I remain in the water even though it makes my lungs ache and my skin sting as the rest of the shadow weavers begin to trickle in – Beaufort one of the first. Thorne is faster – only a little slower than me, but he’ll have gone back to our rooms to shower in private.
I drag myself out, not bothering to tie a towel around my waist – the other dudes can look if they want to feel fucking inferior – and stride to the hot, bubbling pool. I slide into the warm water, groaning with a different kind of pleasure, and lean back against the side, big-ass grin pinned to my face.
Beaufort, soaping himself under the shower, examines that grin, shakes his head and turns his back on me.
He says I’m too easy to read. That I wear my emotions written all over my face. What do I care? I have nothing to hide.
Beaufort isn’t the only one who notices how smug I’m looking.
“What you grinning about, Eros?” Kratos calls across the bathroom, washing his meager-looking cock under the water. “Like something you see?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, “I can’t exactly see it from over here. Too small.”
The other boys cackle and Kratos scowls at me.
“I wouldn’t be looking so fucking pleased if I were you,” he sneers. “I saw that girl out there on the field – still no fucking collar around her neck.”
“There’s no rush,” I say, leaning back against the side of the pool and closing my eyes like his words don’t grate me when really they fucking do.
“You choose the ugliest, skinniest freaking girl in the academy from the actual shithole of the realm and even she doesn’t want to be your thrall. It’s fucking hilarious.” He laughs, his brothers chuckling along too – although none of the other boys are brave enough to join in with him. Several drop their gazes or look away, not wanting to get involved.
I open my eyes and grin even wider.
“Ahhh Kratos,” I say, “haven’t you figured out by now that it’s no fun if they hand it to you on a plate, if they drop to their fucking knees before you’ve even asked? Where’s the fucking fun in that?”
“Really?” Kratos says smirking at his brothers. “I’ve been very happy with how willing our little thrall has been to drop to her knees. We all have.”
“The mouth on that girl,” Prentice mutters, biting his goddamn fist.
“Yeah,” Beaufort says, yanking off his shower and walking over to join me in the hot tub. “I hear that mouth’s been busy all around the Iron Quarter.”
“Fuck you,” Kratos says, striding out of the shower towards us.
“With that cock? No thanks.” I laugh.
He raises his hand but his brother, Nathan, catches ahold of him and pulls him backwards.
Beaufort stands, his body tense and his magic loud and dominant in the bathroom.
“Get the fuck out of here, Kratos,” he orders.
Kratos glares at him but doesn’t resist as his brothers haul him away.
Beaufort waits until he’s gone, swings his gaze around the remaining men, all barely daring to breathe, and then sinks down into the water.
“He’s getting too fucking big for his boots,” I mutter.
“His mouth has always been bigger than his mettle,” Beaufort says. “He’s no threat.”
A year ago the Hardy brothers challenged us and we wiped the floor with them.
“Yeah,” I say. “But it’s not going to stop him from being a fucking nuisance.”