7. Perseus #3
She reached out and nudged his chin back up. Her touch was soft but sure. “I don’t know about you,” she said, her breath ghosting against his lips, “but I always do a good job.” She leaned in, her mouth brushing his. “I always give a hundred percent.”
The kiss that followed was gentle, teasing—an invitation rather than a demand. He returned it, slow and measured, trying to stay in control even as everything inside him screamed to give in.
She laughed softly against his mouth. “We should go look for that guy,” she said, like it was just another task on the checklist.
Perseus exhaled and stood, every nerve alive. “Yeah. Let’s get it done.”
Medusa took his hand as they stepped away from the booth, her fingers threading easily through his. The heat of her skin was a subtle but constant reminder of just how not-casual this was, no matter how much they pretended otherwise.
“Relax,” she murmured, tugging him toward one of the arched hallways. “You look like you’re on the verge of fighting someone.”
“I’m not sure about this,” he said under his breath.
She slowed, turning to face him with a smile that was equal parts wicked and reassuring. “You’ll be fine.” Then, her smile turned more teasing, “Don’t you want to have sex?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. As they passed a glass-walled room where a couple was locked in a slow, sensual rhythm, he leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“That’s the problem,” he whispered, voice low and strained. “I do want to have sex.”
She leaned back against him, the silk of her robe catching on his clothes. Her hand still held his, thumb stroking the inside of his wrist. “Well,” she whispered, voice like smoke, “I’m fine with having sex…since I want to be professional .”
He groaned softly, the sound torn out of him. “You’re bad,” he muttered.
She smirked, not denying it, and kept walking—hand still in his—as if she hadn’t just set his nerves on fire.
“Focus,” she said, shooting him a sideways look that still carried the echo of her earlier tease. “We have to find that guy.”
“Can’t you see his aura?” he asked, scanning the room like it might help.
“Not yet,” she replied, a hint of frustration in her voice. She stopped abruptly, eyes caught by a scene unfolding just off to the side. A man knelt on a padded bench, being firmly paddled by a woman. “That’s not him,” she said, grinning as she watched the next strike land.
He tugged her hand lightly, and they kept moving deeper into the space. The farther they went, the more intense the sounds became—moans, gasps, the creak of leather, the soft jingle of chains. The lighting was low and warm, flickering from sconces shaped like torches.
Just as Perseus was about to say something else, Medusa stiffened beside him.
“There,” she murmured.
The man they were looking for slipped into view and disappeared behind a beaded curtain leading into the noisiest, most decadent part of the club.
Medusa glanced back at him, her eyes glittering beneath the warm lights. “Let’s go.”
He blinked. “You’re serious?”
She just smiled and tugged him toward the arched doorway leading into the heart of the action. They stepped into a new area, more open, with velvet-draped alcoves and lush cushions strewn around. Pleasure was in the air—physical and potent.
As they crossed the threshold, he muttered under his breath, “Well, looks like this is your invitation to an orgy.”
She laughed and didn’t let go of his hand.
The man drifted to the far end of the room to a couple tangled on a velvet couch. Without hesitation, he slid in beside them, his hands already roaming, mouth finding the woman’s like he’d done it a hundred times.
Around them, the moans and sighs of the room blended into a low hum, constant, indulgent. The man they were tracking was now fully engaged, kissing the woman with a kind of greedy desperation. It was clear they wouldn’t get his attention any time soon.
Perseus turned back to Medusa. “You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, firm but gentle. “We can wait. He’ll come out eventually.”
“Perseus, why don’t you ask me what I had to do in the changing room?”
He frowned. “You changed into the robe.”
“Yeah,” she said, stepping close, her fingers grazing the hem of her robe. “And there’s something else.”
“What?” he asked warily, already bracing.
“There’s only one way to find out,” she whispered against his mouth, her lips brushing his as she pulled back slowly—just enough to tease—before turning, dragging him farther into the room by the hand.
He stopped her, resisting the gentle pull. “Quit playing games, Medusa. We don’t need to do this. We can track him when he’s done.”
“No,” she said, stepping close again. “I want sex.”
The words hit him like a punch, short-circuiting the protest forming on his tongue.
“Are you really going to make me beg?” she asked, her fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt.
He didn’t answer with words—just kissed her.
But this time it wasn’t careful, it wasn’t calculated.
It was heat and hunger and the crackling tension that had been simmering between them for days.
She tasted like a challenge and something sweet he couldn’t place, and he deepened the kiss until she made a sound in her throat that drove him a little mad.
Clothes came off in a blur—his shirt tugged off, her robe slipping open. Perseus found a bench nearby, the kind meant for…well, exactly this. He lifted her onto it easily, thankful it brought her hips right to his level.
Gripping her round ass with both hands, he pulled her to the edge. Her skin was warm and soft, and his mouth was already heading south when she took his hand and slid it between her thighs.
“This,” she whispered, her breath catching, “is what I had to do.”
His fingers bumped something small and smooth.
“What the hell—” he muttered, drawing back slightly. He pushed her thighs apart and saw it.
A jeweled toy, nestled snug between her ass cheeks, it was shiny and caught the light, glinting like a secret waiting to be uncovered.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he breathed, lust spiking through his veins like a drug.
Medusa bit her lip. “Told you,” she said, voice husky as she guided his hand again, letting him feel the tip of the jeweled toy deep inside her. “Changing room was more than just silk and mirrors.”
“Gods, Medusa,” he muttered, breath catching as he sank to his knees in front of her, not giving a damn who saw. “You really expect me to keep my head when you do shit like this?”
“This is the theme for the night,” she leaned back on her elbows, her smile pure temptation. “And I expect you to lose it.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, trying to keep a grip on reality. “Medusa…”
But she tilted her hips forward, challenging him with her body the way she always did with her words. “What?” she asked innocently. “We’re here to play.”
He didn’t answer.
His mouth found her clit, hot and hungry, and the taste of her made his head spin. She arched against him, hands gripping the edge of the bench, those soft sounds tumbling from her lips that made something primal in him growl.
It was better than he remembered—better than dreams, better than memory. She responded to every stroke of his tongue like she was coming apart one breath at a time, and gods help him, he wanted her to fall hard.
His cock ached, painfully tight, and he gripped himself, stroking in time with the rhythm of her hips. The more she writhed, the more desperate he became, chasing the sounds she made, intensifying everything until she shattered with a gasp, her body pulsing beneath his mouth.
He stood, catching her as her legs wobbled, her arousal slick on his lips and chin. She pulled him into a kiss, and guided him between her thighs with one hand.
He pressed in with a groan, barely holding on as her heat surrounded him. “Fuck,” he breathed, forehead resting against hers. “You feel…”
“Incredible,” she whispered, finishing the sentence for him.
He sank into her and kissed her like he meant to stay there forever—slow, deep, consuming.
Their mouths met in a rhythm that matched their bodies, and for a moment, nothing else existed.
Just the heat of her, the way she clenched around him, the faint smoky scent of her skin that made something low and aching bloom in his chest. It felt like home. Not a place, but a knowing. Her. This.
He bent, trailing kisses down her throat to the soft swell of her breast, letting his tongue flick over her until she gasped and clutched at his shoulders.
Her fingers dug into him like she couldn’t get close enough, and gods, he didn’t want space between them either.
He wanted to stay buried in her, wrapped in her heat and scent and the sound of her breath catching every time he moved.
This time, it wasn’t just heat and hunger—it was something deeper, heavier.
Each movement felt tethered to something invisible between them, like a cord pulling tight in the space where their bodies met.
The way she clung to him, the way he moved inside her—it wasn’t just release they chased, but understanding.
Her breath, her pulse, the warmth of her skin against his felt like coming home to something he didn’t realize he’d been missing.
The sex was just as intense, just as consuming, but underneath it all was a quiet knowing: they weren’t just satisfying need—they were claiming each other.
He couldn’t hold back anymore. He pulled out and turned her, one hand sliding over her hip, the other cupping her breast as he leaned into her ear. “You drive me insane,” he whispered, voice low and ragged. “How the hell am I supposed to control myself?”
She only looked over her shoulder and said, “Who says you have to?”
Her words sliced through whatever was left of his control. With a growl, Perseus gripped her hips and drove into her, the sharp slap of skin on skin swallowed by the low moans and sighs filling the room around them.
“Yes—harder,” she breathed, and that was all it took.
He pressed her against the bench, every thrust deeper, rougher, matching the raw demand in her voice. She shoved back into him, meeting him with a desperation that bordered on feral, giving him everything, taking everything.
He leaned over her, mouth at her ear, breath ragged.
His wolf surged just beneath his skin, claws scraping at his control, not from aggression, but from pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain.
Every pulse of her body around him sent another wave crashing through him, heightening everything.
Her scent, her warmth, the way she trembled beneath him—it was all too much and not enough. His wolf wanted more. Needed more.
“Come,” she said, voice thick with need. “I want it.”
And gods help him—he did too.
His release hit him like a wave crashing against rock—sudden, shattering, unstoppable.
The intensity of it dragged a moan from his throat, and then he felt her tighten around him, her body trembling as her own climax overtook her.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her steady as she shivered against him, his forehead pressed to her back, grounding himself in the feel of her, the scent of her, the truth of what they’d just done.
He didn’t move until she whispered, “Perseus,” her voice soft, almost hesitant.
He pulled back carefully, letting her go, and immediately she turned to face him.
She cupped his face with both hands and kissed him—deep, tender, and impossibly real.
He held her close, his arms still aching with the need to keep her there forever.
When they pulled apart for air, he didn’t think, just said what was already spilling from his chest.
“I want more than this,” he said softly. “I don’t want to go back to pretending we’re just coworkers. I want us. ”
Damn professionalism, damn everyone who might judge him, and most of all, damn his father and legacy. For once, he would take something for himself.
She didn’t respond at first, and for one awful second, he thought he’d misread everything. But then she nodded slowly and kissed him again.
“That’s what I want too,” she whispered.
He smiled against her lips, his breath warm between them. “But we have to be professional one more time.”
“Right,” she said, a little breathless still, turning her head to glance at the man they’d come to track. He was in the middle of his own scene, but from the way things were winding down, it looked like they were reaching the end.
Perseus followed her gaze. “I wonder if we looked that hot just now.”
Medusa smirked. “Oh, you bet we were.”
He laughed, low and soft, as he helped her into her robe, tying the sash gently around her waist. He quickly dressed, and then he wrapped his arms around her, holding her for a brief second longer than he probably should have.
“Okay,” he murmured against her neck. “Back to work.”
“Well, there’s only one way out,” Medusa said, as she surveyed the dimly lit lounge beyond the more intimate rooms.
“That’s what I said earlier, but no, you wanted sex,” Perseus teased, throwing her a look.
“Yeah, I did,” she shot back without missing a beat. “Take notes, please.”
He laughed, a warm, rumbling sound as he slung an arm around her shoulders and they walked toward the bar. The club still buzzed with sensual energy, but the adrenaline had worn off, and in its place was a strange, grounding calm.
They each took a bottle of water from the bartender, and instead of perching on the nearby stool, Medusa turned and sank into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Perseus wrapped his arms around her waist without hesitation, anchoring her there.
“This is nice,” he murmured, nuzzling into her shoulder.
“Yeah,” she said softly, leaning back against him. “It is.”
They sat like that in comfortable silence, her fingers drawing light patterns over his forearm as they waited for their mark to reappear. For once, neither of them rushed to break the moment.