14. Athena #2
My heart hammers so loud I’m sure the neighbors can hear it.
I glance around even though no one’s here, then peel the hoodie off one shoulder.
Cool air skates over my skin. I angle the camera downward, capturing bare legs, bare stomach, the faint scar from Ivy’s emergency c-section running low across my pelvis.
I hesitate over the jagged line, then leave it in.
He should see what he missed. I send it across.
Nathan: That scar should have a set of lips worshipping it every night. I’m ashamed I wasn’t there.
Anger and arousal slam together. Tears burn behind my eyes because the words are everything I wanted then and never thought I’d hear now. My thumb hovers. I type before vulnerability can turn to rage.
Athena: Words are cheap. Get over here and show me.
Nathan: I’m on my way. In the meantime, I want you ready. Put two fingers inside and hold them there. No movement until I say so.
I curse under my breath, but he’s already sending another message.
Nathan: Speakerphone. Now.
My stomach drops. I hit call. The line clicks, his breathing a rough whisper. “Tell me when your fingers are in.”
“Why does that matter?” I rasp.
“Because six years ago I lost the right to know what your skin feels like,” he says evenly. “Tonight you gave me that right back. Don’t make me question it.”
God, the man weaponizes sincerity. My hand trembles as I slide two fingers into the slick heat between my thighs. I gasp silently, eyes fluttering shut. “In.”
“Good girl.” The praise is a caress. “Clamp around them. I want my pussy tight when I get there.”
“You think it’s still yours?” I say, trying for venom and landing somewhere closer to a plea.
“I know it is.” His voice lowers. “I know because you ran instead of letting some other man touch what’s mine. You kept yourself angry instead of replacing me. That’s devotion, whether you admit it or not.”
My throat closes. “Fuck you.”
“You’re trying.” The chuckle dissolves into a growl. “Now breathe. Describe what you feel.”
“Wet.” The word shakes out of me. “Hot. I’m squeezing so hard it hurts.”
“I want the hurt.” His inhale is rough. “Leave your fingers there. That hand? It belongs to me tonight. The other hand—you can rub circles on your clit.”
I do as ordered, thumb finding the swollen bundle of nerves. The stroke is slow, teasing, enough to send sparks up my thighs but not enough to get me anywhere.
“Faster,” he says, as if he can see the frustration.
“Thought you said no movement,” I pant.
“Inside stays still. Outside obeys. Tell me if your thighs tremble.”
They already are, but I grit my teeth. “No.”
“Liar.” His breath hitches. “You forget how well I know that body. Six years didn’t erase the map.” He goes quiet except for the hum of his engine. “Did you hate me when you labored alone?”
The question cuts. My fingers freeze. “I didn’t have the luxury to hate you. I was too busy not dying.”
“I would have been there,” he snarls. “You took that from me.”
“You said you never wanted kids!”
“I said I didn’t want to parent with resentment, Athena! I would have made the exception for you. Jesus.”
My chest heaves. Old arguments claw at the newly laid truce. I grind harder, half from stubborn rage, half to drown out the ache. “Well, you didn’t get the chance. I did it alone.”
“And you did it perfectly.” His voice softens like a hand over a bruise.
“You made a warrior. Ivy is fearless. She’s bright.
You did that. I want to thank you for every night you didn’t sleep, every fever you calmed, every parent-teacher conference you attended alone.
I also want to fuck you until you forget every minute I wasn’t there. ”
My body convulses. Tears spill uninvited. “Do you think that makes up for it?”
“No,” he says, steady. “That’s why I’m not just asking. I’m on my way. But I need you soft for me when I get there. Keep rubbing. I want you shaking.”
“I’m already shaking,” I whisper.
“Then let go,” he orders. “Come for me while I listen. I want every sound. Bite a pillow if you have to, but don’t hide from me.”
The command slices the last rope holding me together.
I circle my clit faster, keeping my fingers buried still inside, the tension unbearable.
His praise pours through the line. “That’s it.
That’s my good girl. You’re so fucking strong.
You held our family together when I failed. Now let me hear you fall apart.”
My orgasm rips through me. I choke on a cry, slam my free hand over my mouth, and ride the pulses while he murmurs “Yes, yes, that’s it,” through gritted teeth.
My muscles flutter around my fingers, slick spilling over my knuckles.
The house tilts. I press my forehead to my knees and breathe like I just ran ten miles.
When I finally gasp air, he’s quiet. I hear his car idling.
“Where are you?” I croak.
“Your driveway.” The words crack. “I sat here listening to your pleasure and almost drove through the garage.”
The admission fires a bolt of heat straight to my core. “What are you waiting for then?”
“Permission,” he says, stripped down to the bone. “Do I come in, Athena? Do I walk through that door and do what you begged for?”
I swallow, heart ramming my ribs. The truth I’ve been choking on all night unfurls.
“Come in.” My voice breaks once, but I don’t stop. “Come in and fuck me until I can’t remember how to hate you.”