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Athena
If you’d told me that Cayde St. Vincent would be helping me shower after fucking me over a table in front of an entire party in the culmination of my grand plan, I would have thought you were on drugs. Cayde has never shown the slightest inclination to do anything as nice as helping me clean up after fucking me raw in every hole.
But that’s exactly what he does. He helps me up the stairs, his arm bracing my naked body—a state that I barely even register. After all, after being fucked in front of most of the students on campus, being naked doesn’t really hit the same way. Cayde walks me all the way to my bathroom, closing the door firmly behind us, and sets me on the edge of the tub as he turns on the taps for the shower and strips off his shirt and joggers.
I’m exhausted, and I know the night is far from over. He’ll expect me to go back down to the party, and I’m just glad I’m getting a short reprieve, a chance to clean up and change clothes. But I hadn’t expected him to help.
When the water is hot, he helps me into the shower. “You did well out there,” he says, soaping up a washcloth and slowly turning me so he can run it over my skin. “Open up,” he adds, tapping my inner thigh. “Let me clean you up.”
I’m too tired to fight. Cayde being nice is completely unexpected and too overwhelming to examine too closely. And it feels good to have him cleaning me up, the warm washcloth just sliding over my skin, washing away the sweat and all the traces of cum. I hiss through my teeth when he washes between my legs, the soap stinging my raw flesh, and Cayde frowns. “No one better fucking touch you until you heal,” he says with a grimace. “Not me, and not Dean.”
That sort of concern seems out of character too, and I peer at him through narrowed eyes. I choose not to mention how odd it is, though, opting to bring up the more salient point instead. “So, how does this work? Is Dean still allowed to touch me?” Of course, I have my own plans to keep pitting them against each other and get Jaxon to give in, but I want to know what Cayde thinks is going to happen in his head.
Cayde frowns. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “The game is fucked now, so we’ll see what Dean does next, I guess, if he insists that he still won because he had you first or—” he shrugs. “Once the game is won, no one is supposed to touch the sacrifice without the winner’s permission. He can give her away, but she can’t give herself away anymore or be taken, once she’s chosen. But we did that.” His eyes meet mine, dark with the memory of what we just did. “You and I, little Saint. You begged and I took. And I don’t know if this has ever happened before. So it’s his move now.”
“We might have made things a lot worse,” I say softly. “Dean’s father will be furious. Your father—”
“Will be pleased I’m playing still,” Cayde says sharply, in a tone that suggests that he doesn’t want to talk about his father any longer. I think of the scars on his back and don’t push it. One day I want the story behind that, but I don’t think I’m going to get that tonight, and to be honest, I’m not sure if I could emotionally handle it.
“It’s going to be rough going back down to the party,” I say with a small smile as he finishes washing me off and turns to himself, scrubbing away his own sweat and the traces of what we just did on the table. “There’s going to be a lot of gossip. Questions.”
“They’re going to be fucking drunk,” Cayde says. “Or just fucking. Just have a drink when we go back down, Athena, and buckle up. This was your plan,” he reminds me. “So see it through.”
“I will.” I take a breath as he turns off the water and steps out, handing me a towel as he starts to dry off. I can feel him tensing up, closing down; any connection we had while we were fucking, shuts off as he turns back into his usual asshole of a self.
But I know there’s more to him now. And I won’t forget it, even if we’re back to being enemies. After all, Cayde’s goal is to win, and mine is to escape. I can’t forget that, either, even if the sex was fucking incredible.
Even if I’m kind of already wanting to do it again.
I change quickly in my room, slipping into clean underwear, tight black ripped jeans, and a black cotton t-shirt that ties above my navel, showing a strip of my flat pale stomach. I leave my hair loose and messy, fixing my makeup quickly in the mirror and throwing on a pair of big silver hoop earrings. Cayde is waiting in the hall when I step out, in fresh clothes too.
“Let’s go,” he says, and I follow as we head back towards the stairs.
The party is still in full swing when we head down, just as Cayde had said it would be. If anything, everyone is drunker than before. I don’t see any sign of Dean or Winter or Jaxon anywhere, and something twists in my gut at the idea of Winter being with Dean, maybe consoling him in some way. I don’t know why, exactly—I should hate Dean after what he put me through tonight. In a way, I do—and I also don’t.
I’ve never been more confused in my entire life. These boys have a way of twisting me up, turning me around, making me feel things I never imagined I’d feel. I’ve never felt such a confusing mix of anger, hate, resentment, lust, and—affection? I can’t call it love, not even what I feel for Jaxon, but what I felt with Cayde on that table was something that I’ve never felt for him before, a connection that I can’t ignore. And even Dean—remembering him sitting on the edge of the tub and helping patch me up after the fight warms something in me despite the all too recent memory of what he did tonight.
I want to run. I want to get out of here, to be free of these expectations and rules and punishments—but a part of me wants to stay, too. If only things could be different.
If only we could all be equals, play these games for fun instead of because they own me, I wouldn’t want to go. It’s a conundrum that I have no idea what to do about.
Right now, what I need is a fucking drink.
As I reach the end of the stairs and Cayde veers off into the crowd without a word, I catch sight of a familiar face, and my heart nearly stops in my chest for a second.
It’s the girl again, my stalker. I know it is. That stringy dark hair in her face, that glimpse of a sharp jaw, it’s all familiar. I freeze in place, clinging to the side of the banister as I watch her move through the crowd. For a minute, I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything other than stand in place, my pulse starting up again and beating wildly in my throat.
“Hey.” A voice comes from my left, near my elbow, one that I don’t recognize. I whip around to see a handsome guy in a leather jacket and ripped jeans standing there, his hair brushed over to one side in a way that makes it fall rakishly in his face. “You want a drink?”
He holds out a cup filled with some clear liquid, the scent of vodka wafting off of it, and I’m too stunned from the sight of my stalker in the crowd to think clearly. I just stare dumbly at him for a second until he laughs, pushing the cup in my direction. “Here,” he insists. “That was quite a show you and those guys put on. You must be thirsty after all that.”
I take the drink, raising it to my lips and taking a big gulp of it. It’s vodka, alright, mixed with limeade, but not enough to fully cut the rubbing alcohol burn of it all the way down my throat. I normally hate vodka, but right now, I feel like I’d drink just about anything with liquor in it.
The guy looks as if he’s going to say something else, but I shake my head, remembering the rules about me “flirting” with other guys. If Dean’s around, hell—maybe even Jaxon after what I just made him watch—I’ll be punished for sure for even talking to another guy. I’m not prepared to endure any more punishment tonight, no matter how much pleasure comes along with it.
“Sorry,” I manage, pushing forward through the crowd, heading in the direction of the side door. There’s a complicated garden maze off of one side of the house, the sort of thing that used to be attached to these old houses for whatever reason—a lack of things to do?—and right now, all I want to do is get lost in it, to get some fresh air and space between me and literally everyone here, but especially the three guys who are making me feel like I’m going more than a little insane.
I take another deep swallow of the drink as I push through the crowd of drunk, dancing, groping people, wrinkling my nose at the smell of spilled liquor and sweat and sex that permeates the room. When I burst through the doors out into the maze, I suck in huge gulps of the fresh air, letting the French glass doors close behind me as I walk through the grass.
