It doesn’t matter which scenario I run, the result is always ambiguous. Helen Kasios entering the tournament has complicated things. The problem isn’t that she’s a formidable opponent—though I can’t rule that out, no matter what assumptions Achilles insists on making. No, the issue is how her presence disrupts the other champions. Her being here might cause them to act in ways I can’t anticipate, and that is doing a number on my head.
Paris’s emotions are compromised when it comes to Helen because of their history. I can’t decide if that means he’ll try to help her to get in her good graces or go out of his way to ensure she’s eliminated early.
Hector has obvious guilt about the way his brother has treated her, and that might cause him to help her if it outweighs his loyalty to Paris.
Even Achilles is acting slightly out of character, his temper shorter than normal ever since I gave him the rundown on what happened with Helen last night.
If I’m going to be perfectly honest, my reactions are off as a result of her presence as well. I can’t stop examining my unexpected attraction to the woman from different angles, as if hyperfocusing on it will bring clarity. It would be easier if the only thing that drew me was her beauty. That would make logical sense. Unfortunately, it’s…messier…than that. I feel a connection with her because of our history, ancient though it may be. I desire her now. Fuck, I respect her for entering the tournament and taking her fate into her own hands, even if it’s complicated my life.
The bottom line is I feel drawn to her. It’s not convenient and it’s not logical, and the battling desires between wanting to follow my original plan and wanting to go knock on Helen’s door to just be closer to her are making me want to crawl out of my skin.
I am not a man who is at war with himself. I run scenarios. I use logic and reason. Emotions play into it—I’m human, after all—but they don’t rule me. My brain does.
Until now, when I can least afford to alter my course.
A knock on my door has my heartbeat speeding up, and I curse myself for the fledgling hope that it’s her. It’s not. Of course it’s not. Helen has no reason to seek me out. We haven’t spoken in more than twenty years aside from last night, and that was a conversation of circumstance. She’d been caught putting her name in as a champion and wanted to persuade me to silence. She probably hasn’t given it another thought.
A second knock is in the brisk tempo I recognize as Achilles’s preferred way of announcing he’s about to enter a room. I bite back a sigh and open the door before he decides to knock it down. He nearly bowls me over entering the room. “That woman is a menace.”
I stare. “You went to talk to Helen.” Why am I surprised? Of course, the first chance he got, he immediately went back on his determination that we stay away from her. Achilles has his endgame in mind, and he won’t take kindly to Helen throwing a wrench in the gears. Naturally, he decided to see if he could talk her into resigning. If that’s all it was… I push the thought away. I have no reason to doubt him. “You should have asked me first. She’s not going to change her mind.”
“I thought I could talk her out of it.”
I huff out a breath and head for the little kitchenette positioned in the corner of the living area of this suite. I’d have to walk through Achilles’s room to be sure, but I’d wager the suites are all laid out the same. Main door into the living room with a small couch, television, and coffee table. Kitchenette tucked against the far wall with sink, mini fridge filled with snacks and a small selection of alcohol, and a microwave. Short hallway back to the bedroom and bathroom with its ridiculous shower and deep tub.
The couch is sturdy enough. I don’t bother to be gentle when I sit. “Told you so.”
“I don’t need you to fucking manage me, Patroclus.” But he follows me over and drops down beside me with a grunt. “She’s going to get hurt.”
“It’s probable.”
“You good with that?”
I give him the look that question deserves. He knows damn well I’m not good with it, but at least in this situation, I have to mimic Achilles’s determination and drive. I can’t afford to care about Helen. She’s barely more than a stranger to me now, anyway. It’s not logical to care about her, beautiful or no, history or no. “I highly doubt it will be serious. Even the new Ares will have to answer to Zeus, and no one wants to piss him off by seriously injuring his little sister.”
Achilles catches my hesitation. “But?”
“But…” I really don’t want to get into this, but it’s been nagging me from the moment the champions put their names forward “But we don’t have much information on the two non-Olympians. I can’t completely rule them out as dangerous.”
“Either way, we both need to stay away from Helen. She’s off-limits.” He gives me a long look. “Agreed?”
Some irrational part of me wants to push back, but that doesn’t make sense. We don’t have many ground rules, so when one of us requests something like this, it’s important for the overall health of the relationship to respect that request. I can’t remember the last time it happened. Maybe a few years ago when I asked Achilles not to pursue Cassandra. That time wasn’t out of any jealousy, though. I just noticed the way Apollo looked at her—still looks at her, if the last event we attended is any indication. No one needs Apollo gunning for them.
I nod slowly. “I already agreed last night. Nothing’s changed since then. Helen is off-limits.”
“Good.” Achilles stretches out his big body, kicking off his shoes and setting his feet on the coffee table. He catches my frown and laughs. “This isn’t our place. Who cares if I have my feet on the table?”
“It’s still rude.”
“Relax, Patroclus.” He nudges me with his elbow. “We’re where we’re supposed to be. It’ll all work out.”
I frown harder in response. “Don’t pull that lazy god bullshit with me, Achilles. I know you’re worried about this.” He might put on the mask for other people, but he’s not supposed to do it with me. “We need to—”
“We need to relax.” He hooks a hand around the back of my neck and tows me down into a kiss. It’s a little rough, a little sweet, and all Achilles. I’m tempted to keep arguing, but he’s right. I’ll go round and round in circles for days about this. Sometimes clicking off my brain is the right call, and we can’t take any action until the first trial. So…
“Patroclus.” He nips my bottom lip. “You’re still thinking too hard.”
“Sorry.”
He laughs. “Good thing I know a trick or two to help with that.” Achilles shifts, moving to kneel between my legs. The space really isn’t big enough for both of us like this, but I don’t say a single word as he undoes my jeans and jerks them down my hips. He gives me a devilish grin. “I love it when you look at me like that.”
Gods only know what my face is doing, but moments like these feel almost too good to be real. This man, this powerhouse of a golden god, is mine, at least in part. Achilles was meant to be standing in front of a crowd of screaming people, to be the center of their attention, the one they adore and will tell stories about. He’s larger than life, even when performing the normal activities that Athena requires of us.
It’s even truer now, on his knees and wrapping a fist around my cock. I keep waiting for the day he realizes it and leaves me in the rearview. Achilles will always have his gaze on the stars. And me? My feet are firmly rooted in the earth. It seems inevitable that he’ll move beyond me some day, so I try to cherish every moment we have, storing them up against the winter of my future without his shining warmth in it.
He dips down and takes my cock into his mouth, and my thoughts fade in the face of so much pleasure. We’ve been together for so long. We know exactly what touch, stroke, pressure the other requires to get off the hardest. Achilles isn’t sprinting to that destination like last night, though. His mouth descends my length in a slow, wet slide that tells me he intends to take his time. He might be impulsive, but when Achilles sets his mind on a task, he’s fearsome in the extreme.
Apparently he’s set his mind on my pleasure tonight.
I sink my hands into his dark hair, not trying to guide, merely along for the ride. He teases me, alternating the deep strokes with long licks and flicks of his tongue. My legs start to shake all too soon and I yank on his hair. “Achilles!”
His slow smile makes my chest hurt. Times like these are damn near perfect. Too perfect. How can I not wait for the other shoe to drop? He wraps his fist around my cock and gives me a few slow strokes. “I’m going to take you to bed. Don’t be quiet.”
Understanding dawns slowly within the fog of my desire. I glance at the wall…the wall I share with Helen. “You want her to hear.”
He shrugs, completely unrepentant. “I’m still feeling a little jealous.”
The concept of Achilles jealous of anyone is almost beyond comprehension. Maybe I’m a selfish asshole, because I kind of like it. I tug on his hair again, more gently this time. “I won’t try to be quiet, but whether things get loud depends on you.”
He grins, just like I expected him to. “Challenge: accepted.” He rises easily despite kneeling for so long and grabs my hand to tug me to my feet. We stumble down the hallway, kissing and rubbing on each other like a pair of fumbling teenagers, but the second we reach the bedroom, he’s focused in on me again. Achilles knocks away my hands when I reach for the hem of my shirt. “Let me.”
“Bossy.”
“You like it.” He pulls my shirt over my head and skims my pants the rest of the way down my legs. And then he’s surging to his feet and taking my mouth again. This time, there is no gentleness, no sweetness. Achilles kisses me like a conquering warlord, and I am all too willing to cede to the demand of his tongue. He strips in between kisses as he backs me to the bed.
I try to move back so I can appreciate the view, but he’s having none of it. He shoves down his pants and then he’s on me again, bearing me down to the mattress and settling on top of me. I might be taller, but he’s much larger, and moments like these really highlight the differences. He strokes his hands over my arms and down my sides. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
“Impatient.”
“For you? Always.”
I arch up and kiss him. There are times when I want the slow buildup and the careful readying that being with a man Achilles’s size sometimes requires, but tonight I’m just as impatient as he is. “Yes. I need you now. I don’t want to wait.”
He moves off me long enough to yank open the nightstand. I’m already blushing when he laughs because I know what he’s going to say. I’m right. Achilles shakes his head. “We’ve been here twenty minutes and you already unpacked?”
“I don’t like living out of a suitcase.”
He fishes out the bottle of lube and gives me a searing look. “I know.”
I watch, my heart in my throat, as he spreads lube onto his cock. Like the rest of Achilles’s body, it’s in perfect proportion…which means it’s rather massive. Even after all this time, there’s a moment of hesitation mixed in with my anticipation, the feeling reaching new heights as he begins to ease his cock into my ass. A rough moan slips free, and he sinks deeper in response. “I want to watch you come all over your stomach. I fucking love it when you lose control like that.”
My ability to form words is rapidly disappearing. All that’s left is desire. I arch up and kiss him. I need to be consumed entirely. There’s no thought for anything else but taking more of him into more of me. Achilles seems to sense exactly what I crave because he thrusts fully into me and lets his body weight rest more firmly on mine, pressing me into the mattress as he kisses me like he needs me more than air to breathe.
I feel the same.
It’s enough. It’s perfect. We could stay forever like this, poised in this moment where lust and love meet.
But our desire won’t be so easily sated. He starts to move first, tiny little thrusts that have me moaning and writhing for him. It’s good, too fucking good. I try to last, to hold out, but I’ve never won a battle of wills against Achilles. Tonight won’t be the moment I start.
I grip his hip, a rough moan slipping free. He grins. “More.”
I’m helpless to do anything but obey. Every thrust drags another moan from my lips. It feels so good to have him fuck me like this, all his focus narrowed on me and me alone. Each thrust is rough and perfectly controlled, designed to curl my toes and short out what little thought remains in my head. By the time my body overrides my control and I come all over my stomach and chest, I’m chanting his name.
Achilles shifts back, propping himself up on his hands as he picks up his pace, chasing his own pleasure. He devours me with his dark gaze, a possessive stroke that I can almost feel over my face and down to where my seed marks my skin. “You’re mine, Patroclus.” He curses, his rhythm going irregular. “And I’m yours. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp out. I reach down to grab his hips, urging him deeper. “And you’re mine.”
At least for now.
