They press tight against me in the hot, throbbing space, their bodies sliding easily against the silky material of my dress.
I can’t believe how soft their skin is—like the inside of a rose petal. They smell sweet and enticing: their hair, their skin, and their breath.
The girls’ delicate hands know exactly where to touch as Ilsa slides her palms up the undersides of my breasts from behind, and Sabrina nuzzles her full lips against my neck from the front.
I’m touching them both, feeling the impossible smallness of Sabrina’s waist between my hands, and Ilsa’s firm breasts rubbing against my back. I’m inhaling their light, clean scent. But I’m looking at Ares, at his strong jaw, broad shoulders, and brilliant blue eyes. The mix of masculine and feminine is a potent aphrodisiac, skyrocketing my heart rate until I can feel it throbbing all the way down between my thighs.
I’ve always found women just as beautiful as men—sometimes, even more so. I respect strong women the way I respect strong men. What I would call a “deep sense of admiration” sometimes has a much more heart-pounding flavor.
Ilsa Markov takes my chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning my head toward her. She kisses me deeply, her lips firm and warm, her jaw sharp against my palm as I touch her soft face.
Her tongue glides across mine, fine and velvety. As she kisses me, I feel Sabrina’s small, strong hands gripping my hips.
Sabrina turns me. I take her face in my hands, kissing her fuller, softer lips, inhaling her tantalizing perfume, which I’ve always enjoyed smelling in our room.
Ilsa’s hands are on my breasts again, this time her palms gliding all the way over my nipples. She kisses the side of my neck, biting and sucking gently while Sabrina slides her tongue inside my mouth.
Girls’ mouths are all the most sensual and delicate parts of a kiss amplified: puffy, pillowy lips, honeyed tongues, and warm breath.
My head is spinning.
I might feel self-conscious if I thought more people could see us, but the press of students is so tight that only the people directly around us are getting an eyeful.
None better than Ares. His stare burns every inch of my skin as he watches me live out a fantasy I’ve often imagined, without ever really thinking it would happen.
Sabrina kisses me deeply, her hands on either side of my face, her breasts pressing against mine, her thigh sliding between my legs. She lets out a little moan that makes Ilsa’s head jerk up, her nostrils flaring.
Isla grabs Sabrina by the hair and pulls her away from me, kissing her ferociously, reminding Sabrina which of us came as her date.
I let Ilsa take her, slipping away back to Ares who seizes me and kisses me much harder than either of the girls.
Kissing Ares after two women makes him seem all the more masculine. I’m acutely aware of his stubble rasping at the edges of my lips, and the intense force in his fingers as he grips me. His frame seems twice as tall, his shoulders immensely broad. His cologne is edged with testosterone.
I’ve never felt smaller in someone’s arms.
Ares’ arms are like cables around me, tense and hard. For the very first time, I feel physically intimidated by someone other than my father.
It gives me a thrill.
It makes me want to stay on Ares’ good side. To impress him. To please him . . .
The heat is intense, my legs weak beneath me.
I’m sweating and flushed, looking up into Ares’ face, kissing him again with our mouths burning against each other.
“Let’s go somewhere,” Ares says.
I don’t ask him where. I don’t really care—I just know I need to be alone with him, right now, with much less clothing between us.
We’re pushing through the crowd of students, not looking where we’re going. Just as we reach the exit, someone slams into me, drenching me with the icy blast of an entire cup of punch poured down the front of my dress.
Estas steps back, delicately holding the upturned cup between his thumb and index finger.
“Oops,” he says.
I’m not sure if he did it on purpose or not. He hates my guts, but also, I really wasn’t watching where I was going.
Beat Up Kidz — The OBGMs
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Before I can say a word, before I can even shake the ice out of my cleavage, Ares charges Estas, slamming his shoulder into Estas’ chest and knocking him backward through the doors of the Grand Hall.
Ares and Estas go tumbling backward down the steps, already grappling and punching each other as hard as they can. I run through the doors after them, stumbling down the steps in my heels, followed closely by the rest of the Odessa Mafia and at least a dozen other students who saw the fight begin and absolutely want to watch the conclusion.
This is no boxing match—more like a murder in progress.
Ares is on top of Estas, punching him again and again with both hands. His fists drive into Estas’ face with a sound like a mallet tenderizing raw meat. Blood spatters in all directions, hitting the skirt of my dress and the trousers of several bystanders.
Ares looks insane. His teeth are bared in a snarl, his eyes blazing. He pulls his bloodied fist back for another blow, though Estas is already a pulverized mess, eyes swelling shut, head lolling.
David Datsuk half-tackles and half-drags Ares off of Estas. Ares flings David aside and shoulders Arkady Chaplin out of the way too, still trying to run at Estas until Hedeon Gray seizes Ares by both arms and drags him backward.
“Fucking knock it off!” Hedeon bellows in Ares’ ear. “The Chancellor’s right inside!”
That seems to shake Ares out of his daze. He’s still snarling, but he stops trying to lunge at Estas, standing upright and shaking off Hedeon’s grip.
“You stay the FUCK away from Nix,” he shouts at the groaning, battered Estas.
Estas can barely roll over, let alone weaponize any more punch. He spits a mouthful of blood down the front of his dress shirt.
Without thanking Hedeon, Ares grabs my arm and marches me away from the staring circle of students.
He’s pulling me along so quickly that I can barely stay upright on my heels.
He’s still breathing hard, teeth gritted tightly together and shoulders tense as iron.
The cool night air is sobering me up fast.
“Ares,” I gasp. “What the fuck was that?”
“The fucking asshole is dangerous,” he growls, his fingers a steel band around my wrist. “He’s got a grudge against you, Nix. He wants to hurt you.”
“It was just punch,” I say, staring at his still-furious expression.
I don’t know who the fuck this person is. I’ve never seen Ares so unhinged, not even in the middle of the Quartum Bellum challenge.
“No one is ever going to hurt you while I’m with you, do you understand?” Ares says, grabbing both my arms and forcing me to turn to look at him. “Do you understand me, Nix?”
“Yes. I understand,” I say, startled by the wild look in his eyes. Shaking my head, I tell him, “Most people aren’t too worried whether I can take of myself. Only one person talks like that—you sound like my dad.”
Ares stares at me.
“I’m not like your father,” he says.
“I know that. But right now, you remind me of him—protective. And a little bit out of your fucking mind.”