Ares starts walking again, taking deep breaths to try to calm down. I can’t tell if he’s still pissed at Estas, or if what I said offended him.
We’ve circled around one of the greenhouses. Now Ares turns, heading between the dining hall and the Armory. I don’t think he has a destination in mind, he’s just walking to cool off.
Several minutes pass before he speaks again:
“What do you think is the dividing line between good and bad?” He looks at me, his expression serious. “What do you think makes someone worthy of friendship . . . or worthy of death?”
He sees me hesitate, lips parted.
“I’m not trying to trick you,” he says. “I’m not asking about your father. I just want to know—what’s the line?”
I wonder that myself.
When I picture the people I know and love—my friends at school, my father’s men, and my dad himself—I can’t create a consistent schema for judgment. They all have their flaws. They all make mistakes.
When I ponder what’s “right” and what’s “wrong,” I only know what I’d do myself.
I look Ares in the eye and say, “I’ll kill anyone who hurts the people I love.”
Ares nods slowly. “So will I,” he says.
That sounds strangely like a promise. Like he’s warning me.
Grabbing me by the wrist once more, Ares drags me into the Armory.
The gym is deserted, no one dedicated enough to fitness to miss the dance in favor of working out.
The air smells faintly of sweat, rubber, and metal chains.
My heels sink into the mats. I kick them off.
Ares seizes me by the throat, turning my chin up to look at him. He’s still burning with this wild energy he can’t seem to release.
“You know I don’t give a fuck who your father is,” he says, his eyes staring into mine. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes . . .” I say hesitantly.
“Do you feel the same about me?” Ares demands. “You don’t care about my parents, where I came from, what I have waiting for me when I leave this place . . . that doesn’t matter to you?”
I’ve known all along that Ares’ family is poor and he has no ready-made empire to inherit.
I really don’t care. And if my dad cares, if he tried to tell me Ares wasn’t good enough for me, I’d tell him to fuck off. Ares is my equal in every way that matters: intelligence, determination, and strength. That’s what I care about.
“I’ve never met anyone as impressive as you,” I tell Ares, looking in his eyes. “I want you—not your money or your name.”
His eyes blaze and his lips crash down on mine. He kisses me ravenously, crushing me in his arms.
Nightmare — Halsey
Spotify → geni.us/spy-spotify
Apple Music → geni.us/spy-apple
His hands roam over my breasts, pinching my nipples hard. Strong as Ilsa Markov might be, her hands are nowhere near as powerful as Ares’. I flush, remembering how she touched me while Ares watched.
“Did you like watching me with those girls?” I murmur. “That didn’t make you jealous?”
“No,” he growls, his teeth rasping against the side of my neck. “I fucking loved it. I don’t want you restrained, Nix—I want you wild and free and untamed. I want you to have everything you ever desired, and I want to watch you enjoy it . . .”
Heat flares in my belly. My thighs press together under my dress.
I grab Ares’ face in my hands and kiss him wildly, pushing my tongue into his mouth. He seizes the shoulder straps of my dress and yanks them down, baring my breasts. He drops his head to my left breast, sucking the nipple hard while he rubs the other between his thumb and forefinger.
I grab the gymnastics rings hanging over my head and I pull myself up a few inches so Ares can take the dress all the way off my body.
He slides it down my legs, and strips off my underwear too, admiring my naked body as I hang from the rings. I’m showing off for him, and I know he fucking loves it. He runs his hands over my breasts, down the curve of my waist, then cups his palms under my ass.
“I love how strong you are,” he says. “I fucking love watching you in here. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched you stretching or running or hitting the heavy bag with my cock fucking throbbing in my shorts.”
He unzips his pants, letting his cock free now. It juts up from his body with just the right amount of curve.
Slowly, I lower down on it, still gripping the rings overhead, my legs wrapping around his waist.
His cock slides into me, thick and pulsing hot.
I let out a long, deep moan.
I’ve pictured this a thousand times. No imagination compares to the intense heat and pressure of that thick, warm cock filling me up. Wet as I am, and with all my body weight bearing down, it still slides in slow, stretching me with every inch.
Ares groans, cords standing out on the side of his neck.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans.
He supports me with his hands under my ass. Slowly, he swings me back and forth, his cock pumping in and out, my hands gripping the rings.
Each thrust seems to take forever. Each pounding impact of that battering ram-head against my interior walls rides the edge of pleasure and pain. It’s intensely satisfying, but almost too much.
Pulling myself up with the rings, I slide up and down on his cock, grinding my clit against his flat, hard belly. My thighs squeeze his waist, my heels hooked around the back of his legs. I’m squeezing and clenching, my pussy clamped around every inch of his cock.
“What the fuuuuuck,” Ares groans. “Even your pussy is strong . . .”
I laugh.
“Of course it is,” I say, leaning over to bite the lobe of his ear. “It’s a muscle like any other.”
Ares grips my hips and thrusts upward into me.
I let go of the rings so I can wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him deeply.
I strip his dress shirt off because I want to see his body. I want to run my hands over the sprawling tattoo across his chest — the script, the skulls and roses. I want to see the muscles standing out on his arms and shoulders as he fucks me.
Ares sits back on one of the upright benches. I climb on top of him, straddling him in front of the mirror.
Our bodies look insane, dually reflected. As I ride him, I can see my abs flexing, and the round globes of my ass clenching. Ares has a pump like he just bench-pressed three hundred pounds, his chest, shoulders, and biceps swollen and throbbing. Veins stand out on his forearms. Sweat gleams on his skin as if he’s been oiled.
I want to fuck him in every position in front of these mirrors. I want to watch us doing what our bodies were made to do—all the exercise and all the training reaching its highest purpose.
I flip around so I’m riding Ares in reverse, my back against his chest, my thighs flexing, and my tits bouncing in the mirror as I pogo on his cock. Ares puts his palm between my shoulder blades, pushing me forward, fucking me hard from behind.
I want more of that.
I stand up, bending over. Ares stands too, grabbing a handful of my hair and wrapping it around his fist. He holds it like the reins of a horse as he enters me again and fucks me hard, his hips slapping against my ass.