It’s not like I’ve been honest with partners in the past about the fact they’re just a convenient escape.
It’s not like they’ve cared enough to ask.
I meant what I said last night, what I said this morning. I’ve liked Patroclus since we were kids, have wanted him since I met him again as an adult, when he essentially gave me an itemized list of why we couldn’t go home together the night before the trials started. I’m not sure I care if he’s using me as a weapon to hurt Achilles. All that means is that we’re both using each other for selfish purposes. I should just enjoy it instead of thinking so hard. The whole point of indulging in this reckless behavior is that I’ll stop thinking.
“Helen.” He goes still.
“Yeah?”
“You’re thinking very hard right now. Do you want to stop?”
I’m already shaking my head before he finishes speaking. “No. Absolutely not. Give me more.”
For a moment, I think he might stop anyway. This isn’t the impulsive wave that overtook me with Achilles. This is intentional and maybe that means it’s a mistake. I don’t care. I still don’t want to stop.
Apparently Patroclus agrees, because he shifts behind me and wedges his other arm between me and the bed. The new position brings me even closer to him, gives me the sensation of being entirely wrapped up in this man. He palms one breast; it’s less a stroke than him holding me to him, but I’m not complaining. Not when he’s working two blunt fingers into my pussy in the process. Methodical. Patroclus is so damn methodical. It’s sexier than I could have anticipated. It’s more than that, though. He holds me like I’m something precious, something he’s all too capable of shattering into a million pieces.
The difference between him and Achilles is stark, but they’re similar in one aspect: no partner I’ve had in the past has touched me like either of them. I’ve never been cherished. I’ve also never been tossed around like an equal, my strength taken as a given instead of a fantasy. Neither of them treats me like I’m a princess to be coaxed into giving up my supposed virtue or a weak thing that a harsh word will leave crumpled and broken on the floor. The entire time Achilles and I were fighting, I was an enemy to be conquered through mutual orgasms. I never expected it to be so sexy.
Patroclus is fucking me slowly with his fingers like this is the only chance he’ll get, and he’s determined to maximize it for all it’s worth. He presses the heel of his hand to my clit. Not enough to give me the friction I need to get off. No, he’s still teasing me. His mouth brushes the shell of my ear, his voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it. “You’re not for me, Helen. You were never meant for me.”
I can’t decide if the words sting or just stoke the need between us hotter. Nothing sparks as fiery as something that’s destined to be temporary. It makes me greedy, makes me want to soak up every second of this because I’ll likely never get it again. I drag in a rough breath. “Then let’s make it count.”
He gives a choked laugh. “Yeah, we’ll make it count.” He shifts away and moves me easily despite the awkward position, pressing me down onto my back. It’s so seamless, I’m still blinking in surprise as he slides down my body, taking the blankets with him. Patroclus pauses to worship my breasts with his mouth, but he’s got a destination in mind and I’m not about to start complaining as he tugs off my shorts and settles between my legs. He presses a kiss to one thigh. “Achilles will get restless and come looking for us before too long.”
Again, that lash of almost sting. I most certainly should not want to get caught with Patroclus’s mouth all over my pussy, but the reckless wave inside me only gets stronger. What will Achilles do? I honestly can’t focus enough to guess for certain. Start a fight or join in? Start a fight and then join in? The possibilities set me aflame. I won’t pretend I hadn’t considered sharing a bed with both of them. I have.
Still…I’m not so far gone that I can jump into this without a little clarification first. If I’m going to feel guilty about this later, I have to know how much guilt is truly mine to shoulder. I have enough already; I don’t need to carry anyone else’s. “Are you using me to prove a point?”
He’s oh so serious. Even in this, with heat turning his dark gaze scorching and his breath ghosting against the most private part of me, Patroclus contemplates my words with the utmost severity. I like that about him. A lot. He doesn’t just fire off an answer and intend to bullshit his way around it being false later. He actually thinks about it and then gives me honesty. How novel.
Finally he nods. “A little. Does that bother you?”
Yes. No. I don’t know. I can’t think properly. I drag in a breath, determined to match him honesty for honesty. “Maybe it will later, but I need you too much right now. Kiss me, Patroclus. If you need to prove a point, do it by making me come.”
His slow smile has my whole body lighting up. Gods, this man is handsome. It’s different from the perfect features Achilles is blessed with. I noticed Patroclus had grown into a good-looking man the first time I met him as an adult, but each time since, it’s like that attractiveness has been compounded again and again. My heart gives a strange little lurch, but I ignore it, just like I ignore the inevitable consequences of doing this.
“I need you too much right now, too.”
Then there are no more words. He leans down and drags his tongue up my center. Slow. Methodical. Determined to learn every inch of me. He presses my thighs even wider apart and dips his tongue into me. First a tease, then a full thrust that has me moaning too loudly. I try to arch up, but he responds by shifting, banding one forearm over my lower stomach and using his shoulders to wedge my legs open even wider. I’m pinned and loving every moment of it.
Still, I’m not one to lie there passively and take whatever he wants to give me.
I dig my fingers into his short hair and tug, urging him up to my clit. He doesn’t hesitate, following my unspoken instructions to give it the same thorough treatment he’s given every other bit of my pussy. He tests out motions, his gaze on my face, until he finds the one that has me arching and moaning and writhing against him. “Yes, like that,” I moan.
Pleasure builds in me, higher and higher. Patroclus never deviates. He doesn’t speed up or slow down and shift the pressure the slightest bit. He winds me tighter and tighter and…
The bedroom door opens.
Achilles steps into the room and pulls the door shut behind him. We both freeze. I’m so fucking close, I could cry. I should have known this wouldn’t last, that we’d get interrupted before things escalated enough to truly offer me a reprieve. I should have known this was a foolish, impulsive thing that would most certainly backfire in an aborted orgasm.
I should have known…a lot of things.