I push the worry from my mind. It’s something to deal with at the end of this week, and maybe not even then. With Alaric free, we can leave Carver City, leave Olympus, just leave and go somewhere my father’s anger will never touch us, move to a city where no one knows the names Triton or Ursa. The thought makes me smile a little, but I let it drift away as the car pulls into a parking garage that looks like any other.
Ursa barely waits for the car to stop before she’s out, motioning for me to follow her. The same Black woman from before climbs out of the driver’s seat. Ursa waves a hand at her. “This is Monica. You won’t see her much this week, but as my head of security, if she tells you to do something for your safety, do it.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
Monica gives me a once-over and shakes her head. “You’re going to regret this.”
For a moment, I think she’s talking to me, but then Ursa’s laugh booms through the echoing space of the parking garage. “You know me, darling. I make a habit of regretting nothing. I’m certainly not going to regret this week.”
“Sure.” Monica rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say, darling.”
I half expect Ursa to slap her down over the blatant familiarity, but she surprises me by laughing again. “You missed dinner. Go get something to eat after you check in with our people.”
“Bossy.”
“I am your boss, yes.”
Monica gives a slim smile, but it dies when she turns to me. “I take Ursa’s safety seriously. You fuck with her, and I’ll toss you off a balcony without a second thought.”
I blink. “Um.” I really, really want to believe she’s joking, but her expression is deadly serious. “I’m not going to fuck with her.” As if I would, when doing so would risk violating our agreement. As if I could.
Ursa raises her brows. “If that’s all?”
“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here.” Monica waves us away.
I don’t realize that she’s not following us into the elevator until Ursa pushes the button and the doors slide shut. That’s when my nerves begin to get the best of me. My heartbeat kicks up, slamming against my ribcage. I’m at this woman’s mercy, and I should be preparing to do whatever she asks and bear whatever she wants to do to me. Simply survive it.
I am afraid. But I’m not only afraid.
The thought of her dragging those nails over my skin? Of watching her strip out of that dress and seeing what she has on—or doesn’t—beneath it? Of kissing her and kneeling before her spread thighs…
I shiver.
No, I’m not only afraid. Or even primarily afraid.
I should be. Wanting Ursa might be the worst mistake I’ve made yet, but I can’t help how drawn I am to her.
The doors open, and she steps out. I follow but stop short. I don’t know what I expected. Something minimalist and chic, maybe. That’s all the rage right now, and it seems like everyone with money in Olympus has jumped on the trend.
Ursa’s penthouse feels like a home. The front door leads into a lavish living room with a thick patterned blue rug over the cool-gray marble floors. The couches are a paler gray with blue and gray patterned pillows. A large white stone fireplace sits in one wall and in the corner opposite is a deceptively delicate fountain that stretches nearly to the ceiling. The windows overlook the city, spanning the breadth of the wall opposite the door. It’s remarkably cozy.
Ursa props a hand on her hip and looks at me. “Strip.”
“Excuse me?” The question is out before I remember why I’m here, what the next seven days will entail.
“Strip, Zurielle. One item after another until I tell you to stop.”
I reach for the back of my dress without another thought, responding to the command in her voice. I should be questioning this, should still be demanding answers, but I want to obey. Still… I unclasp the top of my dress and pause. “I thought you and Alaric are friends.”
Ursa’s red lips curve. “We are.”
“You don’t think he’s going to have a problem with you and I having seven days’ worth of sex?” It was one thing when I was giving myself to a stranger. Ursa is a stranger, technically—but only to me. Alaric knows her. He’s known her in the most biblical of senses.
“Alaric understands how things work in Carver City.” Her expression doesn’t change. “Sex is only sex, until it’s not.”
I frown. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“The dress, Zurielle.”
I release it and let it flutter to my feet. I was more naked than this on stage, but I can’t help holding my breath as Ursa drinks in the sight of me. She peruses me from the top of my head, down the length of my body, pausing on my feet before retracing the same path upward. By the time she reaches my face again, I’m trembling.
She licks her lips. “First things first. Hercules explained to you how safe words work?”
A word that’s an emergency failsafe if something happens that I don’t want. A way to make everything stop, even in games where “no” doesn’t really mean “no.” It seems strange and almost too good to be true to trust someone to honor a single word, but Ursa’s expression is deadly serious as she waits for my answer. “Yes, he explained it to me.”
“Pick one. Something you won’t use in casual conversation on accident.”
I swallow hard, this entire situation suddenly becoming that much realer. “Hurricane.”
Ursa considers me for a moment and nods. “Very well. Did you like being on stage with Aurora?”
I flush hot. “I think everyone could tell that I did.”
“That’s not an answer.” She snaps her fingers. “Kneel.”
I obey. The rug cushions my knees, the floor catching me even as the room seems to spin. It’s so solid. A strange thought, but I can’t help it as I look up at Ursa. She seems larger than life, a goddess to be worshiped with words and actions. I want to worship her.
“Did you like being on stage with Aurora?” she asks again.
This time, I don’t try to dodge the question. “Yes. I loved it when she touched me. I loved how she whispered in my ear that everyone was getting off on it, and I really loved it when she stroked my clit. I wanted more.”
She nods and moves closer until the hem of her dress brushes my knees. Ursa sifts her fingers through my hair, petting me in an almost innocent way. I’m still trembling, poised on the verge of something I don’t understand. This is pleasure, yes, but it’s something beyond that. Kneeling at her feet, knowing that I’ll obey any command she gives right now, having her touch me… It all combines into a need that takes my breath away. “Please.”
“Please what?” She still sounds warm, welcoming, completely at odds with the look in her dark eyes. I don’t know why the contrast pulls at my chest—lower—but it does.
I want the warmth.
I want the bite.
I want it all.
“I feel…” I’m not sure how to put it into words. “I need.”
“Ah.” She twines my hair around her fist and tugs sharply. She inhales as I gasp, as if she can taste the sound on my lips despite the distance between our faces. Using that hold on my hair, she urges me to my feet. It hurts a little, but the pain does something funny to my head. I feel floaty and warm, warm, warm, my pulse throbbing in my pussy until I’m shaking.