14 Ariadne

14

Ariadne

I didn't believe Hera when she told me there was a store with fashionable clothing in my size. Online shopping has been my best friend since I hit puberty, because the plus-size clothing offered on the rack tends to be hideous, without much selection. But then, Hera's younger sister Psyche would know. She's about my size and an influencer with amazing style. The boutique they take me to is so new that I swear I can smell the fresh paint on the walls. And it's a wonderland in variety.

Or at least it is until I see the first price tag. I reluctantly hang the dress back on the rack. "This is too much." Not something I ever really had to worry about before, but my father has frozen my accounts, and not even I am good enough to hack into a bank's electronic system to unfreeze it.

"It's courtesy of my sister." Psyche grabs the hanger and presses it back into my hands. "I promise it's okay. Zeus's bank accounts are practically limitless, and he gives her a ridiculous monthly budget to use for whatever she wants. She won't even notice what you'll spend today. But it'll make you feel better, and that's what's important."

I stare at her, waiting for the barb to follow the sweet words. Except it never comes. She stands there, this beautiful woman completely at home in her body, and smiles at me in perfect understanding.

It feels a little silly to say that clothing is important, but what is clothing but another kind of armor? I will never have the waifish body that my father is sure would secure me a powerful husband, but I can dress in a way that makes me feel good. That makes me feel…powerful. It might be an illusion, but it's one I'll accept gladly.

"I took the liberty of placing a few options in the dressing room. I think the owner may have a new shipment in the back, so I'm going to go snoop while you try the first set on." She smiles without any hint of artifice. "I know things haven't been easy, but don't worry. We'll take care of you."

I don't know if she's a better liar than most or she has no idea about Hera's plans. Ultimately, it's not my business. I need new clothes, and Psyche is making the experience of acquiring them as painless as possible. In another life, maybe we could've been friends. I'm not naive enough to think that's an option in this one.

So I simply smile in response. "Sounds good. Thank you."

The dressing room is larger than I anticipated, another welcome surprise. There's plenty of space for the massive selection of clothes that Psyche somehow managed to slip in here when I wasn't paying attention. A large floor-to-ceiling mirror is positioned perpendicular to the door, across from the bench seat. Everything, of course, is the height of luxury, from the thick carpet beneath my feet to the gilded edges of the mirror itself.

I strip quickly and pull on the first dress, one of Psyche's selections. I'm only mildly surprised to find that it fits perfectly. I turn to look at myself in the mirror and…it's not necessarily something I would've chosen for myself, the print a little too eccentric and the cut fitted enough to give my father a stroke. But I love it. I skim my hands down my hips and twist to look at it from the side.

Clothes really are powerful. In this moment, I almost feel something like hope. That I have a future. That someday I might live a life where I can choose the things that make me happy without worrying about pleasing other people.

It's a lie.

I peel off the dress and place it back on the hanger. I don't care if it's false; I want the promise this dress gives me. I try on a pair of jeans that also goes into the keeper pile, and then a flirty short skirt that's entirely impractical for the coming winter. Who knows if I'll live long enough for the season's return. It's a depressing thought.

No. I'm not going to be defeatist. I'll pick out a cute top to wear with this skirt, and I will wear it this spring when the flowers begin to bloom.

The door opens behind me and I spin, skirt swirling around my thighs, to see the last person I expect. Asterion. "What are—"

He's on me in a moment, his big hand plastering over my mouth and cutting off my words. His other arm goes around my waist and then I'm pressed to his chest and, oh gods, but it's happening again. Touching him makes something short out in my brain. My survival instincts demand that I scream, fight, do anything to draw the attention of the other people in the store. But those demands are quiet whispers in the face of the inferno flaring inside me.

He looks down at me with a forbidding expression on his scarred face. Like I'm the one who's done something wrong…who's done him wrong. His fingers tighten on my face ever so slightly. "Don't scream."

I nod slowly. Just as slowly, he lifts his hand from my mouth, shifting down to grip my jaw. Not tight enough to prevent me from speaking. I lick my lips, achingly aware of how he follows the movement, of how he always follows the movement. "What are you doing here?"

"You can't trust Hera."

I blink. "Might as well tell me that the sky is blue. I know. Everyone in this godsforsaken city has their own agenda, Asterion. Even you. I can't trust anyone."

He glares at me as if I said something wrong when all I've done is confirm exactly what he came here to claim. He opens his mouth but seems to change his mind about what he's about to say at the last moment. Instead, his dark gaze flicks over my head to the mirror behind me. "What are you wearing?"

What kind of question is that? It's pretty obvious what I'm wearing. "It's a skirt."

"It's a tease." His grip on my jaw tightens again, and he moves away, pulling my torso forward while keeping the bottom half of my body in place with a hand on my hip. His glare intensifies. "Barely bend over and you're flashing your panties. Did you pick this out for your husband?"

I'm not the one who picked it at all, but suddenly I am a thousand percent done with his shit. He was sent to kill me. Yes, he hasn't done a single thing to intentionally hurt me to date, but that doesn't change the fact that he owes my father everything. No matter what I feel for Asterion, I am intensely aware of where I stand in the hierarchy of his allegiance.

I've done what it takes to survive, and I'm sorry if it hurt him, but he doesn't get to play the jealous lover when he is the most dangerous person to me right now. I glare right back up at him. "I already told you that Dionysus doesn't want that from me. But you know what? He kindly informed me that I am more than welcome to take a lover as long as we discuss it first. I'm wearing it for them , Asterion. And when I do, there won't be panties underneath it."

His grip on me becomes almost painful. "Show me."

I shove at his chest, but all it does is guide him to sink on the bench across from the mirror. Even as I tell myself that this won't be the time I melt for him, my hands find their way under my skirt and hook the edges of my panties. One good jerk and they reach my knees so I can shimmy out of them.

Then my traitorous hands find his thick thighs. He's big enough that I can brace my elbows just above his knees and my fingers barely touch his hips. The new position folds me in half, and no matter how reserved this motherfucker is, I hear his shocked inhale right down to my soul. I can feel the air of the changing room on my exposed pussy. This is dangerous and one more mistake to add to my list, but that doesn't stop me from shifting my legs farther apart.

I turn my head until I can see his face, but he's not looking down at me. He's looking at the obscene display I've created for him in the mirror. Because it is for him , regardless of what imaginary lover he's decided I'm taking.

My breath feels harsh in my throat. "Do you think they'll like it?"

"Yeah." He shifts his grip, one hand finding my elbow and the other sinking into my hair. "You look wet, Ariadne. You like imagining them?"

Them. The thought is laughable. There's only ever been him, and I'm not at a place in my life where I can picture being with anyone but him. It's too big of an ask. But I have my pride, and I'll die before I admit that I'm wet because I'm putting myself on display for him, because of the way his eyes go dark and hot when he looks at me. As if he's barely controlling himself. As if he wants to devour me whole.

"Of course I do." I clear my throat. "They're gentle and selfless and give me exactly what I need."

He huffs out a ragged chuckle. "Liar." His hand in my hair goes tight enough to hurt, surprising a moan out of me. "You want every experience too desperately for soft to ever satisfy you."

"How would you know?" I snap. "All you're capable of is violence."

"Maybe." The amusement is gone from his voice. "Want to prove me wrong? Show me what that pretty pussy needs, Ariadne."

"W-What?"

"If soft is what you're craving, then show me how you come so much harder when you touch yourself softly. How much better your orgasm is without my violent hands on you."

Now is the time to tell him to fuck right off. He keeps pushing me. It's not enough that I'm not telling him no. It's not enough that I'm a willing participant with him guiding me. No, I have to play out my poor decisions without any prompting from him. My pride demands I stand and walk away. But my panties are on the floor and my clit is pulsing in time with my racing heart.

And there's a fact that Asterion's cock is a hard imprint against the front of his jeans, mere inches from my face. It looks painful, and I'm surprised by the vindictiveness that rises in me in response. It feels almost like power.

In his apartment, I orgasmed more times than I can count, but he never took pleasure for himself. Not like he did in the maze. And now, again, he's denying himself. All to focus on leaving me unbalanced and at his mercy.

It makes me want to punish him.

If I'm to be a victim to my own foolishness, then he damn well will be, too.

I straighten abruptly, and he barely has time to get his hand out of my hair to keep from hurting me for real. He opens his mouth, but I don't give him a chance to say a single word. I turn around and sink onto his lap, right on top of his hard, trapped cock. Again, he makes that intoxicating sound, a hissed exhale that would be too soft to notice if he wasn't doing it against my ear.

I widen my stance, spreading his legs in the process, and lean back against his broad chest. He's tall enough that he has a perfect line of sight to where I delve my hand between my thighs and stroke my clit. Softly. Slowly. As if I can't feel his coiled violence at my back.

The shock on his rough face is almost enough to make me orgasm right then and there. It's not often I surprise this man. It's not often I get the upper hand in any situation. I have it now, though.

He grips the edge of the bench, his knuckles white. It only drives my desire higher. I keep circling my clit with my middle finger, and though I've touched myself to countless orgasms, I've never watched it happen in a mirror. Never seen the way my pussy blooms with need. Never watched my fingers grow slick with desire.

It's still not enough.

My orgasm hovers at the edge of my awareness, but no matter how I touch myself, it skitters away. I don't want him to be right. I desperately want to put him in his place. But… "Asterion."

"Tell me what you need." His voice is barely a whisper in my ear.

We're in a dressing room in the middle of a public boutique with three dangerous Olympians on the other side of the door. Now is the time to stop this. To let reason take the reins again.

But reason never had a foothold when it comes to me and Asterion.

"Fuck me." I don't mean to speak the words, but I don't take them back once I give them voice. I see the immediate denial on his face, so I keep speaking. "Please, Asterion. I need your cock. I need you to fill me up and make me come. I might die if you don't."

He closes his eyes and, for a moment, I think he'll actually tell me no. It would be the smart thing to do. But if my need for him is a sickness in my blood, then it's a trait we share. He urges me up so he can dig his hand into his pocket. A breath later, he presses a condom to my palm. Then he makes quick work of his pants, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock. "You sure?"

"Now. Hurry."

He doesn't question me again. He plucks the condom from my hand and rips it open. But his movements become less sure as he rolls it down his cock. If I didn't know better, I would think he'd never done this before. But that can't be right. I may have been a virgin when we had sex, but there's no way he was.

I almost— almost —tell him that the condom isn't necessary. One of the things I did during my follow-up appointment with a doctor in the upper city was request an IUD. I'm as safe from pregnancy as a person can be right now. All I have to do is open my mouth and tell him so.

But I…don't. I say nothing at all as he grips my hip with one hand and urges me back to his waiting cock. His broad head breaches my entrance, and the delicious ache takes root in my core. Even as turned on as I am, my body has to fight to take him deeper. He doesn't yank me back, though. He wants me to set the pace.

I'm not interested in going slow. I shove back onto him, too fast, too hard. It doesn't matter, because the moment I take the entirety of him, the ache inside me turns to a pulsing need for more.

Asterion is done being a passive partner, though. He hooks my thighs and guides them to the outside of his, which is a problem because my toes barely touch the floor in this position. I can't get leverage to fuck him properly. Not that he seems to care. He's too busy tugging my bra down my shoulders to expose my breasts.

"Look at you." There's something in his voice that almost sounds like wonder. "You look like a perfect little slut, taking my cock like this."

He's…right.

I stare at my reflection, at exposed breasts and the skirt bunched up around my waist, at his cock spreading my pussy obscenely. At the bite mark scarring my inner thigh. Marking me as his …

His eyes are dark fire as his lips curve into a tight smile. He's still speaking so softly, the sound barely reaches my ear, a mere inch from his lips. "Yeah. You like that, don't you? You've been a good girl for so fucking long. Don't you want to come all over my cock, messy and rough, where anybody can hear you?"

As if on cue, there's a knock on the dressing room door.