Chapter 6

CHAPTER6

MEDUSA

Iwasn’t in a good mood going into this night, but after the disastrous conversation with Athena and the subsequent pursuit of Calypso into the lower city, I’m absolutely finished with this bullshit. “Put your hands out in front of you.”

“How did you find me?”

“You took your phone with you.” It required another favor from Bellerophon, but they were only too happy to do a quick trace and pass along the information. A rookie mistake by Calypso, which makes me think she’s more rattled than she seems.

“I don’t have any drugs on me, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Calypso, damn her, sounds almost as unruffled to have my knife at her throat as she is to be back in my arms.

Wait, no. That’s the wrong line of thought to have. “Why did you take the money?”

“I earned it.”

Her words surprise me so much, I forget to keep hold of her. She pushes my arm away and steps out of my grasp. As she turns to face me, I’m once again struck by the sheer beauty of her. It’s downright wrong for her to be so gorgeous after the night she’s had, but she’s as perfect as ever.

I realize I’m still holding the knife aloft and let it drop to my side. “You stole it.”

“He gave me the debit card. Did he really expect me not to use it?” She shrugs a single shoulder. “Odysseus liked to brag that he’s the smartest person in any room he walks into. Surely he saw this coming.”

Her logic might be slightly flawed, but it’s the same flavor of what I thought privately during the call with Athena. “You had to know they wouldn’t let it go.”

“So they sent you. Again.” She tilts her head to the side, her long hair sliding over her shoulder. “Will you finish the job properly this time?”

That the question, isn’t it? I want to tell her that of course I’ll finish the job, but I’m having a hard time even gripping the knife let along wielding it. I…can’t do this. “You should leave,” I blurt.

Calypso’s brows wing up. “Excuse me?”

“Poseidon smuggles people out for the right price. Or, if not him, then Triton does it even more often. You have the money to get out of Olympus. Athena won’t send me after you if you leave the city. Not even Zeus will bother with you then.”

Calypso studies me, a strange expression on her face. “You really are honorable, aren’t you?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have stolen from Odysseus, but it’s not right what they’re trying to do.” Saying the words aloud feels a little like a betrayal. But that strange, soft expression isn’t going away, and I can’t mislead her. “And I’m not honorable. My hands are stained with the blood of a whole lot of people.”

“We all do what we have to in order to survive. I’ve happily lied, cheated, and stolen. No one is innocent.”

Perversely, her defending me only makes me want to dig in my heels more firmly. “Those things are forgivable, Calypso. What I’ve done isn’t.”

She narrows those dark eyes. “You don’t like what you do.”

This conversation has veered off the tracks I intended it to stay on and I’m not sure how to get it back. I drag my hand through my short hair. “It doesn’t matter if I like what I do. I’m trying to get you out of Olympus alive.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

I stop short. During the whole awful trip through the city and across the river, the thing that had gotten me through was the intention to get Calypso free, even if I couldn’t admit it to myself until just now. If she’s beyond Athena’s reach, then I don’t have to choose between doing the right thing and doing the thing I’m required to. It won’t help me the next time the choice comes around, but this is egregious, even for Zeus.

Then again, the man is rumored to have killed all three of his wives.

I shake my head. “You have to leave.”

“No.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “For better or worse, Olympus is my home. I just signed a rental agreement, and Sandra is too nice to fuck over.”

I blink. “Who’s Sandra?”

She waves that away. “Go back to your boss and tell her it can’t be done.”

“Calypso,” I say gently. “I’m standing in the same room as you are right now. It was difficult to get across the bridge, but not impossible. Athena’s too smart to believe a weak lie like that.”

“Then tell her you finished the job and I’m dead.”

“She’ll check. And when she finds out you’re alive, she’ll send someone else.”

Now it’s her turn to blink. “She doesn’t trust you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Calypso pushes off the edge of the bed and takes a step toward me. “Not in so many words, no, but if Athena is checking up on your jobs, then that’s what it means. She doesn’t trust you.”

I flinch. I can’t help it. The words sting, and not because they’re wrong. I need to shut this down now. I don’t know this woman, and she’s been all but declared an enemy of the upper city. Athena and Zeus want her dead. I most certainly shouldn’t be pouring out my heart to her.

I force myself to look away from her. “She knows I waver from time to time. It’s normal for her to check up on that. She’s one of the most powerful people in Olympus, but she wouldn’t maintain that title without being smart and ruthless.”

Looking away from her was a mistake because I don’t notice Calypso closing the distance between us until she reaches up and presses two fingers to the bottom of my jaw. Her nails prick my skin lightly as she guides me to look down and meet her gaze.

I expect derision. Or shock. Or even anger.

Instead, she offers empathy. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Stop,” I whisper. “I owe Athena everything. I can’t… I don’t…”

“Medusa.”

My name on her lips makes me a little woozy, but not in a bad way. I’m hardly inexperienced, but all my flings and relationships—such as they were—were with people like me. Special forces. Or, in a few rarer cases, with one of Ares’s soldiers. They were not soft, generously curved, artfully beautiful people like Calypso.

She’s a songbird to my…

I don’t know birds that well, honestly. Something predatory and plain.

I clear my throat. “Yes?”

She still hasn’t removed her fingers. She’s shorter than me. Weaker. I could break the contact at any time. Instead, Calypso holds me immobile with two perfect fingers. She’s oh so serious as she says, “Do you still want to kill me?”

I should lie. Maybe if I scare her, I can get her to leave the city and flee to safety. Now’s the time to strike, to throw her off-guard and ensure the end result won’t add to my nightmares. If I don’t remove Calypso, Athena will send someone else, and they aren’t likely to be as concerned about saving her from pain or suffering.

Instead, the truth springs free. “I never wanted to kill you.”

She uses that tiny touch on my chin to bend me in her direction, bringing our faces even. “I know.” Then she kisses me.

It’s not like last time. My panic about the situation is mostly negated. I’ve admitted to myself—to her—that I don’t want to hurt her. Relief makes me a little weak, or maybe it’s the taste of her on my tongue. Our kiss has my jaw pressing harder to her fingers, but she doesn’t give at all. The tiny show of strength thrills me.

Shethrills me.

Calypso turns us and backs me toward the bed, never once breaking the kiss. It’s only when the backs of my legs hit the mattress that she stops long enough to push me to sit down. She looks down at me, lips plumped from our kiss, her eyes already hazy with anticipated pleasure. “I really, really would like to strip you down and spend the rest of the night enjoying each other. You can get back to arguing with me in the morning if you insist.”

I lick my lips, tasting her there. Her words are more statement than question, but I find myself nodding. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the side. I watched her get dressed earlier. I know she’s got a fancy lace bra beneath her sweater and a matching pair of panties under her jeans. Every part of her is perfectly curated, and while I can deeply appreciate that, I want to see her when she’s messy and losing control.

I, on the other hand, am wearing a sports bra and boring briefs. Or at least it feels boring until Calypso drinks in the sight of me. She steps between my legs and runs appreciative hands over my arms. “You have tattoos.”

Truthfully, sometimes I forget they’re there. I follow the path of her fingers as she traces the curving lines of the snakes writhing down to the handful of heads at my wrist, mouths opened and fangs glistening with poison. They twine with my scars on my arms, not quite covering them up but not really accenting them either. “A reminder.”

“Of what you’re capable of.” She grabs my hand and brings my arm up to kiss each of the snake heads around my wrist. “Oh, Medusa, you are so delightfully dramatic. I love it.”

“I’m not dramatic.”

She smiles. “Yes, you really are.” Calypso steps back long enough to strip down to her bra and panties before resuming her place standing between my thighs. She clasps my wrists and brings my hands to her body. “Touch me. You won’t hurt me.”

“I could.” I don’t know why I’m arguing. I want to touch her, and I certainly don’t want to hurt her. She, of all the women I’ve been intimate with, understands what I’m capable of. By all rights, she should be running from the room screaming, or injecting me with something more permanent than whatever was in that needle back in her high-rise apartment.

“But you won’t.”

I skim my hands down to catch her hips and pull her closer. Her breasts are full and heavy and I desperately want them out of that bra, art piece that it is. I’m not the most patient lover, but I try now, leaning forward and tracing the scalloped edge of the lace with my mouth.

Slow. You can do slow.

I reach up and ease the straps off her shoulders, easing them down and bringing the lace with them, until her breasts are bared and her arms are half trapped at her sides. I lean back to take her in. I lick my lips. “I don’t know where to start. You’re like a…something really cool and filled with all my favorite things and I want to play kid in the candy store with your body.”

“Oh. Wow. I—” Calypso gives a breathless little laugh. “You have a way with words, Medusa.”

I search her face for the mocking light I’m so familiar with. I’m not good with words, not polished or suave or anything that’s required of public-facing officials or the people who use their charm to navigate treacherous circles.

But she’s not mocking me. There’s amusement in the curve of her lips, but her eyes are searing hot. Calypso digs her fingers into my short hair and guides me back to her breasts. “I like it. A lot.”

Her breasts deserve worship, and I’m only too happy to kneel at the altar of her body. I drag my mouth over her curves, appreciating every inch before moving to her nipples. She tugs and pulls at my hair as I play with her, finally giving a delicious little whimpering sound as her legs go out.

I’m there to catch her, grabbing her behind the knees and lifting her up to straddle me. I arch up to catch her mouth even as I skate my hand up her thigh to cup her pussy over her panties. The lace is drenched. It seems to defy belief that she’s wet for me. I don’t deserve this, but I’m just selfish enough not to stop and demand how she could be even remotely into me as I am into her.

She is. That’s enough. I stroke her over her panties, wanting her to make that sound again, to tease her until she’s shaking and whimpering and begging me for more. But when you are only getting one taste of paradise, it’s impossible to maintain control.

She’s so close and I want her too much.

I delve my fingers beneath the lace and press two into her wet heat. “Gods,” I murmur against her skin. “You feel good.”

“You…too.” She clutches my shoulders, her nails pricking my skin. She rolls her hips even as I explore her, searching for the spot that will make her melt for me.

I desperately want Calypso to melt for me.

My need rises up with a strength that overwhelms me. I don’t intend to move, but my body takes over. I stand, lifting her as I do, and turn to set her on the bed. She blinks those big eyes at me, but eagerly lifts her hips without a word so I can tug her lace panties down her legs.

I force myself not to rush, to drink in the sight of her, to pause long enough to get out of my tactical pants. I run my hands up her thick thighs, pausing over the tiny stripes of stretch marks that I hadn’t noticed before. Some might call them imperfections, but they just make her that much more real to me. A goddess, yes, but a woman made of flesh and blood.

A woman I wish was mine.