by Katee Robert
He always did like to watch me work.
I turn and survey the restaurant. People have started to clear out as the clock winds later. I frown. Where did my waiter go? Several minutes tick by before the truth settles over me. “Shit.”
He’s gone.
Chapter 2
Hercules
My feet drag as I clock out of a long shift in a month of long shifts. I need the money, so I can’t afford to say no when my coworkers call in, but damn… I am so tired. I duck into the break room to change my shirt before I head home. It started raining sometime after I got here, and this uniform costs too much to risk ruining with something as mundane as rain water.
I snort at the thought.
A couple of months ago, I could have bought enough of these shirts to wear every single day of the year without doubling up. I wouldn’t have done it, of course, because while they’re top end, they aren’t the kind of clothing I was used to when I lived in my parents’ house. Considering how tight the budget has become in such a short time, I should have brought more clothing I could pawn. In another month, I’ll be on a strict diet of ramen.
I check my phone, and though I’m not surprised that I have no notifications, my stomach sinks all the same. Leda hasn’t responded to my texts in weeks, and it’s not like she’s going to suddenly do it tonight. She washed her hands of me and I can’t even blame her. I tried to help her, and all I did was make it worse.
It doesn’t stop me from wanting to check on her, to make sure she’s okay. To offer her the protection I have no business offering. I might have fancied myself strong enough to play that role, but my father outmaneuvered me. Again.
And Leda got hurt in the process.
I carefully fold my shirt and stick it into my backpack. Thinking dark thoughts seems to be all I’m good for now. It doesn’t help that I’m exhausted from the sheer energy it requires to smile and be polite no matter how shitty the restaurant customers act—or the fact I haven’t slept through the night in longer than I care to remember. I close my eyes and press the heels of my hands to them. I’ll get through this. What little suffering I’m experiencing now is nothing compared to what Leda went through, and though she would never say I deserve this, I can’t help thinking that maybe I do. Compounding her hurt, even unintentionally, doesn’t mean it’s okay.
I sigh and let my hands drop. Plenty of time to play whipping boy to myself once I get home. The last thing I need is one of my coworkers wondering what the hell I’m doing hanging out in the break room instead of booking it for the door the second I clock out. No one else is in the room, so I allow myself to stretch, something in my back popping as I reach my fingertips toward the ceiling.
“Sounds painful.” A woman’s voice, low and throaty and full of promise.
I jump. “Sorry, I thought I was alone.”
“No need to apologize. I was enjoying the show.”
I face the woman and go still. She’s easily the most captivating person I’ve ever seen. Not beautiful, exactly, but the sharp lines and equally sharp smile root my feet in place. Her dark brown hair is pulled back from her face, as if she knows how starkly beautiful her perfection is and plays it up for all it’s worth. I can’t look away from her blue eyes, and I have the most insane desire to go to my knees before her. To run my hands up her lean legs. To… Get a hold of yourself. “Ma’am, is there something I can help you with? You’re in the employee break room.”
“Ma’am?” She looks a little horrified. “I cannot believe you just ma’am-ed me.”
It’s the only appropriate response when greeting a woman. And this stranger is all woman in a way that has me fighting my body’s attempt to respond. “I’m sorry?”
“You should be. Very sorry.” Her tone drops, and she takes a step into the room.
She’s nearly my height in her heels, but significantly smaller than I am. It doesn’t seem to matter, because she takes up all the space in the room simply by breathing. Her smile widens. “Would you like to make it up to me?”
Surely I’m reading this wrong? No way did this woman come back here to find me. I glance around the room. The understated luxury in the main floor of the restaurant doesn’t extend to the employee break room. There’s a secondhand couch that’s probably older than me up against one wall and a folding table with a stained microwave perched precariously on top of it. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have fit into this place, but I don’t have a choice now. This woman? She definitely doesn’t fit in. “It’s against the rules.” I mean for the sentence to come out strong, but I sound more like I’m requesting confirmation.
“Rules were made to be broken, don’t you think?” She lifts a dark eyebrow. “What do you say? One drink and you can send me on my way.”
I frown, trying to think past the spell she seems to weave with her proximity. Spending time with guests on restaurant property is a firing offense. I really, really can’t afford to lose this job. “I’m sorry.”
Something flares in her blue eyes, and she moves closer. “My date left me.”
“What?” I’d seen her on the restaurant floor, of course. She seemed to own the room the second she walked into it.
I’d noticed the older guy she was with too. He wore an extremely expensive suit in the careless way of someone rich beyond measure. But it was the way he studied the room that drew me, the kind smile and cold eyes. He was just as attractive as she is, the deep lines around his mouth and eyes speaking of plentiful smiles for those he deemed important enough to bestow them upon. There was power in the way he moved, in the way he drew every eye in the room even though it appeared he only had eyes for this woman.
Apparently appearances can be deceiving.
I’ve always had shit taste in who I was attracted to. This couple seems like they’re no different. What kind of man leaves his woman behind after a dinner date? I should offer to call her a car. That is the reasonable thing to do. Not offer to take her to my place around the corner.
She gives me a slow smile. “I’m going to call a cab, but would you mind waiting with me?”
“Of course.” I know even as I agree that I’ll regret this. I grab my backpack and follow her out of the room. But instead of heading for the door like I expect, she takes a right turn and moves up a set of stairs that are strictly off limits. I stop short. “Employees aren’t allowed up there.”
“The owners and I are old friends.” She must see my hesitation because she motions to herself. “I’m not exactly dressed for the weather.”
She can say that again. She’s clothed in a sheath dress that stops a full three inches shorter than polite dinner wear, and the white fabric looks delicate enough to tear if I so much as touch it.
Not sure what it says about me that I want to rip it in half, but I’m the one in control. Not my darker impulses. “Okay,” I finally say and follow her up.
She leads me into a small loft apartment that the owners must use when they stay over in town. I step over the threshold, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve passed some point of no return. I try to shrug off the foreboding, but I can’t quite banish the weight of it.
The woman drops her purse on the couch and kicks off her heels. She shoots me a look. “I hope you don’t mind. I have a twenty-minute wait, and these heels are killer on my feet.”
It’s not like I have more than a shitty bed waiting for me at home. I gingerly sink onto the couch next to her. I’m a big guy, and there are times when it’s smarter to make myself smaller so I don’t freak people out. Women, especially. Women alone, extra especially. She asked me to wait with her, but I’d hate for her to regret it.
She doesn’t look anything but intense. She crosses one of those long, long legs over the other, causing her dress to slide higher up her toned thighs. I try to drag my gaze up to her eyes, to keep things polite, but I can’t quite manage it. There’s a tattoo there, something small and intricate. I think it’s a skeleton key. Part of me wants to push her dress higher to fin
d out.
To discover if she’s wearing panties.
Damn it, I’m ogling her like some kind of creep.
“What’s your name?”
I manage to sit back, though now I’m battling the cockstand of the century. I look anywhere but at her, finally focusing on the truly hideous abstract painting across from the couch. “Hercules.”
“Someone’s parents had high aspirations.”
The last thing I want to do right now is talk about my parents. Even though I’m not living in the same city they rule anymore, it’s hard not to feel like I’m existing in the shadow of their disappointment. “Something like that.”
“I’m Meg.” She circles my wrist with her hand, her nails lightly pricking my skin, and it’s everything I can do not to moan. What the hell is wrong with me? This lady needs help, not some horny idiot who has half a dozen truly impolite thoughts running through his head.
I want to kiss her.
I want to push up that dress and see exactly what she has on underneath it.
I want to trace that tattoo with my tongue, to taste her.
Hell, I want to fuck her.
What the fuck is wrong with me? She needs help and I’m panting after her like some piece of shit guy who only sees tits and an ass instead of a person.
I’m acting like my father.
The thought is a bucket of ice water poured over my head. In that moment of clarity, I pull back, but she tightens her grip on me. I’m stronger than her. I can get free if I pull hard enough, but it means grappling with her and maybe hurting her. I go still. She raises an eyebrow. “I’ll give you a dollar if you tell me what you were just thinking about.”
No way in hell am I subjecting her to that. “That’s not a good idea.” If this was a different situation, if she wasn’t stranded, I might be willing to believe all signs pointing to her hitting on me. But it isn’t a different situation, and I can’t afford to assume shit.
“Try me.” Meg smiles and traces her nail across the inside of my wrist. It feels like my whole body narrows down to that single touch. “I might surprise you, Hercules.”
I clear my throat, trying to focus past the way her touch zings through my body. I feel drunk on her, even though I haven’t had a drink since I left Olympus. Maybe that’s why I tell her the truth. “You’re beautiful.” I look down at where her paler hand brackets my wrist. “That’s what I was thinking. That you’re beautiful.” Not the full truth, but then I just met this woman. I would have to be out of my fucking mind to tell her that I can’t stop wondering what her pussy tastes like. There are lines. There have to be.
“Oh, Hercules.” She sighs a little like I’ve said something that pleases her greatly. “You really are too pure for this world, aren’t you?”
If she only knew how quickly my thoughts had gone dark and filthy. “No. Not really.”
Her smile goes sharp. “I’m afraid I haven’t been perfectly honest with you.”
“What?”
Another of those sharp smiles that has my cock throbbing in response. What is she doing to me? I’m no inexperienced virgin. I’ve had plenty of fun with both girls and boys through my late teens and early twenties. I know attraction when I see it, when I feel it. But this is… different. She touches me like she can see the desires beneath my skin and takes great enjoyment plucking them one by one. I have the strangest suspicion that she could make me come without ever touching my cock.
The idea excites me.
Fuck. Everything about her excites me.
“I didn’t call a car.” She keeps up that movement against my wrist. Back and forth. Back and forth. “I was hoping to seduce you.”
My thoughts stumble over themselves as I try to make sense of what she just said. “You want to seduce me?”
“Is that so surprising? I mean, look at you. You’re practically a walking wet dream.” She casts a meaningful glance to where I’ve tried and failed to hide my erection. “I saw you, and I wanted you.”
Now is the time to stop this. Even if what she’s saying is true, she came to dinner with another man. A man who touched her with familiarity and stirred things inside me even more uncomfortable than what I’m feeling right now. If she’s using me to get back at him… Does it matter? It shouldn’t. I don’t know him. I doubt I’ll see her again after she’s through with me. I should just take the offer she’s making and enjoy myself for once without overthinking things.
Too bad I can’t.
I gently extract my wrist from her hand, hating the way I miss the heat of her skin against mine the second her touch is gone. “You’ll regret it if you sleep with me to punish him.”
Her blue eyes go wide. “Are you for real?”
“I try to be.”
She gives herself a shake. “Look, you seem to have gotten the wrong idea. He and I are… complicated. He’s not my husband. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s…” She hesitates, clearly fighting for the right words. “Complicated.” For half a second, her barriers dissipate, and she looks vulnerable and lonely and more than a little sad.
“I don’t use women. Or men, for that matter.”
“Even when they’re asking to be used?” She looks away and then back, her gaze sharpening. “Even when I’m telling you I want to be used.”
I should stand up. Should walk out that door and down the stairs. But that vulnerability calls to me in a way that has me closing the distance between us. “I’m lonely too.”
“I didn’t—”
I kiss her. I don’t mean to, but then I never mean to get myself into trouble. Whatever her story, whatever put that look in her eyes, if I can take it away for a little bit and leave her better off than before, aren’t I obligated to at least try?
She tastes like wine and something spicy, and her mouth goes soft beneath mine almost immediately. And then her tongue is there in a brief stroke against mine, a query I answer in kind. Kissing her feels as natural as breathing.
As natural as breathing?
Ha.
More like as natural and dangerous as a free fall.
Chapter 3
Meg
I had a plan going into this, but Hercules has smashed it to pieces. This man with his kind eyes and sweet smile… He’s nothing like I expected. He kisses me like it’s the main event, as if we never have to go farther than this because he can’t get enough of my mouth on his. And through it all, I can feel Hades’s presence, even if he’s not in the room.
Hercules. What a fucking name. Hercules. Fitting in its way, because he’s built like a Greek statue. His golden hair is cropped short and his eyes are so blue they take my breath away. Especially with how he’s looking at me now, like he can’t believe this is happening and he must be the luckiest man alive. His shoulders flex beneath my grip, and I can’t wait to get him out of his shirt to see if he’s as defined as he seems. In fact, that seems like an excellent idea.
I nip his bottom lip hard enough that he gasps, going a little melty against me. I spare a thought to wondering if Hades knew this man had a masochistic streak. It wouldn’t surprise me. Hades always seems to know when someone around him is harboring a kink or twelve. I tug on Hercules’s shirt and he allows me to pull it over his head. I sit back and just look at him. “You call me beautiful, but you’re the beautiful one.”
His golden cheeks go a little pink and he bites his bottom lip in the same place I did just now. Oh, this guy is too much. I lean in and soothe the spot with my tongue. “Tell me what you want.”
“I…”
He’s going to hold back. I can already tell. I grab his wrist and press his hand to my thigh, right over my tattoo. “Not the polite version. Not what you think I want to hear. Tell me what you want right now, in this moment, more than anything else.”
Hercules’s gaze drops to my mouth and then lower to where his hand brackets my thigh. “I want to taste your pussy.”
My whole body goes hot and tight. He says he’s not pure, but there’s something almos
t innocent in the way he allows me to lead this. Submissive, yes, but more than that. I want to dirty him right up. I guide his hand beneath my dress and catch my breath as he palms me between my thighs.
He makes a sound suspiciously like a growl. “No panties, Meg?”
“I don’t like them.”
“Fuck, neither do I.”
He doesn’t try anything, letting me lead this. Submitting. All the tangled feelings from dinner with Hades burn to ash in this moment. Damn him, but he’s right. This is exactly what I need tonight. I lean back against the arm of the couch. “Take what you want.”
He looks at me for a long moment as if he’s sure this is a trap. I roll my hips a little, rubbing myself against his palm. It snaps him out of it. He moves down my body so he can shove my dress up to see my pussy.
The look on his face.
I would pay an absurd amount of money to have a picture of this moment, to keep it locked away and bring out whenever I needed a bump. He looks at my pussy like he’s just found a treasure he’s spent his life chasing. And then he’s on me, dragging his tongue down from my clit, over my pussy, spreading me to get lower yet, and then moving back up to flick my clitoral hood piercing. Hades is rarely wrong about these kinds of things, but I’m still almost shocked by his enthusiasm. He fucks me with his tongue, growling against my flesh even as he drives my pleasure relentlessly higher.
Not quite high enough yet.
“Hercules—”
He shifts gears, moving up to my clit and sucking hard as he shoves two fingers into me with enough force to lift my hips off the couch. “Oh fuck.” I look down and find him watching me closely, gauging my reactions. He holds my gaze as he does it again, fucking me with his fingers and giving my clit long pulls that have my toes curling and my eyes rolling back in my head.