Page 10 of Learn My Lesson
I can taste him on her skin. I can smell him on her skin.
I wedge my hands beneath her ass and lift her closer to my mouth, devouring her with a ferocity bordering on frenzy. Even as she screams her way through an orgasm, even as I replace her on the seat and she opens my slacks to withdraw my cock, even as she rides me in slow, decadent strokes…
I can’t say for certain if it’s jealousy of Hercules that spurns me on.
Or desire for him.
1 It really says something about Hades that he’s like “You know, my person isn’t happy, and I think the best solution is to give her a blond himbo.” Totally reasonable! So well-adjusted!
2 There is something so terrifying about being known on the level that Hades knows Meg. Because he may not intend to harm her, but he’s totally okay with pushing her buttons to provoke the response he desires. My dude is damaged.
HERCULES
I can’t let it go.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Meg forced to sit at his feet. I see the graceful curve of her body as she bends like she was created to occupy that position. I see the possessive way he strokes her hair—possessive and controlling. No matter that he walked in on us, no matter that he apparently wanted her to have sex with me, no matter that I don’t understand anything about what the fuck happened in that room.
No, that’s a lie.
I understand the triumph written across his handsome face when he called her away from me and she obeyed. I understand the frustration and anger on her face too.
She’s trapped. This guy has some kind of hold on her, one I recognize right down to my bones. I know all about being stuck in a place that slowly strangles the life out of a person, about what pieces of yourself you have to cut off in order to gain your freedom. I left parts of myself back in Olympus, but I count the cost worth it. I’m free, after all.
Unlike Meg.
Unlike Leda.
Impossible not to conflate the two, even though their situations are hardly similar. Leda was attacked. Meg is… I’m not really sure what’s going on. All I know is that a powerful man holds her leash and orders her to do things like fuck strangers. I thought she enjoyed what we did, but knowing the context, I can’t be sure. If he forced her, can she even give consent?
The thought that I might be more like my father than I could have dreamed haunts me. I can’t sleep. I can’t focus on work and keep making stupid mistakes. I even go so far as to type out a text to Leda, though I have enough control left not to send it. It’s not fair to look to her to make me feel better. I promised not to contact her again, and I will keep that promise.
Again and again, my mind goes back to Meg. If she’s as trapped as I fear…
Smarter to leave it alone. If I couldn’t make a difference as a Kasios in Olympus, can I really make a difference as a nameless waiter in a city that’s not my own? I don’t even have money to offer as a payout, though I suspect no amount of money would make a difference. I’ve seen that man’s type before. I used to know plenty of people like him—ambitious and cruel and willing to trample over anyone who gets in their way. People like me.
People like Meg.
It takes me all of two days to figure out who he is—Hades, the owner of an exclusive club called the Underworld. It’s a strange coincidence. There used to be a Hades in Olympus, back before I was born, but when he and his family died, the title died with them. Olympus might be cut off from the rest of the world, but in the age of the internet, there’s no true separation. Either this man’s parents were fans, or he chose the name out of some strange nod to the boogeyman of Olympus. Considering how perverse he seems, it’s probably the latter.
I spend far too long looking at his picture on the website, the distinguished silver in his hair and the classy, black-framed glasses. He’s attractive. Really attractive. His mouth, curved in the same soft smile he’d worn when he caught me eating his woman’s pussy, makes my stomach clench in a way that’s not altogether unpleasant. Like he knows a secret that I don’t and finding out will either please me greatly…or be something I regret for the rest of my life. There is no middle ground there. I shouldn’t crave that any more than I should desire Meg, a woman who only fucked me because she was ordered to.
Yet when my day off rolls around, I find myself pushing through the doors into the building that houses the Underworld.?1 I half expected some Victorian house that looks haunted and full of secrets, but it’s a skyscraper in the middle of downtown. The lobby is like a thousand other lobbies—tile and neutral colors and elevators. That’s it.
I check the directory and head to the correct elevator bank. It’s only when the doors close me in that it hits me how out of line I am. Whatever game Meg and Hades played, it was obviously between them. I didn’t ask for an audience, but it’s not like I would have objected, given the right circumstances. I don’t mind being watched, at least in theory. I think I might even like it.
Charging in here to save Meg is high-handed at absolute best and deliriously misguided at worst. I should turn around, walk out of here, and move on with my life.
I should…but I don’t.
The doors open, and I walk straight to the desk situated in the middle of an empty room. It houses a Black man who is possibly the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on. His dark skin is so flawless, I’m half convinced he doesn’t actually have pores, and he wears a suit that’s worth about six of the one on my body.
He gives me a similar rake of his gaze and then presents a wide smile. “What can I help you with, handsome?”
“I’m here to see Meg.” If we could have a conversation, maybe it will dial back the protective impulse that drove me to this lobby in the first place. If I can reassure myself that she’s not trapped, that maybe I misunderstood what happened after we had sex in that apartment…maybe then I can let this whole thing go.
His face snaps into coldly professional lines. “I’ll see if she’s available. Sit, please.”
I turn and find a cleverly hidden bench in the same stone as the floor. A waiting room can be its own kind of defense, its own kind of weapon. It sets up the power dynamics before an audience is ever granted. I recognize that, but I don’t have a choice to do anything except play this game. I settle down to wait.
