Wicked Beauty (Dark Olympus Book 3)

It takes all of two minutes in the shower for reality to catch up with me. I just had sex with Patroclus and Achilles. I lean my forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall and try very hard not to make a liar out of myself by regretting it. Truth be told, I don’t regret the sex. It was outstanding and then when Achilles stopped giving orders and joined in…

I shiver.

Actually, outstanding doesn’t begin to cover it.

But the fact remains that I just slept with Achilles again, and I don’t like him. I think. Probably. Mostly.

I sigh. Okay, it’s time to be honest, at least with myself. I might keep saying I don’t like the big man, but it hasn’t felt like the truth since… I’m actually not sure when things shifted so much, but the fact remains that they have. It’s not even that Achilles is sexy as fuck—though he is. It’s not even that he saved me last night.

I can’t entirely discount a little hero worship because of it, though. The man basically broke down my door and fought my attacker, who had a fucking knife. Sure, Achilles is special forces and more than capable of handling a single person, but that is beside the point. He didn’t have to do that. He could have turned away and left me to my fate and simplified his life. If I’m gone, so are a lot of complications in his future. He wouldn’t be to blame, either, so it’s not like my brother could do anything about it.

People die in this tournament. Bellerophon said it themselves. Sure, this wasn’t during a trial, but Perseus’s hands would be tied. At best, he could duke it out with Athena, but that would still spare Achilles the fallout. He didn’t hold the knife, after all.

He did, however, hold me while I tried not to fall apart in the aftermath. That’s the crux of it, the point where I tipped right out of hating him and into…something else. Anyone else would have used that moment of weakness to manipulate me. Helen, honey, this just proves that you shouldn’t be in this tournament. You should go back to your penthouse where it’s safe and wait for someone else to be declared the winner. Someone stronger. Someone who wasn’t helpless in the face of a single attacker.

Achilles didn’t use my fear as a weapon against me. He barely used words at all. He simply wrapped me up in his big body and held me until the shaking stopped. I didn’t expect gentleness from him, though if he’d asked me if I wanted a hug, I would have told him to fuck off. That’s the thing about Achilles; he seems more an “easier to ask for forgiveness than permission” kind of guy. He decided I needed to be held, so he picked me up and deposited me on his lap.

He never even posed the question of me resigning from the tournament. He simply took it as fact that I wouldn’t. That I’d set myself on this path and he respected me enough to respect that choice. How novel.

Not to mention, I kind of like bickering with him. I’m so used to the veiled insults that a person doesn’t feel until minutes or hours later that Achilles’s blunt crassness is a relief. No matter how much he snarls, there’s no real venom behind the words.

Damn it. I like the big jerk.

I push off the wall and duck back beneath the scalding spray of the water. Ultimately, my feelings don’t change anything. Achilles wants what I want, which means we are opposing forces. Patroclus, too, because no matter how much he wants me, his heart belongs to that beautiful fool. My time with him—with them—was only ever going to be temporary.

I knew that going in. Honestly, it was a perk. I’m only able to give so much. It’s not as if they’ll want to keep fucking after I ruin Achilles’s chance of realizing his dream. I’ll probably never see them again once the tournament is over, aside from official business.

There’s no reason at all for that knowledge to sting now.

Showering any longer would translate to hiding, so I shut off the water and take a few minutes to dry off, lotion up, and braid my hair back from my face. I stare at myself in the mirror. I look exactly like I always have. Too pretty, even when I attempt to downplay it, even when I’m tired and there are faint smudges beneath my eyes. The face of a woman people see as a prize, have always seen as a prize. They only care about the surface until what’s underneath inconveniences them, and then they drop me like yesterday’s trash. Or, worse, try to change me. Yeah, this face has brought me nothing but trouble.

Still, it’s the only one I have.

I sigh, straighten my spine, and walk out of the bathroom. The first thing I notice is that someone—probably Patroclus—changed the sheets and made the bed. The memory of why that’s necessary hits me hard enough to make every muscle in my body clench. Gods, that orgasm was good. The second one was even better, albeit in a different way. My entire body aches faintly from what the three of us did, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want more.

I just can’t be sure why I want more. To keep hiding from the uncomfortable reality that I am in over my head for real this time? Or simply because I’m in lust with two men I most certainly shouldn’t be indulging with? Neither option is particularly flattering. Both will bite me in the ass before this is over.

Achilles is probably my strongest competitor, though the rest of the champions are no slouches. But he wants Ares nearly as bad as I do, and that gives him an edge I can’t afford to ignore. Having sex with him… Continuing to have sex with him… It’s a mistake.

Sleeping with Patroclus, his boyfriend, lover, partner? Whatever they call each other, it’s like poking a bear with a sharpened stick. I’m making things complicated, and if somehow I fail and Achilles becomes Ares, that means he’ll be my husband and both of them will be in close proximity with me for the rest of my life. Messy does not even begin to cover it.

I’m not sure I care. Not enough to stop.

I find the men sitting at the table by the kitchenette. Achilles is still wearing his gray sweatpants, and I can’t help my physical response to seeing them and his bare chest. His body is unreal, and knowing how effectively he uses it for his partners’ pleasure? I shiver a little. Patroclus has pulled on a pair of shorts, but he’s left off his shirt, too. This must be how they always are in the mornings: half-dressed and relaxed, easing into their day with a comfort I barely comprehend.

After I graduated from high school, the first thing I did was move out of my father’s penthouse and into one of my own. Living with Zeus was hardly a comfortable, soothing environment, and my siblings and I all dealt with that in different ways. Usually by starting shit. Living alone was a huge adjustment, and I quickly became territorial enough that I rarely let people stay the night. Even—especially—romantic partners. I’m not a morning person, and that means I have a difficult time getting my public persona into place before noon.

The only time I let that practice slip was when I dated Paris, and he gave me cause to regret it. It only took a few days of waking up together for the comments to start. Initially they were innocent enough. You look tired, Helen. It didn’t take long to graduate to full-on criticism. Maybe you shouldn’t leave the bedroom without makeup. What if you get photographed through the window? They’re going to think you’re sick. It got to the point where I’d wake up an hour before him to put my face on and do my hair so he wouldn’t have ammunition against me.

Paris, of course, just found other ways to pick me apart at the seams.

Best not to think too hard about the fact that I haven’t even thought to keep that mask secure around these two men. Achilles is the first person outside of family who’s experienced my bite, and Patroclus brings out something unforgivably soft in me that I’d completely forgotten existed. More, I haven’t worn makeup except when we’re going to be in front of a camera, and neither one of them has made a single comment. I’m not certain they even noticed.

The scent of coffee makes my mouth water, so I make a beeline for the counter. “I didn’t realize we had a coffee maker in our rooms.” I’m sure I would have seen it in mine if I had one, but I’ve been understandably distracted since arriving here.

“We don’t. We requested one after we got here because Achilles is a bear without his morning caffeine.” Patroclus holds up a mug, and I realize he’s already got one in front of him. “Cream and sugar, right?”

I change course, heading toward the table and accepting the mug from him. How could he possibly have memorized my preferred way of drinking coffee? He wasn’t even in the room when I made it yesterday morning. I consider him but decide it’s a question for another day. I sip the coffee and offer a reluctant smile. “Perfect.”

“Helen…”

The small pleasure of a perfect cup of coffee fades. “I know. Time to talk.”

Patroclus glances at Achilles. Again, I’m struck by the intimacy of the moment. They’ve obviously known each other a long time because they’re doing that couple thing where they have an entire conversation without speaking. I ignore the stab of jealousy. It’s not that I want that with either of them, but I do want that level of comfort in a relationship.

Unfortunately, that means letting my guard down, and the last time that happened, I ended up with Paris.

I take another sip of my coffee. This is where they either let me down gently or try to hard-sell me on quitting. The former, I’ll accept. The latter? Good luck with that. I take the third chair at the table. There were only two last night, so one of them must have brought this one in this morning. A tiny thoughtful gesture that I have no business feeling emotional over. Gods, I’m a mess.

“We should keep fucking.”

Patroclus makes a choked noise and starts coughing, but I’m too busy blinking at Achilles. Surely he didn’t say what I think he just said. “What?”

“It was fun. I want to do it again.” He stares at me as if daring me to contradict him. “You want to do it again, too.”

I’d be smart to argue. The sex was mind-blowing, to say the least. I was telling the truth when I said I compartmentalize well—thanks, Father—but even I can’t be sure my heart won’t revolt and get involved if I keep sleeping with both of them. Maybe I could hold out against Achilles, but…

I glance at Patroclus. He’s a mottled red, but he seems to be breathing okay now. “He didn’t discuss this with you first.”

“No,” he bites out. “He didn’t.”

Achilles shrugs and drinks his coffee. He puts on a good act like he doesn’t give a shit, but there’s a thread of tension in his shoulders that tells me he cares about the destination of this conversation more than he wants to admit. “I don’t have to talk about it with him first. Patroclus will let guilt get in the way of doing what he wants, but what he wants is to bend you over the table and—”

“That’s enough, Achilles.” Patroclus sets his mug down hard enough to splash coffee onto the back of his hand. He doesn’t seem to notice, though. He’s too busy glaring at his lover. “It’s like you never fucking think before you speak. We took advantage, and—”

That’s about enough of that.

I know he doesn’t mean it to sound like he thinks I’m weak, like I can’t stand up for myself or make my own decisions, but I’ve had too many people ignore my own words because they wanted to control me. I don’t think there’s a drop of malice or manipulation behind this, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s overriding me about my own thoughts and feelings. “Why don’t you ask me?”

He stops short. “What?”

“Ask me,” I repeat. He’s being stubborn right now, and maybe another time I’ll enjoy provoking him to get a reaction, but right now I have to draw my own line in the sand. Either he’ll respect it and we can keep negotiating, or he won’t and this ends now. When he doesn’t immediately speak, I prod. “It’s very easy. You say ‘Helen, now that the afterglow has worn off, are you feeling any different about fucking us?’ Now, you try.”

Achilles snorts, and Patroclus glares. Finally, he says, “Helen, now that you’ve got some distance, I would like to apologize—”

“No.”

“What?”

I shake my head, holding his gaze. “No, you don’t get to apologize and pretend like I’m not an adult with agency. I was not drunk, drugged, or otherwise incapacitated. You both asked me several times if I wanted to continue, and I consented enthusiastically. Are you really going to try to argue that I’m not capable of making my own decisions simply because you want to flog yourself with guilt?”

Patroclus stares at me, mouth agape. Achilles, the ass, leans over to press a single finger to his jaw and close it. He grins. “It’s not often someone leaves him speechless.”

I wait, but Patroclus is still staring like I’ve grown a second head. I have no business feeling disappointment in his reaction. I thought he might be different from the others I’ve interacted with all my life, but apparently he’s not. He formed beliefs about me before we even met again as adults, and he’d rather stick to those beliefs than actually get to know the real me.

The impulse rises to get up and walk away, to retreat somewhere that I don’t have to navigate other people’s feelings for a little while, but I shove it down. Either I want him to take me seriously, or I don’t. If I do, then I have to deal with this like an adult, and adults don’t flee conversations just because they make them uncomfortable. I try for a smile, but my voice is still too sharp to pass off as humor. “I mean, if you want to be flogged that badly, I’m sure I can scrounge up some latex and a whip. It’s not really my cup of tea, but I’m willing to try anything once.”

Achilles laughs again. “Told you so.”

Finally, a small eternity later, Patroclus lifts his mug and sips. He’s looking at me like he’s never seen me before. No, that’s not quite right. He’s looking at me like I just gave him a new piece of information to chew on, and now he has to realign his assumptions. We’ll see if it sticks.

When he finally speaks, he sounds almost normal. “Your point is taken.”

“Thank you.” I’ve been around the block too many times to believe him based solely on his words. Even for someone like Patroclus, words are easy enough to fake. Or that’s what I tell myself. My brain is on board with the plan to leave a little distance between me and these men. My chest, though? It gives a strange little thump that has me pressing my palm to my sternum.

I turn to Achilles to distract myself. “As to your suggestion that we keep fucking, the answer is…it depends.”

He gives me that lazy smile that has my body flushing with heat despite myself. He really is too handsome to be real. “What’s it depend on, princess?”

On how badly I need to escape the thoughts circling my head.

Except that’s not entirely true, is it? It may have started out that way, but things are both more and less complicated now. I liked what we did together. I want to do it again. I also realize it’s a terrible idea, but I doubt that will be enough to stop me. I’m not a masochist, and there’s plenty of pleasure to be had in my normal life—at least these days. No, there’s something that draws me to both these men, a tug deep inside me that I don’t know how to quantify or deny.

I haven’t worn a mask with them since this tournament began. They’ve seen the real me, warts and all. No matter their motivations or how doomed this whole thing is, that’s a heady feeling that I’m not willing to give up yet. I take a slow breath. “It depends on whether or not you’re going to stop trying to convince me to quit.” Just because Achilles didn’t capitalize on my being off-center last night doesn’t mean it won’t keep coming up. I know him well enough by now to know he’s just as stubborn as I am.

“No. Next question.”

I blink. He didn’t even hesitate. “What do you mean, no?”

“No. It’s a small word, but you probably don’t hear it often.” Achilles rolls his head on his shoulders in a slow circle, making his neck pop. “You’re going to get hurt if you don’t quit, and you might be a pain in my ass, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch one of the other champions crush you. Why?” He pins me with a surprisingly shrewd look. “Are you wavering so much in your goal that you think I can change your mind?”

“No, of course not.” It’s the truth. If anything, I’m more set than ever.

“Then what’s the problem? It doesn’t matter what I say…or do.” He injects enough insinuation into the last word to sink an armada.

It’s a fair point, even though I don’t want to admit it. Something warm and unforgivable curls in my chest at the easy belief Achilles has in me. Both that I won’t change my mind and that I won’t allow myself to be convinced. Does he realize what a compliment that is? More, how rare it is for the people around me? “Fine,” I say slowly. “Then I guess we should keep fucking.”

“Great. We’re decided.” He turns his attention to Patroclus. “Do you want to argue in circles for a few more hours, or do you want to finish that coffee and make Helen ruin the bedsheets again? The next trial isn’t until tomorrow morning, so we have plenty of time for fun before we need to sleep.”

Patroclus shakes his head slowly. “Bellerophon will be here in ten minutes. Get your head out of the gutter.”

“You know what they say about all work and no play, Patroclus.” I’ve never seen Achilles like this. The gorgeous warrior. The irritating asshole. The sexy dominant. But never the playful puppy. It’s disconcerting in the extreme, especially when he catches my eye and winks at me. “Look at the princess. You hurt her feelings when you acted like fucking her was something to be guilty about.”

The exasperation on Patroclus’s face is really, really attractive. He glances at me and shrugs. “Sorry, Helen. He’s being ridiculous.”

It isn’t even a question of playing along with Achilles. I simply do it. I give Patroclus a sexy pout. “He’s right. My feelings are very, very hurt.”

“See.” Achilles nods sagely but his dark eyes are sparking with mirth. He’s absolutely irresistible right now, and he knows it. “Do you want to guess what would make our princess feel better?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“Orgasms.”

“Yes.” I nod quickly. I’m not touching the our princess with a ten-foot pole. “Lots and lots of orgasms.”

Patroclus gives another of those sexy exasperated sighs. “Gods save me, now there’s two of you.”

“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing.” I’m still pouting and feeling a little ridiculous about how fun this is. The only people I play around with are Hermes, Dionysus, and Eros, and it’s not sexual in the least with any of them. I didn’t realize anything related to sex could be this fun. I nudge Patroclus’s bare calf with my foot. “Double your pleasure, double your fun.”

Achilles barks out a laugh. “Listen to her. She knows what she’s about.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” A knock on the door has Patroclus rising. He points at us. “Behave while we get to the bottom of the very serious attack on Helen last night.” He pauses. “If you manage that, we’ll spend the rest of the day naked in bed.”

“Deal,” we say at the same time.

I can’t help the lightness in my chest as I sit back and drink my coffee. Gods help me, but I’m enjoying my time with these two far more than I could have ever expected.