Page 51 of Audacity

Every time, she reminds me I can do what I like.

I’ll never stop asking.

I slide my hand under the hem of her skirt and stroke her knee through the fine nylon of her stockings. ‘Tell me what turns you on about it, and then I’ll tell you what they’ve got planned.’

Her face lights up like a child at Christmas. ‘The bare bones of it are pretty horrific, actually—it supposedly gave kings or overlords the right to bed the brides of their serfs on their wedding nights, or whichever ones they fancied the look of, anyway.’

‘And that does it for you.’ It’s not a question.

She sinks her teeth into her full, pink bottom lip before answering. ‘The fantasy version does, anyway. The idea that I’m some innocent virgin who has no clue about sex and is supposed to marry some useless serf, and then he takes me to his lord’s castle, but the lord drags me off and ravages me however the fuck he wants, and he just takes and takes because it’s his feudal right, and shows me what it can really be like? My God, it’s the dream.’ She actually flushes, right there on my desk, and I can see what a powerful fantasy this is for her.

Maybe, just maybe, this is something I can give her.

Something that her gang-banging, sex-toy-toting bosses of old can’t.

I slide my hand up her inner thigh. I have to say, she paints a far more alluring picture of the whole thing than that horrifying Wikipedia page did. With a few effortless brushstrokes, she’s painted a picture I didn’t know to want until now: me in my castle, in my robes and my furs, and Athena, jarringly lovely, in a white gown that speaks of her purity and on the arm of another man who’s desperately in love with her,mineto take and plunder and shatter so thoroughly that her poor, toothless husband will never, ever be able to satisfy her.

‘It can be a reality, for one night.’ My fingertips find the lace top of her stocking and she shifts forward, opening her legs as much as she can, which is not very far at all.

Her eyelids drift closed, eyelashes fluttering. Her voice, when she speaks, is breathy. ‘Tell me.’

I’m about to tell her. In fact, I’m about to check how wet this conversation already has her before taking it any further, but a movement in front of me catches my eye.

Fuck’s sake.

It’s my fucking brother.

I hastily remove my hand from between Athena’s legs and grab the invitation. Luckily, she’s facing away from the open door and her stance, although perhaps a little familiar, doesn’t suggest that she’s doing anything more than perching on her boss’s desk, having a catch up. I stuff the invitation under a folder on my desk. That is most definitely not for my brother’s eyes.

He breezes through Athena’s antechamber and into my office, coat slung over his arm. He looks far too cheery and smooth as fuck, and I see the moment his eyes alight with interest on the back of her head. I also clock the moment she turns to see who’s interrupted us and Brendan’s face goes from curious to downright feral in half a second.

Again,fuck.

‘Hi,’ I say curtly, but he’s not looking at me.

Of course he’s not.

‘You must be Athena,’ he says, flinging his coat unceremoniously on the sofa and not bothering to disguise the beeline he’s making for her. My eyes meet hers in a silent moment of resignation—my fingers are still warm from her skin and were so close to being wet—before she pushes herself off the desk and stands to greet him.

‘How do you do?’ she asks, extending her hand. I watch her for any sign that she’s falling prey to his infamous charms. Our mother may insist, with the hopeless bias that mothers have, that both her sons are equally good-looking, but there’s no denying that my brother has had far more practice over the past decade of honing his skills—both in bed and out of it.

‘I’m doing a lot better now, I can tell you that much,’ he says, fixing that easy grin of his on her.

Nothing. I see nothing on her face but polite implacability. My little ice queen isn’t giving him an inch. Perhaps it’s because she’s in her place of work or perhaps because, when you look like Athena, having men hit on you is the most banal of occurrences. I don’t really care. All I know is that she’s categorically not letting him see the version of herself who whisperedtell mejust now as she widened her legs to accommodate my searching fingers.

This kind of possessiveness is puerile in the extreme; I know that.

I couldn’t give a flying fuck.

‘So,’ Brendan presses on, ‘is this one treating you well?’ He slides his hands in his pockets as he continues to take her in.

I know what he can see.

I know all too well.

Chasing hot women is one of my brother’s favourite pastimes, but Athena’s beauty isn’t just “hot”. It’s astonishing. It’s the kind of beauty that inspires paintings and poetry and could ruin a man forever.

‘He’s treating me very well indeed, thank you,’ she tells him. Her tone is blandly polite, but the quick flick of her eyes to me is all the filthy subtext I need from her. I suppress a grin.

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