Page 13 of Sweet Obsession

“Lovely. I’ll be in contact.” She turns and sweeps from the room, and a few seconds later the front door slams to signify her exit. It’s the only outward sign of her anger. Surprising that she’d allow even that much on display. Interesting.

But I’ll consider that more when I’ve rested. Right now, I’m swaying on my feet. I start to take a step but my body won’t cooperate. Poseidon catching my elbow is the only thing that keeps me off the floor. His expression is downright forbidding as he studies me. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Aren’t you glad I’m not? Look at what an asset I am. Look at how cooperative I am. Just like a good little captive.”

His dark-red brows draw together. “What game are you playing, Icarus?”

Now is the time to ensure he’ll continue to protect me. To go on my best behavior and play by the rules he’s set out. I don’t. Instead, that perverse little impulse inside me, the one that always gets me into trouble, takes the reins. I lean against him, pressing my hand to his chest right over his steadily beating heart. “I’ll play any game you want me to, lover.”

“What are you talking about?”

I blink up at him, searching his expression. Normally, when I drop some innuendo, the target of my desires picks up on it quickly enough. Most people are simply looking for an excuse to do the “bad” thing, the opportunity to take my hand and be led into the lust-filled night. And all the while, they tell themselves that it’s nottheir fault, that they have no choice but to go to bed with me.

But there’s none of that with Poseidon. He genuinely looks confused. Either he’s a better actor than I could have dreamed or… I push forward, testing him. “I’m talking aboutsex, Poseidon. Down and dirty fucking. Whatever flavor you’re into, I guarantee I’ve done it. I’d like to do it withyou.”

“You’re talking about…” Poseidon’s face flares a delicious crimson. His mouth moves, but no words come out. I actually made him speechless. I don’t know if I’ve ever done that to a potential lover before. Not that I had plans to make Poseidon my lover five minutes ago, but now it seems like a great idea.

“You’re probably asking yourself why I want to fuck you.” I keep talking on pure instinct, but my mind is moving a mile a minute. This…isn’t an act. I had my doubts before, but now I’m sure of it. He genuinely isn’t playing hard to get. It literally never crossed his mind that I might set out to seduce him.

Aw, wee lamb.

“We’re not… We can’t… Absolutely not.” He’s sputtering. I shouldn’t find it so charming, but I do. Especially when he shifts back as if putting more distance between us will change the possibility I’ve put to voice. “It would be a horrible abuse of power,” he finally manages, voice strangled.

“You’re one of the Thirteen,” I say slowly, still determined to test him. “Experience says that power is meant to be abused.”

“It’s wrong.”

“That just makes it even hotter.” Oh yeah, I’m going to seduce the fuck out of Poseidon. Because he’s handsome, yes, and powerful, of course, but most importantly, because he trulyishonorable.If he feels like he’s taking advantage of his captive, guilt will take residence in that impressive chest of his. It will ensure he continues to protect me until I no longer need him.

And I’ll get to have a bit of fun in the process.

8

Poseidon

“You need to eat.” I don’t mean to speak the words. “I…uh, you should have a meal. I should feed you.” Putting a little distance between myself and Icarus seems like the smart thing to do, but here I am offering him a meal. It’s too late to take back.

Especially when he smiles suspiciously widely. “I could eat.”

Did I really think he was going to turn me down? He’s already shown himself to be resourceful and that he will end up in places he shouldn’t be. I have him trapped in my house. Of course he’s going to be looking for a way to create some leverage for himself. Every person wants to survive, after all. He’s no different just because he’s an enemy to Olympus.

But he’s already experienced unacceptable amounts of harm while he’s supposed to be under my care. Depriving him of a meal simply because his presence—hisoffer—makes me feel strange isn’t acceptable. So I motion for him to follow me.

Whichever one of my ancestors built the guesthouse apparently didn’t think their guests deserved a kitchen, so we have to make the short trek to the main house. It looms in the fading light, a monster intent on devouring.

Except, no, it isn’t. It’s not a monster. It’s just a house. Four exterior walls and an absurd number of rooms. Too much money spent on decorations for how hideous it is. There are no ghosts haunting the place, for all that my uncle and cousins died there.

For once, Icarus has nothing to say, but when I glance at him, I wish he were prattling on because, instead of talking, he’s watchingme. I can’t even pick up my pace because he’s barely staying on his feet, and if I leave him behind, he’s likely to pass out in the rosebushes.

Instead, I push open the door and hold it so he can precede me into my uncle’s kitchen.

It’s weird to still consider it my uncle’s kitchen. I know that. He’s been dead for well over a decade at this point and I’ve been Poseidon for nearly half my life. But this house doesn’t feel like home. It never has. It’s impossible to walk through these halls and not have the small hairs on the back of my neck rise just like they did when I was a child.Trespasser. Freak.He called me that and more when he was still alive. I truly don’t believe in ghosts, but sometimes when I have reason to be in this house late at night, I can almost convince myself that they’re real.

The kitchen is nice, though. And while itispart of the house that still feels like it belongs to my uncle, I highly doubt he spent any amount of time in this particular room. I still maintain the staff—what’s left of them—from when he was Poseidon, but that’s mostly because it feels wrong to let them go.

It also feels wrong to sit down while someone else cooks me a meal, as if my hands aren’t capable of labor. Thankfully, the cook has long since gone home. He usually only comes by in the morningthese days to prep a day’s worth of food for me and my people, on the off chance that we come through these doors.

That’s where I go now, to the large industrial-sized fridge tucked into the corner. Sure enough, there are neatly labeled containers with the makings for a ridiculously extravagant meal. It makes Louis happy to cook them, so I don’t ever complain. And theyaredelicious. Almost enough to draw me here just for a taste when I don’t technically have business within these walls.

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