by Elena Monroe
She stopped turning around, like she sensed my gawking, standing there on the steps, doused with duteousness. Not one thing was her, except her damn hair. We let our eyes stay locked, until Nyx’s swift hand slapped me across my cheek, eliciting a sharp pain that crawled over my skin. I glared at him for interrupting my moment with Arianna before I could drag any silent answers from her.
“We gonna play a game, or you gonna stare at her the whole time?”
I leaned in, bullshitting my way through some speech about losing the season and this being redemption.
No one can resist a redemption story.
Once we put our hands in and shouted the traditional, “Make them bleed red and see nothing but gold!” we broke, jogging into our places. Our school colors and that saying were created by some past captain while no doubt drunk or on some rage stimulated by the ‘roids in his veins.
The game wasn’t going terribly. We had a chance of winning. We were up by three and still had one last quarter to push that number further away from their score.
Every chance I could, I looked to the stands at the purple hair, my queen, watching with boredom alive in her eyes. She was taunting me, trying to break me into an apology I wouldn’t be giving anyone. The truth was ugly. Who apologizes for that?
Nyx was on the sidelines, pouring water over his hair, before he put the helmet back on, when he shouted into the stands, “Luna!”
She looked alarmed, bewildered, and sat forward like something could be wrong for him to be talking to her so casually in public.
“Go to the dance with me!”
“You’re in the middle of a game, Nyx!” I could see her blushing from, here as everyone stopped to stare at what was happening.
“What’s it gonna be, little lamb? Wanna go with a wolf?”
She bit her lip, holding a smile captive, as she nodded her head. He got the lamb to willingly go anywhere with a wolf. Nyx was going to eat every innocent part of her.
Austin pushed off his helmet, “Hey, asshole! Way to steal my thunder!”
Nyx shrugged, jogging back with his helmet still off. He stood in front of me in line as I leaned down, pushing my fingers into the ground, waiting for the whistle.
Looking at Nyx, I nodded my head, and we both knew I was lifting the ban on him using his strength. I was losing the game and Arianna in the same day. I was taking this win, with a clear conscience.
I looked to my right at Austin who had two fingers to his helmet, saluting me as he always did. With a stern look, I saluted him back, like I never did, hoping he understood this win was ours to take.
Jasper’s arrogance kept him in the dark. He’d catch on eventually, or end up staying out of the way; that was welcomed too.
With the sound of the whistle, everyone moved, and all you could hear was pads colliding. The maroon of our uniforms blended in to the green of our opponents with every yard we stole. I watched Austin carry the ball to the endzone, and a sense of glory immediately felt like the best medicine for the aches and pain created by my queen.
Nyx’s arms squeezed around my pads, trying to suffocate me as the win sunk in, rippling through the team.
We were winning… for once… as ourselves. Nothing hidden or watered down.
I was never supposed to rule with an iron fist or even submit to being a teenager. I was so concerned with being a silent king and fighting the hormones that I forgot who I was under it all. I was a demigod, the son of Ares, the God of War—not of fucking peace in the kingdom.
I was supposed to learn to let everyone be themselves just like Arianna was—fearlessly.
I was a hypocrite in a plastic crown.
A powerless god.
Another teenager pretending to be invincible.
Fourteen years, that’s how long it took for me to feel complete. One woman, with purple hair and dirty Doc Martens, to bring me to my knees.
I was bowing to her.
The scoreboard showed a lead and a clear win for the Titans of Arcadia Prep. The team all celebrated in a pile of cheers, all slamming into each other’s pads and dancing around like idiots. The stands were mirroring the energy on the field, making it harder to find Arianna.
Jumping over the steel benches outlining the boundaries of the field, I made my way to her. I didn’t care if I was still in uniform or sweating like I showered.
I was a man on a mission. I had another battle to win.
Hands kept patting my pads in congratulatory form. I ignored them; I was after only one type of glory.
She stood there, arms crossed, and her gaze just as cross. Her eyebrows were pinched in the middle, and I knew she wasn’t going to forgive me easily.
I stood in front of her, towering over her really, in my pads. With my hands on her waist, I placed her on the riser with no fight out of her. No words were going to make the truth pretty, make the past a lie, and make this any easier.
I let Fate speak for herself when I leaned into her crossed arms and pushed my lips to hers. She melted enough to drop her crossed arms, and I felt her hand against my jaw, making it okay to push my tongue past her lips. Our tongues danced and wrestled—everything we did with our emotions. My hand smoothed up the back of her bare thigh past the hem of her skirt, and my fingers touched the material of her panties.
Pulling away enough to speak, leaving my lips still against hers, I whispered, “Hate me tomorrow. Right now, I’m busy bowing.”
Her lips collapsed against mine, tangling with mine more, and then she pulled away enough to look down. She was standing above me as my queen, and she knew this was as much I would bow for anyone.
I heard Kate pout beside us, “Seriously? Is everyone gonna get wooed except me? Where is my boyfriend?”
Arianna’s arms wrapped around my neck and her fingers wrapped around her other wrist, chaining me in. “I’ll hate you tomorrow.”
Arianna
He was a monster and whatever Caellum’s insult, “Demigod” meant.
He wasn’t boyfriend material.
He hid my past, my memories, from me.
He was a false god, wearing a crown that really belonged to me.
So why did I feel a storm of butterflies threaten to ignite all the anxiety that could destroy me?
I was rejected by Caellum, apparently in love with my best friend, Nyx, in another lifetime I don’t remember, and Bolton was meant to be my husband.
There was no right or wrong anymore. Right and wrong boiled down to power plays and Fate, who I didn’t believe in—gods I didn’t know, men I was told I felt for, when all I felt was an ache between my thighs, begging for Bolton.
His lips felt like static dancing on mine. His hands grasped the back of my thighs and felt as warm as the missing sun from this gloomy state. I pushed my tongue against his adding moisture, adding the element that made my mouth open wider inviting more of him in.
I wanted to swallow him whole. I wanted to let him eat me whole, no matter how mad I was at him. Maybe he could chew up and spit out the hate inside me.
I was even more impatient when I felt his fingers brush against my panties again. I shifted against his fingertips trying to get even more of him to touch me. I didn’t care where we were or who was watching. I wanted him more than I hated him.
I pulled away, not wanting to. His mouth messily kissed the edges of my lips, even as I spoke with my eyes still closed. “Can we go back to your room now?”
His arms wrapped around my waist, carefully helping me down from the bleachers and now standing on the same level—bringing me down, making us equal. We were king and queen.
No more bowing.
No crowns and royalty.
No more gods’ rules.
No more games.
No more lies.
Equal. Our rules. Our truths.
The crowd was still cheering when he gripped my hand so tightly I thought I’d lose feeling. He dragged me behind him down the metal stairs of the raisers. The smile on my face must have been inf
ectious, because even from behind him I could tell he was smiling too.
He only let go of my hand long enough to fumble with his jersey and rip the shoulder pads off letting them drop on the floor. “Jasper, take my pads to the back.”
There was no question mark at the end; he was all hormones and feeling as shiny as their win. His hair was flatter than normal, sticking to the sides of his face, glued down by the sweat. He glistened in it. It wasn’t helping the ache between my legs. My legs were pinned together so tightly I was hoping the friction gave me some kind of relief until we were alone.
His under armor shirt outlined every muscle he had under the bright lights, and the way he moved to unburden himself.
I forced my eyes off Bolton, sweeping over the yard lines until I landed on Kate standing on Austin’s helmet. Her arms looped around his neck, holding him flush against her with their mouths connecting in an innocent kiss.
The romance was in the air, fogging all of our vision and pushing everyone into a confidence they needed to put their hearts on the line.
I took out Bolton’s phone snapping a photo of them, the perfect high school cliché: the oddball who scored Miss Popular. He wore fedoras and backwards caps that clashed with his outfits, loud button downs with cats or palm trees, and his pants always rolled up to his ankles.
Self-proclaimed crazy.
It made my smile expand, taking up more room on my face. Even the underdog could win on the battlefield of love. Unscathed.
I looked back at Bolton as the crowd died down and emptied from the field, leaving just the circle.
Even the team had already retired to the showers. Coach stopped yelling for Bolton, Austin, and Nyx to stop with the theatrics. It was just us.
Austin was beside himself, and a dorky wide grin covered most of his face, as he pushed his hair back and said, “Pizza? All these romantic teen drama vibes are making me hungry.”
The girls stayed quiet, blushing and biting their lips from smiling too big, like it would be embarrassing.
This wasn’t the kind of adventure I had in mind, letting my heart out of its cage, but adventure it was.
Nyx was the only one who didn’t look pleased. He looked conflicted, like Austin suggested sex or death instead. The scariest part was I saw him leaning towards death even after Luna said yes and after however long he pined after her. “I’m gonna go shower. I’ll meet you guys there.”
Bolton’s eyes followed him until even his shadow had disappeared down the tunnel’s mouth. “I’ve got shit to attend to,” he clasped onto my hand, again walking so fast I was taking twice the steps he was, just trying to keep up.
I didn’t speak until we stopped moving. I couldn’t juggle both speaking and keeping up with Bolton’s long legs. I hovered over the banister, trying to regulate my breathing, when he laughed at me. I pushed my hand messily forward, trying to smack him, but his agility was on high alert, still riding the adrenaline of glory. “What’s wrong? What do you have to deal with?”
He cupped himself through his football bottoms, eye level with me: “This.”
I had just got an exclusive invitation and front row seat to see Bolton’s rejections take a turn.
Bolton’s reserve was unheard of for boys our age. Maybe it’s the demigod in him—half uninterested and the other half ready to wage a war over some pussy.
I had been sleeping in his room for days, and he wasn’t breaking. Every morning was just as painful as when he rejected me in the library by asking if I was done, like he was some kind of sex toy.
I didn’t want the Bolton that bows and gives me what I want. I wanted the Bolton that hated me so much it created a thin line between destroying me and devouring me.
I stood up, letting the back of my hand touch him cupping himself, barely, purposely… “I’m still mad at you.”
“Be mad at me while I’m between your legs. I’m not waiting for you to remember anymore.”
There was the truth, squeezed from him. He wanted my memories intact while I moaned his name. I didn’t have the same requirements.
I grabbed his forearm, waving his phone in front of the keypad, hoping his card was lodged behind his phone like everyone else. The keypad turned a bright green, allowing access. Before I could even get further than the entryway, Bolton pulled me back, right into his solid chest.
His soft lips attacked mine; they were perfectly preserved, unused, not chapped from kissing anyone else.
His lips were mine.
His body was mine.
His crown was… mine.
Our mouths stopped attacking each other only long enough for me to kick my Doc Martens off and shed the school blazer I was still wearing. He pulled off his under armor that looked stuck to his abs and biceps, letting it litter his already trashed room. I sat on his bed, watching him struggle to remove the rest of his football gear, his cleats, and other layers shoved under his pads.
Loosening the wine-stained tie around my neck and the first few buttons of my white shirt, I teased him with my purple bra underneath. Bolton didn’t waste any time. He appeared in front of me in just his boxer briefs and waited to have my undivided attention before he hooked his thumbs in his underwear and pushed them down.
His length, already hard, fell out in front of me. My jaw went slack, and I followed the bulging vein right down past the muscles framing his hips, caging his monster.
I licked my lips to help the salivating to hopefully stop. It didn’t satisfy the ache anymore.
He leaned down enough to let his mouth take little nips at my lips. My lip was caught between his teeth, while his hands ripped my shirt open. Buttons popped off in the process and hit the wood floors.
Bolton’s hands pushed my shirt down my arms messily, just like us. His hands smoothed up the space left between my bra and where my skirt started. I felt the static mixing with the warmth of his hands, until I felt his thumbs push into my nipples, making them even harder.
My head leaned back all the way, soaking his touch in with small gasps. I felt my hair yank, pushing my head further back, just before his lips crashed against my neck.
“Take my panties off, Bolton.” I had to push the words out with my head being yanked back and between moans.
Letting go of his grip around the roots of my hair, I moved my legs, letting my thighs rub together, as he pulled down my panties.
“Already wet for me? I’ve barely touched you. Just wait for it.”
I pushed him down to a sitting position for me to straddle his lap, with my skirt still on but no panties underneath. I felt his length against me, teasing me and making me even more wet. Pushing my mouth onto his, I bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and I watched him recoil in shock.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m hate fucking you.”
“Is that really how you want our first time to be?”
Unclipping my bra from behind me, fearlessly, I asked, “Is it our first time?” My voice was cutting through the bullshit.
All I wanted was to be worn as a crown around his head and his tongue buried in his throne… me.
All I wanted was to sit on my throne until I felt the royal benefits of wearing a crown.
He was never soft, but his voice was delicate, “No, this wouldn’t even be hundreds of times. You love fucking me.”
I watched him recoil into himself, knowing I didn’t remember us, him, before Arcadia Prep. I wanted to, but I didn’t get to choose what memories came back. None of them were complete anyways. I was only getting half-truths and whole lies.
I sat on top of him, swaying my hips back and forth against his length, chasing the mood still. “You didn’t care that I was close to Nyx?”
He switched our positions quickly, and I fell onto his bed hard. There was nothing soft about it, just like him. He flipped my skirt up, out of his way, before he pushed himself between my legs.
He crawled up me until he was hovering right above me, “You aren’t his; should I car
e how close you are? He can be your friend, but he’s not having you the way I am.”
I kissed the skin I could reach: his neck, his collarbones, his strong jaw, until he forced me back down to the bed with my wrists in his punishing grip. He was jealous, and it was showing.
I felt his tongue against my nipples, and the restraint of his grasp kept me down. “Don’t mention another guy again.”
“Is that why you didn’t tell me my memories? So you could hide everything but yourself?”
I felt his hips pushed up against mine even more and his tip was grazing along with me. He was torturing me for mentioning Nyx’s name.
“This could go very differently, Arianna. Watch what you say.”
I writhed and wiggled under his mouth sucking on my hard nipple and his length teasing my wetness. He was pushing me to the edge before he was even inside me—embarrassingly so.
I wanted to push him, but I didn’t know what he liked. I only knew what made him tick, what pushed his buttons, and what made him hate me.
“Is that why you hate me, Bolton? Because I’m more connected to him, or because I don’t remember you?”
All at once, I felt him fill me between my legs, reaching every depth of me inside and not caring to be gentle. His hips didn’t move urgently like teenage boys racing to the finish line. Bolton moved with spite, anger, revenge, hate—all for me and who I was now, instead of being who he remembered.
Leaning down into my space, his tongue licked up from my jaw to my ear. “I hate you for making me wait to do this with you for so long.”
I wrapped my legs around him, regretting not taking off my skirt. I was demanding more of him—more than I could take or could give back.
I wanted all of Bolton even though he was a monster.
My monster.
He wasn’t boyfriend material.
Because he was a king.
He hid my past, my memories, from me.
To force everything in the background, except himself.
He was a false god, wearing a crown that really belonged to me.
He bowed to me.
