All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(26)

Notes:

Thanks to AeneasLovesLavinia. You rock as a beta, dude. Also, please consider this a fix-it fic for the show, despite my inclusion of an original character.

Fuck knows it needs fixing. Badly.

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… The harpy pinned him against the marble slab. She was stronger than she looked, and that only made him hotter. More eager for her to lube him up, strap on her harness, and peg his fucking brains out with that alarmingly large dildo she owned.

“Robin,” he sighed contentedly. “After tonight, after you’ve claimed me, I’ll be done with my mother forever. Venus will no longer have any hold on me.”

“I know,” she said. “Once you’re mine, you’ll never follow her cruel commands again, or even Jupiter’s. He may be CEO of your family company, but he’s not your boss anymore.”

“I think …” He hesitated.

She sat back on her heels, her eyes surprisingly pretty and patient. “What is it, Cupid? You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know.” He smiled up at her, grateful. “I want to be yours, Robin, so very much. But I was just thinking—even if you left me, I still wouldn’t return to them. No matter what.”

She nodded. “You couldn’t. You’ve changed too much for that. I’m glad you realize it.”

“Freeing myself has been such a slow process, but after five years, there’s no logical way I could ever go back to Venus and Jupiter. That anyone would think otherwise baffles and offends me, frankly.” He scowled fiercely. “If the two of them ever ordered me to leave you unconscious and dying so I could fight one of their corporate battles, for instance, I’d simply tell them to go fuck themselves. I definitely wouldn’t obey.”

“So true,” she agreed. “You wouldn’t ever abandon anyone you truly loved, and after tonight, I promise you: You’ll more than love me. You’ll worship me.”

“Ahhhh,” he sighed. “I can’t wait. Take me, harpy. Take me now.”

“You don’t give the orders here,” she retorted, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “I do.”

“And thank the gods for that,” he said, turning onto his belly.

Then she got out the lube and the harness, and he took it back. He took it all back.

The size of that dildo was just right.





8


“I’M TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW I SHOULD INTRODUCE YOU on the red carpet. ‘Lauren Clegg, Freelance Foe of Fun’?” Alex stroked his bristly chin in faux thought. “Or perhaps ‘Nanny Clegg: Like Mary Poppins, Minus the Umbrella and Any Sense of Whimsy’?”

One of these days, Lauren’s middle finger was simply going to raise itself.

She shifted in the back of the town car, trying not to nudge Alex’s legs with her knee. “If you don’t introduce me at all, won’t everyone just assume I work for the show or the charity in some capacity? I certainly don’t look like a star. Besides, as I was told only yesterday, you’re the dude their audience wants to watch. No one will really care who I am, correct?”

Whether the argument convinced him or not, it was helping her. The echoing pulse in her ears slowed and grew fainter, and the lace of her dress resumed feeling soft, rather than stifling and scratchy.

She might be walking a red carpet—her, Lauren Chandra Clegg—but no one cared except her. Which was true about many things in her life, come to think of it.

Still, she wished she could distract herself by fiddling with her purse, but she’d left it at the guesthouse. Clutch or nothing, Alex had said, them’s the rules, so she’d wordlessly handed him her ID, a credit card, her phone, and some tinted lip balm, all of which he’d secreted somewhere in his not-quite-navy, obscenely formfitting tux.

He looked like a star. Also the night sky surrounding that star, right as blue turned to velvety black. The color, she’d discovered, was much more evocative and dangerous than plain old black or navy could ever be.

“Correct,” he conceded with clear reluctance.

She drummed her fingers on the plush leather seat. “Look, if anyone asks about me, just give them my name and tell them I work for the show. Which I do, so you’re not lying, but you’re also not revealing my specific role in your life.”

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he said abruptly. “I’m not ashamed of what I did, and I’m not ashamed of you.”

“Okay.” The gruff, vehement emphasis in his words left her bewildered. “Listen … Alex, if you’re willing to tell me, what actually—”

Then she cut herself off, because they’d arrived at the mouth of the red carpet, located just outside the swanky Beverly Hills hotel where the charity auction was occurring. A woman wearing a skinny suit and a headset greeted their driver as soon as he braked and rolled down his window.

“That’ll be the publicist for the event organizer,” Alex told Lauren. “Just do what she says, and don’t get offended by all the photographers shouting at you.”

She frowned. “Shouting at—”

Before she could say more, the driver opened the door. Alex swung his legs out of the vehicle and onto the pavement, stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and reached a gentlemanly hand back for her.