7: Hunger fuelled by Anger

HERA

Atticus’s lips crashed onto mine with a ferocity that sent a shock wave through my body. His hand at the nape of my neck held me firmly in place, fingers digging into my skin as if he feared I’d try to pull away. 

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. 

My mind screamed at me to shove him away, to stop this, but my body betrayed me—melting into him, welcoming the heat of his touch with a desperation that I loathed.

What the hell is this hunger for him?

The kiss was wild, a battle of teeth and tongues as his anger bled into every harsh movement. He tasted like fury and bitterness, each stroke of his tongue against mine leaving a searing imprint of frustration. 

It was a kiss that screamed of everything we didn’t feel for each other, all the hate we threw at each other and the hunger we tried to deny. I could feel his breath hot against my lips, hear the growl low in his throat as he bit down on my bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood.

His hands were rough, pulling at the thin robe I wore, the fabric giving way with little resistance as it fell to the floor in a heap. His eyes burned as they raked over my bare skin, darkened with something primal when they lingered on my boobs. 

I felt my nipples harden into rocks.

I stood there, exposed, feeling the chill of the air against my body, but his gaze ignited something deep inside me. It wasn’t just lust—it was the power he had over me, and the way I hated that I craved it.

“Look at you,” he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt, though his eyes stayed locked on my body, as if unable to tear away. 

His hand moved to my chest, cupping my breasts roughly, kneading them, his thumbs circling over my hardened nipples. His touch was possessive, almost cruel in its intensity, and yet the pleasure that shot through me was undeniable. 

A whimper slipped from my lips, and I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop the way my body responded to him.

Atticus smirked at the sound, and his hand tightened around me. 

“You like this, don’t you?” he growled, his breath hot against my neck as he leaned in. “You like being treated like this.” His voice was venomous, and yet the words sent a shiver down my spine, both from disgust and desire.

Before I could respond, he spun me around, pressing me harshly against the wall. I gasped. The cold surface bit into my skin, but the heat of his body against my back drowned out the sensation. 

His hand slid down my stomach, lingering at the edge of my hips, teasing as if daring me to beg for more.

I gritted my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me plead, even as I felt the ache between my thighs intensify. My heart pounded in my chest, torn between the fury building inside me and the undeniable need that pulsed with every second he touched me.

“He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re nothing but a slut for this, aren’t you?” The words were meant to hurt, but the way his fingers moved lower, grazing the inside of my thighs, sent a jolt through me that made it hard to think straight.

I could hear the tremor in his voice, the struggle he faced in controlling his own desire. I bit down on my lip, trying to contain the moan threatening to escape as his hand slid lower, fingers brushing between my legs.

“Fuck you,” I hissed, trying to shove back, but he had me pinned. My words sounded weak, even to my own ears.

He chuckled darkly, and then his hand cracked across my ass in a swift, sharp smack. The sting made me gasp, more out of shock than pain, but the heat that bloomed afterward sent another wave of conflicting feelings through me.

He chuckled again before his palm came down on my ass in quick successions, leaving a searing pain in their wake. When his palm carelessly soothed the sting, I couldn’t help the whimper that escaped from my lips.

Atticus’s fingers were on me again in an instant, slipping between my thighs, rough and insistent. He found my wetness with ease, and I cursed myself as he let out a low growl of satisfaction. 

His fingers plunged inside me, deep and unforgiving. The sensation was overwhelming, the sharp sting of his slap mixing with the pleasure that built as his fingers worked inside me

I pressed my forehead against the wall, biting back the sounds that threatened to spill from my lips. But I couldn’t stop the way my hips moved, meeting his touch with a desperation that made me burn with shame.

“You’re fucking pathetic,” he muttered, but I could feel the strain in his voice, the way his breath came in short, ragged bursts. 

His fingers curled inside me, hitting that spot that made my knees buckle, and this time, I couldn’t hold back the moan that tore from my throat.

“Fuck,” I gasped, unable to stop myself, my body trembling as the pressure built, an unbearable heat pooling low in my belly.

I wanted to tell him to stop, to fight back, but I couldn’t. The pleasure was too much, overwhelming, and I hated that I wanted more. My hips moved without my permission, meeting his touch, chasing the release that was building inside me.

“You like it rough, don’t you?” he taunted, his fingers curling inside me, hitting the spot that made my knees weak. “Pathetic.”

“Shut up,” I spat, my voice trembling, but it was pointless. I could feel the tension coiling inside me, my body trembling as I got closer and closer to the edge. His fingers moved faster, harder, and I couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped my lips.

And then I was gone, falling apart against the wall as the orgasm ripped through me, my body clenching around his fingers. It was brutal and intense, leaving me gasping for breath.

Just as quickly as it started, it was over. I felt him pull his hand away, and the sudden absence of his touch snapped me back to reality. 

My body was still trembling, my breath shallow, and when I heard him take a step back, the haze of pleasure began to fade, replaced with the realisation of what had happened.

I turned around, my back pressed against the cold wall for support, and my eyes found his. Atticus stood there, staring at me—but it wasn’t with the hunger or desire I’d seen earlier. 

His expression was twisted with disgust, a look of pure disdain etched across his face as if what we’d just done sickened him.

I opened my mouth to say something, to ask why or what this even meant, but the words caught in my throat. His gaze was cold, and before I could make a sound, he turned on his heel without a word. 

The door slammed behind him with a finality that echoed through the room, leaving me alone, still trembling, my body buzzing from what he’d done to me.

What the hell was that?

****

The hot water streamed over my body, but no matter how long I stood there, it wasn’t enough to wash away the feeling of Atticus’s hands on me. 

My skin still tingled where he had touched me, my mind replaying the way he looked at me—like I was something vile, something beneath him. 

I guess that makes two of us now. 

I closed my eyes and let the water pound against my back, hoping the heat would burn away the feeling of his hand on my skin, but it didn’t.

I pressed my palms against the shower wall, my forehead resting against the cold tile. 

Why did I let him do that? 

Better question, why did I want it? 

But that wasn’t the only thing bothering me. Something else was gnawing at the back of my mind. The person who had helped me…at the Tanzu ritual.

I need to find them, and I need to understand why they had intervened. 

They were the reason I was even still alive, and I haven’t even thanked them—or figured out what they wanted from me. Nothing in this world was ever done without a price. 

Especially in Red Valley.

The water began to cool, and I shut it off, stepping out of the shower and wrapping myself in a towel. 

My mind wouldn’t stop racing, cycling through thoughts of Atticus and the strange mystery of my saviour. 

Who were they? And why would someone step in to help me?

I dried off slowly, taking my time, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. But it was useless. Even as I slipped into bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin, the weight of everything pressed down on me.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to push it all away. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t shut off, especially from Atticus. 

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. Felt his hands. 

And then, just as I was on the edge of sleep, I heard it. A voice, soft but clear, echoing in my head.

"Welcome to the palace, Hera," it whispered, sending a chill down my spine. I sat up, heart racing, eyes scanning the empty room. The voice wasn’t coming from outside—it was inside my mind. There was something authoritative about the voice, something final. Like whoever it belonged to couldn’t be questioned, like their words were final. 

"I hope you're ready. The game of hide and seek begins now."