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This party is so boring that Kiriona is scrolling Twitter instead.
Behind her, she hears something crash. Raucous laughter rings out. Yeah, she doesn’t care. It’s all John’s stuff, anyway. Or his boyfriend’s. Or his girlfriend’s. Or his other girlfriend’s. Or his best friend’s girlfriend’s girlfriend’s. Honestly, it’s getting hard to keep track.
She spends a few minutes catching up on her favorite fitness accounts. Nice, there’s a trap workout she hasn’t tried. This girl’s traps look fantastic. Maybe even better than Kiriona’s. No, no one’s traps are better than Kiriona’s. She has a lot of time to perfect them, when she’s not making an appearance at events like these.
“Turn that shit off!” someone yells.
Has Ianthe’s taste in music always been so awful? It was seriously a mistake to let her DJ. The speakers go staticky with the extra volume Ianthe is adding to a horrible techno remix of a Lana del Rey song. Somehow, the song hasn’t gotten any faster, there are just more sound effects.
Kiriona keeps scrolling. Now she’s deep in her feed, where all the porn is. She zooms in with two fingers. Those tits have some real bounce to them.
“Gaia!” someone knocks her in the shoulder and hands her a shot. “Where the fuck have you been, dude?”
“Right here,” she says.
She downs the shot without even looking. It tastes sour and medicinal, more like the cod oil the Reverend’s wife always used to make her drink instead of having dinner whenever she’d been bad. It hits her with a gut-wrenching wave of nostalgia. Creaking wooden floors, the smell of moth-eaten furniture. The feeling of shivering in bed on a winter morning when it was too cold to sleep and too early to get up.
Kiriona hasn’t been cold since she moved here. She’s almost forgotten even the feeling of being cold.
Or maybe she’s just drunk. Yeah, probably that.
She keeps scrolling. The algorithm sometimes leads her to random sexy women who want to chat with her right now, if she’d just click their convenient link. When she’d first left for L.A. and John had set her up with a fancy new phone, she’d spent a lot of time clicking every single one of the links, and John had bought her two new phones after that—until finally, Camilla had broken the news to her about bots.
These days, Kiriona knows the right apps to go on to find real women who want to chat with her; even though usually they don’t end up doing much chatting. Usually, they end up in Kiriona’s king sized bed, and she gives them the strap until they say they’re done.
Sometimes she winds up on a seriously weird part of the internet, which has very attractive real women who want Kiriona to pay them to do various tasks. Occasionally, she does. She thinks it’s a massive waste of John’s money, and he has so much goddamn money to waste. He probably sees all the charges, if he can pull himself away from his horrible sex parties and his slow descent into alcoholism long enough.
Like father, like daughter.
As she continues scrolling her feed, a profile pops up for someone who calls herself a “digital dominatrix.”
Kiriona has always been intrigued by the concept of a dominatrix. They tend to wear amazingly tiny little corsets and huge fuckoff boots. But this one hardly has any pictures of herself at all. The only picture on her profile is a bad bathroom mirror selfie in which her phone is covering the majority of her face. Only one dark, tilted brow is visible, and the sharp angle of her jaw. Her black hair is buzzed almost to the scalp. Every square inch of her aside from the tips of her fingers is covered. She’s wearing more layers than a nun.
Kiriona scrolls back up to her bio.
It reads, Nova. Digital dominatrix. DM for inquiries and pricing. You are the dirt beneath my boot.
Kiriona doesn’t find this very illuminating.
Before she can really think about it, she’s clicking the button to DM the girl.
So what do you like to do for fun?
And, send. Why think too hard about it? It’s a line that’s never really failed her in the past.
But this time, the response doesn’t come immediately. Kiriona clicks back to her own profile. Maybe the selfie she’s using doesn’t show off her best qualities? She takes a look at the picture, in which she’s posed her left arm up behind her head to show off her bicep and angled her jaw to show off how square it is. She’s grinning cockily at the camera. Kiriona doesn’t see anything wrong with the selfie at first, but have her eyebags always been this noticeable? Maybe Ianthe was right about the skincare stuff.
But finally, a message notification shows up. Oh yeah, Kiriona has still got it.
The message reads: Crush the hopes and dreams of idiots who approach me unprepared for my expectations. What about you? Or I suppose that it’s obvious you spend your time at parties doing keg stands and begging women to give you a second glance.
Oh I’m not usually the one begging ; )
Yet here you are. Are the girls you’re with now not paying you enough attention?
Damn, you’re kinda mean
I enjoy my job.
Oh, so I’m just a job to you?
A piece of work, yes.
Kiriona grins. It’s been a long time since anyone has called her a piece of work. It almost reminds her of the horrible great aunts back home—except sexier. See, it’s hot when a weird little futch says these things. Kiriona simply decides not to examine that thought any further.
Bet you’d like to work on me
Not particularly, but it seems like you want me to.
So what is your job. I mean, what do you do? What’s the whole digital dominatrix thing about?
A long pause. Kiriona thinks the girl might ghost her, which would be the worst thing in the world—Ianthe has started to play something loosely resembling dubstep, somehow combined with part of the soundtrack from that musical where the girl is green. She doesn’t really know. Ianthe made her watch it once and then painted both of their nails a disgusting green to match.
Finally, Nova messages back.
Typically, my clients send me the passwords to all their important accounts and give me the power to ruin their lives completely.
Damn. That’s intense. Bet you couldn’t ruin my life
It doesn’t seem like you need any help.
This too is something the great aunts might have told Kiriona. Or—once, in a very cold room, both huddled under the covers after the heating had been shut off, Harrow had told her, Go on, ruin our life.
And Kiriona had.
Kiriona slides her phone in her pocket. She doesn’t need this. Maybe Camilla will be hanging around here somewhere and they can talk gym tips. Or she’ll find a beautiful girl who wants to beg for her strap in one of the unoccupied bedrooms.
Her phone pings again. Kiriona resists the temptation to look at it for all of five seconds.
The message reads,
Perhaps I’ve misread you. It’s possible you aren’t looking for what I can provide.
It’s horribly close to an apology. Kiriona hates apologies.
This is probably like a challenge level for you, huh? Try and uncover some dirt on me that no one else has?
Nothing for a long moment. Something crashes in the background. Hopefully some of John’s expensive pottery.
Finally, Nova texts back.
I admit you tempt me.
A thrill shoots down Kiriona’s spine. She doesn’t know why, but just the admission that she might have something Nova wants gives her shivers. There’s something about girls who are hard to please.
Yeah, that’s my whole deal, she types.
Surely not your whole deal. Everyone has secrets
Not me, Kiriona lies. I’m just super fucking bored at this party.
If there’s somewhere else you’d rather be, the solution seems obvious.
If only that was true. Kiriona doesn’t know where she wants to be. All she knows is that everything about this night keeps reminding her of Drearburh. The hiss of the air conditioning could be the wind through the cracks of the old brick house. The murmur of partygoers chatting in the background could be the beginning of chapel, just before the prayers really start. And the angle of a jaw in the dim light, the flash of dark eyes, any girl small and sharp enough—
Fuck this. Kiriona needs to get drunker, or she needs to have sex, or both.
Coronabeth’s fingers come to rest lightly on Kiriona’s shoulder. She’s all dressed up for the party. It’s hard to tell Coronabeth’s normal outfits from her party outfits—she believes in dressing to impress. But today she’s wearing something silky that shines when the lights hit it and covers hardly any of her body. She looks incredible, and she smells like cinnamon.
She’s been flirting with Judith in the corner, to no avail, for nearly an hour. Kiriona must have been her second choice. It’s a position Kiriona is intimately familiar with.
Kiriona takes another shot from the table next to her and downs it in one go. This one also tastes awful; she suspects Ianthe may have had something to do with tonight’s theme, which seems to be Things That Are Sour.
“Drinking all by yourself, cutie?” Coronabeth asks, sidling in closer and grabbing a shot for herself.
“Not anymore.” Kiriona manages what she hopes is a charming grin. Although she’s been in L.A. for what feels like ages, and she’s at this point slept with nearly every queer girl in the city, she still gets all tripped up over herself with Coronabeth. It’s something about how Coronabeth only ever seems like she wants you for a few seconds at a time.
“Oh.” Coronabeth sighs. “Well, you look lonely. Need a distraction?”
“You know it,” Kiriona says, and hauls her in by the hips.
Coronabeth giggles. Her hair is in the way as she looks down at Kiriona—the height is another thing—and she presses her lips to Kiriona’s forehead almost innocently.
“None of that,” Kiriona murmurs.
She slides one hand up Coronabeth’s bare back—Coronabeth shivers. This is easy. This is simple. Kiriona presses her lips to Coronabeth’s neck, and Coronabeth grips her hair and pulls her up for a real kiss.
Then they’re making out, and it’s the same old thing it always is. Coronabeth is good at this, knows all the right ways to press up against a girl and how to open her mouth just so. Kiriona is maybe clumsy from the alcohol, but it doesn’t really matter.
Coronabeth slides a hand underneath her waistband. Yeah, why not. In the background, Kiriona hears someone whooping with laughter and probably taking a video for their TikTok. Might as well give them a good show. She bites down on Coronabeth’s bottom lip, and Coronabeth moans dramatically.
She knows what this is about the same way Kiriona does. Kiriona almost loves Coronabeth sometimes.
There’s some commotion in the background.
“Harrow!” a voice calls out.
Kiriona freezes. Her blood goes hot, and she pulls her mouth away from Coronabeth’s. She must have misheard; it must be the way she keeps thinking about Drearburh tonight for no fucking reason. Now she’s hearing voices from the past like some kind of gothic heroine on the moors.
“Harrow, I didn’t think you’d show,” Ianthe says from somewhere close behind Kiriona.
“Of course I’m here. I wouldn’t miss the chance to prove you a liar. But it seems I was mistaken. John Gaius’s daughter really is wasting her time with you after all.”
And there Harrow is. Harrow, in the flesh. Hardly any fucking bigger than last time. She’s all sharp little bird bones and awkward angles, and an expression that promises a swift and relentless vengeance. She blazes with fury so sharply that it makes her look more real than anyone else. Like everyone else Kiriona has ever met is a montage of faces and names and sepia-toned memories, and Harrow is the stark cold reality at the center of the world.
Kiriona used to hate her for that. She still hates her. Just not for the same reasons anymore. Turns out, there are so many more reasons to hate Harrow.
Kiriona tries to say some of this, but what actually comes out of her mouth is, “What the fuck are you wearing?”
Because what the fuck is Harrow wearing?
There are about fifteen layers to it—so far, so normal—but all the layers are distressed in a way Kiriona doesn’t typically associate with her thrift store childhood, in which everything was repaired as neatly as the aunts could manage. She has boots about the same size as her tiny legs. Her hair is all gone for some reason. And her big black eyes are now rimmed in enough eyeliner to be frightening.
Harrow looks like she could eat the universe.
“What am I wearing? What are you doing, Nav?
“Having a party in my own fucking home. Which you’ve invaded, by the way. I know this place really well so I can point you to the door.”
Kiriona takes her hand out of Coronabeth’s hair to point. Coronabeth steps back, obviously confused, but watches in near silence, like almost everyone else. Ianthe has even turned the music down slightly. Or maybe that’s just how suddenly drunk Kiriona feels, like the room is unstable and she needs to hold onto something to keep herself upright.
And she’s mad. She’s big Ninth House mad. She’s mad like she used to be in the old days, when she thought she’d die of it, she was so angry with Harrow.
Harrow arches one eyebrow and regards her coolly, giving no sign she’s surprised by anything she sees when she looks at Kiriona.
“I didn’t invade your home. I was invited. Though I admit to some curiosity about how you were spending your days. I’m satisfied now. You’re just as vapid and useless as you ever were.”
“You’re satisfied? Oh, you’re satisfied?” Kiriona can hear her voice getting louder, but she can’t seem to make it stop. Her heartbeat thuds in her ears. “Well I’m not. You don’t get to just show up without an explanation.”
“I gave you an explanation!”
“Yeah, well it’s not fucking good enough. After everything you’ve done—Harrow, after everything, you can’t just come back like none of it happened. You don’t deserve to be within five feet of me, bitch.”
Harrow’s expression does something odd, a fleeting moment of discomfort, or uncertainty? It pisses Kiriona off even more that she can’t tell.
Once, she would have known what every twitch of Harrow’s every muscle meant.
“Oh, I’m not good enough for you now?” Harrow’s voice is as cold as the grave, all uncertainty apparently gone. “Your heretic father has made you better than me, is that it? You’d rather speak to Tridentarius?”
Harrow gestures to one of the couches, where Ianthe now lounges with one eyebrow raised, clearly intent on listening to the entirety of Kiriona’s personal life. Now that Kiriona thinks of it, nearly everyone in the room is getting a crash course in her personal life, which doesn’t usually bother her, but tonight for some reason it’s making her furious.
She steps right up to Harrow and grabs her by the arm.
Harrow flinches. She’s too warm underneath Kiriona’s touch. She always was a furnace.
“You can get the fuck out of my house,” Kiriona hisses, “Or you can come with me and tell me what you were thinking showing up here.”
Harrow looks up at Kiriona for a long moment.
“I’ll come with you,” she says at last.
Kiriona starts to drag her away in the direction of the most private bathroom on this floor. She notices Coronabeth’s lovely face all scrunched up in confusion. Various partygoers gawk at the scene.
“Carry on,” she tells them.
No one moves. All eyes are fixed on Kiriona. Which is nothing new. Everyone has been staring at her in disgust from nearly the moment she was born.
“I said, stop fucking looking at me!” she shouts.
Ianthe taps something on her phone, and the horrible music resumes. Self-consciously, people start making conversation amongst themselves, giving her nervous glances.
None of that really matters. Kiriona tugs Harrow forward through a darkened hallway until they reach the bathroom underneath the staircase and drags her in. She closes the bathroom door behind them, and the noise of the party recedes.
Harrow’s eyes are as huge and dark as Kiriona remembers them.
When Kiriona was a kid, she’d once told Harrow that she had eyes like the very bottom of the ocean, where there’s no light. She’d only mentioned this once—Harrow had looked at her like she was insane, and opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it, and the lack of immediate retaliation had scared Kiriona so badly that she’d avoided even thinking about Harrow’s eyes ever since.
“I don’t know what you could possibly have to say to me,” Harrow lies.
There are so many things Kiriona could say to Harrow that the room is practically full of them, a million unspoken retorts filling the space instead of air. Kiriona’s chest feels tight.
“You think there’s nothing to say? You think you can just show up in my life no consequences and do the same old queen of the world routine you always did?”
“I wouldn’t say that being in the same room entails ‘showing up in your life.’”
“Bullshit. You’re here for me, and don’t think you can get away with it.”
Harrow pulls herself up to her full height, which in all fairness, is not very tall, but the boots and the buzz cut add a level of intimidation.
Once, Harrow had been nothing but an underfed child, and all she’d had to rely on was the sheer force of her will. In the end, that hadn’t gotten her very far either.
“Oh, Griddle. I’m not here for you. I couldn’t care less about what you do with your time. You can mindlessly fuck your way through every girl in the city for all I care.”
Right. This is fine. Harrow isn’t here to see her. Harrow isn’t here to try and drag her back to Drearburh and bury her under its creaking floorboards. Harrow is here because she was invited.
Kiriona is nobody to Harrow, and Harrow is nobody to her. Harrow is just another girl.
And if Harrow is just another girl—
Kiriona steps in closer. “Not every girl in the city,” she says. “Not yet.”
She can see Harrow’s intake of breath. They haven’t been this close to each other in years.
It’s too cold in the bathroom; the heating in this place always has been unreliable. Always filling the living room with warmth but leaving the extremities untouched. Maybe that’s why Kiriona picked this house and not the nicer one down the street.
Harrow’s eyes flit from Kiriona’s face to her bare arms, then quickly away over her shoulder.
“Why should I care who you have and haven’t fucked? Is this all you had to tell me? Because if so, I have no time for this.”
“I think you should make time.”
Harrow chews her bottom lip in brief calculation.
“Fine. Make it quick. I have a lab report due.”
“You sure you want it quick?”
“Griddle, what the hell are you ever even talking about?”
Kiriona would think Harrow is completely indifferent. In fact, Harrow may be completely indifferent to her, Gideon Nav, lost child of the Ninth house, the dirt underneath her boot. But no one is indifferent to Kiriona Gaia. She’s made sure of that. People love her, or they hate her. But everyone has an opinion. Even Harrow.
Harrow may not care who she is specifically. But she’s noticed her, Kiriona is sure of that. She can tell from the way Harrow’s eyes track her now, lingering guiltily as they survey all the changes time and wealth have wrought. The tattoos on her biceps, the expensive shirt cropped just enough that girls can get a good look at her abs. The tight jeans, the perfectly tousled hair.
Nearly every girl Kiriona’s ever met has wanted her. And Harrow is a girl.
So Kiriona takes a breath, and gives Harrow her most obnoxious grin.
“I’m talking about how you went into a house party bathroom with me. And you know what usually happens in house party bathrooms?”
Harrow’s eyes widen.
“Are you actually propositioning me right now?”
“I don’t know, Harrow. You were the one who dragged me in here. You said it yourself, you’re not here for me. But you’re here for something. You must be here to get laid. And I’m bored as hell, so it’s your lucky day.”
Harrow’s eyes blaze. She steps forward into Kiriona’s space and takes hold of the collar of her shirt—oh hell, they’re getting started already.
But Harrow just holds her there. Glaring up at her like she could kill her, or eat her raw, or both.
“Shut,” says Harrow, “the fuck up.”
And then she drags Kiriona down and kisses her.
The kiss immediately turns messy. Harrow’s mouth is so warm it almost burns, and Kiriona feels the instant insatiable need to make Harrow act stupid. She gets her palms around Harrow’s hips and pulls her in closer, biting down hard on her bottom lip. Harrow moans and opens her mouth by instinct, letting Kiriona lead for a long, sweet moment, until she apparently remembers herself and grabs Kiriona by the hair and tugs her where she wants her.
The sudden hot shock of it, after so long without even seeing Harrow, nearly shuts down Kiriona’s system completely.
When she comes back to herself, she’s got her hands around Harrow’s twig thighs and she’s lifting her onto the bathroom counter for better access—to what, she hardly knows. Maybe everything. Maybe as much as Harrow will let her take.
She breaks away from Harrow’s mouth and presses her teeth to the side of Harrow’s neck. Harrow makes a sharp little gasp, so Kiriona bites down there too, and that has the desired effect—Harrow tries to pull Kiriona closer even though there’s nowhere for Kiriona to go—she’s standing pressed to the counter, in between Harrow’s legs.
Harrow shifts against her restlessly, hips grinding against Kiriona’s stomach, and Kiriona suddenly realizes that Harrow wants this. Needs this, like all the other girls have needed it.
It goes to her head in a swift electric rush, and it makes her cunt clench on nothing.
She has Harrow.
She slides her hand all the way up Harrow’s spine, feeling the vertebrae even through the layers of black fabric, feeling Harrow arch into her touch.
“Get these the fuck off,” Kiriona says, tugging at Harrow’s leggings.
“And why should I do that?”
Harrow’s cheeks are deeply flushed. In the mirror behind them, Kiriona can see that the tips of her ears are dark too. It gives her a horrible pang in the heart, or in the cunt. Same difference, isn’t it?
“Because you want me to touch you.”
“I don’t,” says Harrow, who is clearly arguing just to argue. Kiriona tries to step back, and Harrow winds her legs around Kiriona’s waist and gets her fists in the front of Kiriona’s shirt to drag her down again.
“Liar,” Kiriona says against her mouth.
She kisses Harrow long and deep, until it feels like nothing but a bruise against her lips, and Harrow sighs into it, gets her arms around Kiriona’s neck and her hands in Kiriona’s hair and clings like she’ll never let go.
Well, tough luck. She’s going to have to let go for this part.
Kiriona pries her away, and Harrow makes a high-pitched noise of distress until Kiriona slides her hand into Harrow’s one million layers and she finds the waistband of the leggings. She starts to tug them downward. At this point, Harrow’s common sense wins out and she helps Kiriona by tugging her boots off without bothering to unlace them and sliding the leggings the rest of the way off.
And then she’s just sitting on Kiriona’s counter in utterly practical black boxers that still make Kiriona’s mouth water. They’re such a Harrow thing to wear. Utilitarian to the point of making her look even more vulnerable.
She’s never seen this much of Harrow before. She pauses for a moment to get her fill of looking at her—the hateful little mouth pursed up, the arms crossed, the five shirts she’s still somehow wearing, the bare fucking legs, the entire unknown expanse of them. Not that it’s a very large expanse, but nonetheless, the unblemished brown skin makes Kiriona want to leave her mark.
But first—
“You want my fingers,” she says. Not a guess. Harrow has been staring at them the entire time since Kiriona used them to help pull the leggings down.
Harrow tries to cross her legs when she notices how hard Kiriona is looking at them.
“Nope,” Kiriona says. “For this next part, you’ll want to open those.”
She puts her hands on Harrow’s knees—Harrow visibly shivers—and holds Harrow’s legs open. Harrow’s hips buck, only the once, against the cold surface of the counter.
Kiriona lets her squirm for a bit.
“All right, now these.” She puts her fingers in the waistband of the boxers and snaps it lightly against Harrow’s waist. The sound Harrow lets out makes the rest of Kiriona’s brain function evaporate, and from there, it’s a rush to get the boxers off and bury her fingers, finally, finally, in Harrow’s warm wet cunt where they belong.
She slides into Harrow easily.
“Oh! Fuck you,” Harrow says.
That’s apparently all she can manage, because when Kiriona starts moving her fingers, Harrow throws her head back against the mirror and fucks herself down harder onto Kiriona’s hand. God, the sight of her sharp little jaw, the harsh line of her neck, the way she’s dripping into Kiriona’s palm—she looks completely gone.
She isn’t looking at Kiriona at all. Her eyes are closed, dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks as Kiriona finds the right spot and presses down relentlessly. She’s still making inarticulate little noises and bucking into Kiriona.
She hasn’t once said Kiriona’s name. Maybe to Harrow, Kiriona really could be anyone. Maybe after this, Harrow will go home and forget it ever happened. Hell, that’s what Kiriona plans to do. She plans to forget Harrow’s bruised, bitten mouth and the way her heels dig into Kiriona’s back like she could trap her there. She’ll forget the way Harrow’s hands clutched at her forearms just for something to hold onto. Or she’ll remember, and it will be nothing more than a laugh–remember that time I made Harrow so desperate she couldn’t even speak to ask for what she wanted?
Not that Harrow ever asked. She just took and took and took. Until one day, when all of sudden and for no reason in particular, she refused to take anymore.
Well, she’s taking now. I showed her.
Kiriona circles her thumb around Harrow’s clit and Harrow shakes all over and murmurs something—maybe a prayer—
Kiriona stops.
It’s not because she wants to stop. She wants to bury herself in Harrow, potentially forever.
“Gideon,” Harrow says sharply. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I was fucking you.”
“Yes, I’m aware. We weren’t finished yet.”
Kiriona grins. She summons all her bravado, and she looks down at Harrow from a distance of eight years.
“Oh, I think I am finished with you. I think that was all I needed, really. Get it out of my system. You understand.”
Kiriona’s hand is still in Harrow’s cunt. Harrow tries to bear down on it, but Kiriona grabs her hip to still her. She doesn’t draw her hand out, but she doesn’t keep fucking Harrow either.
“What do you—Gideon!” Harrow does look angry now. “I haven’t come yet, you oaf.”
“I know,” Kiriona says. “Trust me, if I wanted you to, you would.”
Harrow breathes in sharply. Her hips try to shift again.
“Then what’s the issue? Don’t you know how to bring a woman to orgasm?”
“Yep. But I don’t think I’ll make it that easy for you.”
“Fuck you,” Harrow says, with more feeling.
“You’d like to, wouldn’t you? But I don’t think you ever will. I think you’re just going to have to live with lost opportunities. Same as everyone else.”
“Tell me what you want.”
Kiriona presses a thumbnail into Harrow’s hip, fascinated by the indent it leaves when she takes it away. Harrow actually whines.
“Maybe I want you to beg for it.”
Harrow takes Kiriona by the wrist and tries to physically move Kiriona’s hand, which doesn’t work, because of course it doesn’t. Her muscles are tiny and ineffectual.
“Please,” she says in a smaller and more helpless voice than any Kiriona has ever heard from her.
“All right. Good start. Maybe that’s not all I want.”
“What do you—oh fuck—what do you mean?”
“Maybe I want you to do the work for a change. Maybe I want to go back to square fucking one, and for you to put in just the tiniest, weeniest bit of effort, Harrow. Maybe if you’re going to come, you’re going to have to do it on your own.”
“Gideon, move. I need it,” Harrow says. “I can’t—on my own I can’t—"
“All right, you can’t. Then don’t.”
Harrow is panting now from the effort of writhing against Kiriona’s hand. Her dark flush extends down her neck, and from this close, Kiriona can see the tiny beads of sweat beginning to form on her temples.
Oh, she’s trying so hard. Kiriona almost pities her. Almost.
“Why?” Harrow gasps. Finally, the right question.
Kiriona has been waiting for this question for years. She always thought she’d be the one to ask it. Harrow never can make things easy, can she?
“A lot of reasons. I have literally so many reasons. But I guess the main one is—I completely fucking hate you.”
Harrow clenches hard around Kiriona’s fingers—her whole body arches—and she comes right there into Kiriona’s palm.
For a moment, all she does is ride it out, twitching and panting into Kiriona’s shoulder. Her hot breath hits Kiriona’s neck, and Kiriona thinks about staying. She thinks about giving in once again, just letting Harrow have whatever she wants like she never hurt Kiriona, like she never let Kiriona walk away without a word. Like all the time and distance doesn’t matter, like it doesn’t matter she never came back for Kiriona, never once in all those years tried to find her.
Like she never left Kiriona alone.
Kiriona’s chest feels horribly hollow.
She thought this would fix her. She thought having power over Harrow for the one time in her life would make things better. Would make them even. But it hasn’t. All it’s done is make Kiriona feel worse.
Kiriona closes her eyes and breathes Harrow in for one long moment. Then she slides her fingers out and wipes them on a nearby towel without ceremony.
“Yeah. I really do hate you,” she repeats softly.
Harrow stares at her with huge imploring eyes, and Kiriona has to look away. She takes a long breath, then turns away from Harrow completely.
“No offense,” she says, and opens the door, and walks out.
She closes it firmly behind her.
Whatever Harrow is doing in there, Kiriona doesn’t care. Harrow is just another girl now, and now Kiriona’s last memory of Harrow won’t be Harrow standing silent and wrapped in blankets next to a paramedic, eyes completely hollow, while Kiriona was herded into a sleek black car to meet her father for the first time.
Now it will be Harrow coming on her fingers, begging Kiriona to stay long enough to finish her off. Now, it’s almost like Gideon Nav never left Drearburh at all. Kiriona is just a different person entirely.
Fuck. This whole night has gone off the rails. Kiriona can admit that.
She has to get out of here. Well, this is her house. She has to kick everyone else out. That sounds like an awful lot of effort, though. If Camilla is here, potentially Camilla can handle that bit. What if Kiriona just finds a deserted bedroom and lies down there? Who would even notice?
She makes her way to a doorway across the hall and knocks. When no one responds, she opens the door, not bothering to turn on the lights, and collapses on the bed at the center of the room. She buries her head in the pillow.
Because this is her house, she has to admit that this is her bedroom. Or the bedroom she spends the most time in. It's almost completely bare, aside from the king sized bed, the wooden dresser, and the chair in the corner. As a kid, Gideon had always dreamed about having a room like this. She told herself she'd put up posters of beautiful women with no clothes on and have all the books she wanted. Kiriona does have books, but they're in the library.
And she'd done better than posters–she’d put up statues in her front yard, three beautiful alabaster women in various states of undress. When John had last visited, he'd wrinkled his nose at them as though he thought they were beneath him, a little tasteless really, like most of Kiriona's personality. But he hadn't said anything.
Instead, he'd commissioned her another statue for her birthday. This one was apparently based on one of his favorite paintings or something. Kiriona hadn't really been listening to the details. The main relevant facts are that the statue is copper, it is a horse, it is very ugly, and it is the only one visible from Kiriona's bedroom window. Glumly, Kiriona turns her head to the side to look out the window and behold the ugly horse. Its big copper eye glares at her as though disappointed, spotlit by the outdoor lighting system she hadn't bothered to turn off tonight. She thinks about getting up to close the curtains. But that seems like a pain.
After a moment, she gets a better idea. She takes her phone out of her pocket and squints at the screen. She opens her DMs with Nova.
And she types,
So how much is it for you to completely ruin my life? You need a challenge, right? I need a distraction.
And then, after a moment, in case Nova still has reservations:
You can have my passwords if you want. I’ll give you everything.
The next day, Kiriona is at the gym with Camilla when her phone pings mid-curl. Kiriona pauses with the weight in her left hand and picks it up, fumbling to type in the passcode.
A thrill shoots down her spine when she realizes it’s Nova. Surely Nova can’t have found much on her at this point. It’s only been twelve hours.
I discovered some interesting details about where you were last night.
Wrong. Kiriona’s stomach starts to squirm. She can’t know about—
For instance, this photo with one of the Tridentarius twins.
A grainy photo pops up in the chat: Kiriona messily kissing Coronabeth with Coronabeth’s hand underneath the waistband of her blue jeans. Damn, that’s a lot of tongue. Kiriona’s ass looks incredible in this photo, but—are those the Spongebob Squarepants boxers Harrow definitely would have mocked her for, if things had gone that far? Wait no, she’s tossed that memory in the garbage bin. Flushed it down the toilet along with everything that came up out of her gut this morning.
Kiriona sets down the weight.
Everyone knows I get inane pussy, she types.
Oh, I wouldn’t call anything about this inane.
Insane, you dick. You know what I meant.
She expects Nova to start ribbing her about the boxers, how they’re childish, how they’re somehow exactly what I would have expected from you, Griddle—hang on, nope, file not found. But Nova doesn’t even mention them.
The typing bubble continues for a long moment, and Kiriona finds herself holding her breath.
Is this how you always kiss a girl? You look bored.
Kiriona zooms in on the photo Nova has just sent. Her mouth is just sort of hanging open where it meets Coronabeth’s. Her arm drapes over Coronabeth’s shoulder lazily. She hasn’t even bothered to set down her beer. Now that Nova mentions it, she does look bored. She looks debased, Coronabeth’s lipstick clearly marking her neck, but in a bored way.
I definitely wasn’t bored.
This type of debauchery must be so common for you, but you find no pleasure in it. You look sad, really. None of it is even making you happy, is it?
Fuck you, shut the fuck up.
Oh, Nav, but that’s not what you’re paying me for, is it?
How the fuck do you know that name?
I told you. I know everything about you. I have dirt on you that you couldn’t even imagine.
Everyone has dirt on me. I’m John Gaius’s daughter. Every single tabloid has run a story on me, and almost all of them have great photos of my ass. Hell, I even gave them interviews! Your whole deal won’t work on me. I told you, nothing can touch me because I truly, genuinely, deeply, do not give a shit.
I don’t think that’s true, Gideon.
The pit of Kiriona’s stomach opens up, like some kind of hungry maw that leads to the underworld. Or maybe that’s just her hangover.
You don’t know anything about me. Trust me.
I know you. I know what you want. You don’t want to fuck every girl who shows up begging for your strap and your father’s money.
I definitely do want that. That’s basically my whole deal.
No, it isn’t. You want to belong to someone.
Bullshit.
You want someone to dominate you completely. You’re practically dripping for it. You don’t want to fuck any of those girls. You want to be mine.
The word mine sends a pulse of aching need through her core. Kiriona shifts her stance.
Suddenly, she feels a clap on her shoulder. She jumps.
“Having fun there?” Camilla asks.
“You can’t sneak up on a girl like that!”
Cam raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t have called that sneaking, but all right.”
“Sorry, I’m just—” Kiriona can’t come up with an ending to that sentence.
“No, I understand. I’m always going to play second fiddle to whoever you dragged into a bathroom most recently. I accept my place in your life.”
“Fuck off.”
Camilla’s mouth twists up at the very corner. “Deadlift more than me, and I might.”
At the chest press, Nova texts again.
I’ve heard from reliable sources that you can do bicep curls while you eat a girl out. Completely meatheaded in my opinion, but I have to wonder—could you do them while I fucked you.
At the leg press, Kiriona’s least favorite:
Or could you do your ridiculous pushups with my boot on the back of your neck?
During her cool-down jog:
But I suppose it’s a moot point. If you were mine, you wouldn’t have time for any of this frivolous masturbatory nonsense.
Kiriona actually can’t stop herself from texting back, no matter how many amused glances Cam sends her way.
Oh yeah? What would I be doing instead?
Whatever I wanted you to do. But only if you belonged to me alone.
Kiriona breathes in sharply.
“Hey Cam,” Kiriona says. “I’m gonna have to head out.”
“Sure,” Cam says easily, throwing her a towel. Kiriona is tempted to go to the showers and wipe between her legs with it, she’s so wet.
By the time she makes it back to her house and punches in the keycode, her whole body is buzzing. She manages a brief shower, looking askance at the shower head, and then she climbs into bed and opens her messages again.
So if I belonged to you. What would you do to me
The response is immediate. Well, I’d probably start by tying you up.
Oh really
I want you on your stomach, pressed to the floor. This is just for now. I’ll bind you properly later. Discipline would do you good.
What, like right now?
Yes. Unless you want me to text your father’s friend, oh what was her name? Mercymorn? And give her the details of what you did with her niece two weeks ago
Fuck, how did you know about that?
You gave me your passwords to everything, idiot.
Fuck. Okay.
Kiriona feels ridiculous. She feels insane.
She gets on the floor, still naked from her shower. The varnished wood is cool against her stomach and thighs. She can feel her nipples tighten from the contact. She resists the urge to arch her chest into the floor. She can control herself.
Okay, I’m there
Good. But I think I want proof.
How would I prove it, you weirdo?
I’m getting to that. Be patient. Now, I want you to touch yourself. Not the clit. I want you to touch yourself how I would touch you
Oh fuck. After you tied me up, you’d touch me?
Yes, idiot. Follow along.
Kiriona reaches down between her legs and the floor, circling her entrance with her fingers. She imagines Nova touching her. What does Nova look like? Is she as beautiful and terrifying as the picture made her seem? She imagines Nova pinning her to the floor, one boot on her neck. She imagines Nova relenting and pressing long skillful fingers to her cunt, sliding them in so slowly Kiriona wants to beg for relief.
But it’s so good when she waits.
I’m doing it, she types awkwardly with her other hand.
Good. You haven’t touched where I told you not to, have you?
No, I just.i’m doing what you said. Please, nova
You’re doing so well for me. This is what happens, when you’re mine. This is your reward. Tell me you won’t fuck anyone else until I say you can.
Kiriona’s fingers press slow and relentless to the right spot inside her cunt. From this angle, she almost has to hump the floor to get what she needs.
Fuck, I won’t
You belong to me now
Yes
I own you. And you do what I say
Okay
Say it
You own me. I do what you say. Nova, I really need it
Good girl. Now, I’ll give you your reward, if you just do one thing for me
Yes, please
I need you to send me a recording
Of what
I want to hear your voice when you come
Kiriona fumbles for her recording app and presses the button before she can think twice about it.
What do you need this for, she types into their chat, even as the recording catches the unsteadiness of her breathing, the slick sounds of her fingers pressing in and out of her cunt.
Blackmail, obviously. In case you ever think you can disobey me. In case you decide I don’t own you anymore. I’m sure the next girl would love to hear you tell me you’re mine.
“Fuck,” Kiriona says out loud. She’s so close. If only—
You’re so evil
Oh but Gideon, you make it so easy when you beg for it, like I know you’re doing
“Please, Nova, let me come,” she says, then, realizing Nova can’t hear her, she types:
Ohgod can I touch my clit now
Yes. Touch yourself the way I would. Your clit is mine too, you know. All of you is mine. You look so beautiful when you fight it, but I want to see you lose.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m yours,” Kiriona pants, thumb on her clit, and she comes hard. She comes so hard her vision blurs, and she can’t control the drawn-out moan of relief as she drips down her own thigh.
It takes her a minute to realize the recording is still going. Finally, she fumbles to stop it. She sends it before she can think about the consequences, her brain feeling like it’s been stirred with a coffee stick.
After three minutes and thirty-eight seconds, Nova texts her back.
Perfect. I think I have what I need. You agree to my terms then?
Yeah, whatever
You come when I say, and not for anyone else?
Yeah, fine. Yes. God.
Kiriona is starting to feel sticky. She gradually detaches her limbs from the floor and climbs into bed.
After a few seconds, she receives an altogether more frightening text.
The text is from an unknown number.
It’s Harrow. Are you going to Palamedes’s New Year’s party?
Kiriona thinks of Harrow, all spread out on the counter, her warm cunt and the span of her neck just waiting to be bitten. Her dark, imploring eyes begging Kiriona to stay.
She thinks of Nova, telling her she’s good, telling her she belongs to her.
And finally, horribly, she thinks of Harrow from eight years ago, cold and silent and unnaturally still as Kiriona’s car drove away from her.
I might make it. Give me a reason, she types.
Fuck. There’s no way this all ends well.
One way or another, Gideon Nav is about to ruin her own life. Again.