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As an adult who is so foolishly in love with Artemis I can’t stand it, I can admit that there are some sensations I’m interested in exploring.
Lucky for me, Artemis is a stone-cold killer and is not afraid of anything, which is why her lubed-up finger is pressing into me?—
Right.
Now.
“You have to relax,” she whispers. “I’m not going to hurt you. I love you.”
“I know you’re not. I love you too.”
I know it’s going to feel incredible, because Artemis has done internet research, and if there is anything I’ve learned throughout this whole ordeal, it is that she is the best at internet research. As a result, I am about to get fucked in a German castle, in a room the size of some houses I have been in, sprawled out on the most comfortable pillows I have ever had the pleasure of sprawling on.
Let me reiterate: fucked. Artemis is wearing a strap-on. I almost died from how hot it is when I first saw it, and she did not appreciate the joke.
Life could not be better.
Well, it could be a little better. I still have intense fatigue from throwing up half my internal organs and having my brain completely short out on me. I have to take two naps most days.
But Artemis is okay. The fever didn’t touch her. Watching me almost die was Very Bad, but I’ll make sure not to do it again.
“Anyway,” she continues, as if there was no break in the conversation. She’s past her first knuckle now. “I sort of shouted it at him in a waiting room at the hospital.”
“We…really don’t have to talk about this.” Oh, no. “Please tell me our parents didn’t hear.”
“I was shouting,” Artemis says. “There’s no chance they didn’t hear.”
“Promise me that you will not shout anything else about our sex life to anyone. Ever again.”
“No.” Artemis takes the sting out of her denial by pushing her finger farther inside me, which is—holy fucking crickets, it’s good. And then I realize what she’s said. “Relax,” she orders. “I’m going to tell Daisy. Like, I’m going to brag about you, and you can’t stop me. Sorry. That’s just how it is.”
“No parents.”
“Deal.”
“Stop mentioning parents.”
“You’re mentioning parents.”
“Shh,” she says, and pushes her finger in the rest of the way. And then she does something—she?—
She does.
Something.
That feels so good I let out a groan into the pillow.
“Does it hurt?” she asks, and I can hear my stone-cold killer of a fiancee smiling. I can hear a summer’s worth of warmth in her voice. “Should I stop?”
“It doesn’t hurt. It feels so good. Everything you do feels good.” I sink further into the pillow. “Do it again.”
23
APOLLO
When I was eleven years old, the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen shot a toy arrow at me.
I caught it out of the air before it could touch me.
