“You don’t listen to orders.”
She offered a breathy laugh. “I don’t take orders from you, Hades.”
They sat close, shoulders and arms and legs touching, heads inclined, sharing breath and heat and space, and he knew he was in trouble because his whole body had gone rigid, including his cock.
“Trust me, darling. I’m aware.”
“I’m not yours, and I’m not your darling.”
Hades watched her, searching her meadow-green eyes, glassy from alcohol and simmering with oppressed passion. When he spoke, his voice was gruff, heavy with arousal.
“We’ve been through this, haven’t we? You are mine. I think you know that just as well as I do.”
She crossed her arms, accentuating her breasts, and lifted her chin in challenge. “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re mine, instead?”
Her words ignited a fire low in his belly, and the corners of his mouth lifted, eyes falling to her wrist. “It is my mark upon your skin.”
There was a beat of silence, and it burned the air between them. Then she straddled him, her hands on his shoulders, her shapely legs gripping his thighs. Her softness pressed against all his hard edges, and he grit his teeth, fingers curling into fists at his sides. He wanted to touch her, press her closer, feel her harder, but she had been drinking and it did not seem right.
A smile curled her lips, and he felt like his eyes were on fire, burning into her soul. She knew what she was doing, teasing him, challenging him. She leaned close, the tips of her breasts grazing his chest.
“Should I leave a mark?” she asked, her voice hushed.
“Careful, goddess,” Hades cautioned. She was playing with darkness, and he would consume her.
She rolled her eyes. “Another order.”
“A warning.” The words grated between his teeth. Finally, he could take it no longer. His hands fastened on her bare thighs, and he was rewarded with the sound of Persephone’s breath catching in her throat. He tilted his head a little so that their lips were level. Her hands had moved, fingers tangling with his hair at the base of his neck. “But we both know you don’t listen, even when it’s good for you.”
“You think you know what’s good for me?” Her lips brushed his as she spoke. “You think you know what I need?”
He chuckled, and his hands traveled beneath her dress, seeking her heat. Persephone gasped.
“I don’t think, goddess, I know. I could make you worship me.”
The air around them felt heavy and charged, potent with their hunger. Hades found it impossible to concentrate on anything but her—every part of her body that touched his, the smell of vanilla in her hair, the way she bit down on her lush lip as she stared at his own.
Then she kissed him, and he opened for her, their tongues sliding together, tasting, exploring, demanding. His hands moved to her back and he pressed her close, his arousal fitting between her thighs, growing harder as she became more frenzied, fingers coiling into his hair, forcing his head back, kissing him deeper and harder than he had ever imagined. He couldn’t help wondering… Was this the reaction of a woman who believed he was tense and cold and boorish?
When she pulled away, it was with his lip between her teeth. She leaned in, her tongue touching his earlobe, then her teeth.
“You will worship me,” she said, grinding against his cock. “And I won’t even have to order you.”
Oh, darling, he thought. If you only knew how I worship you now.
His hands dropped to her thighs again, gripping her tight. Something primal was unfurling inside him, and he wanted to know what it would feel to be inside her. He could have her like this, seated in the back of this car. He would take pleasure in the way she moved up and down his shaft, her breasts bouncing as she found release.
And despite his vivid imagination and his desperate wish to have her in any and every way, he found himself shifting her so that she was cradled against him and lowering her dress. He managed to shimmy out of his jacket and covered her with it. He had to remove the temptation or at least restrain it. He would not let her regret him.
And yet, as their passion dissolved into an awkward and abrupt silence, he could not shake the feeling that maybe she already did. He glared out the window, though he felt her gaze on him. After a moment, she spoke, her words heated and whispered.
“You’re just afraid.”
She was not wrong.
He was afraid that even by some miracle she decided she did not hate him, the Fates would take her from him. It was an all too real possibility, especially after the disaster that was this evening. Sisyphus had slipped through his hands again.