He pulled her legs apart, kissing her thighs and her center, growing warmer with each soft breath she took. His teasing made her restless. Her legs sought purchase on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisted into the sheets beneath her, and her body arched off the bed. Hades splayed a hand across her belly to keep her in place, and when she was still once more, he licked each side of her slowly, then used his fingers to spread her so he could access the soft silk of her center.
She was wet, heated, and his touch made her moan his name, which only succeeded in encouraging him to continue at his pace—a slow and steady mix of kissing, sucking, and blowing on every sensitive part of her. The teasing ceased when he curled his fingers inside her, pressing into a part of her that made her legs clench and her body tight. She seemed lost, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her hands kneading her own breasts.
This. This is what I can do to her—for her. I can please her, he thought.
“Come, my darling,” he said. “I want to taste you on my tongue.”
He took her higher until her muscles contracted and a sweet warmth coated his fingers, and when he withdrew, he took them into his mouth.
“You are my favorite flavor. I could drink from you all day.”
Persephone had rolled onto her side, breathing hard and spent, but Hades was just getting started. He gripped her hips and pulled her to him. The angle was odd because he was so tall, but as he slid inside her, Persephone offered a guttural cry. She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands.
They tangled into her hair and then fell to her breasts and then to the bed, where she lifted herself enough to stare at where they were joined, where Hades thrust into her.
“Gods,” she breathed, choking on a moan.
“Say my name,” Hades commanded, but only keen cries escaped her mouth. “Say it!” he said again.
“Hades!”
“Again,” he said as he thrust into her, moving so that his palms were on the bed beside her head. They were closer now, their heat building between them to an impossible level.
“Hades.”
“Pray to me,” he continued. “Beg me to make you come.”
“Hades. Please.” She could barely form words, but he could scarcely think. He felt her everywhere.
“Please what?” he breathed.
“Make me come,” she said, desperate, frustrated. “Do it!”
He drove into her until the pressure was too much and he erupted, releasing a guttural sound from his throat. He remained inside her, coming in waves, suspended on shaky arms, only to collapse atop her when he was finished. He kissed her, taking her into his arms and teleporting to the baths.
While they showered, he took her against the wall. It was desperate and rough, and it wasn’t until they lay in bed later that he realized why.
The conversation about Apollo did not feel finished, and as he lay by Persephone, her body pressed against his, he realized he was not okay.
What if history repeated itself? Unlike Leuce, Hades did not believe Persephone would willingly sleep with Apollo, but the god was not above deception.
“Persephone?”
“Hmm?” She was almost asleep, and with only an hour left before she had to be up for work, he didn’t feel he should bring up Apollo again, so instead, he let himself be jealous and vulnerable and offered a threat.
“Speak another’s name in this bed again and know you have assigned their soul to Tartarus.”
For some reason, it made him feel better.
Chapter VII
An Unwelcome Introduction
Persephone’s alarm came too soon.
He opened his eyes and watched her rise and stretch. The silhouette of her body was haloed by the warm light from the fireplace, and his chest tightened at the sight. She did not seem to notice he was awake, and she disappeared into the bathroom. When the shower came on, he rose and dressed. As he poured himself a drink, he summoned coffee for Persephone.
When she returned to the room, she had a towel wrapped around her, and he sat, growing hard as she dressed. She looked at him as she finished buttoning her shirt, eyes falling to his very prominent arousal.
She smirked, smoothed her skirt, and approached, reaching for her drink.
“Thank you for the coffee.”
“It’s the least I could do,” he replied, weighed down by guilt at seeing how exhausted she was.
She took a sip and then set it aside, going to her knees.
And despite his excitement at seeing her kneel, he touched her chin and asked, “Are you well?”
“Yes,” she replied. Her voice was a low whisper. She pressed her hands flat against his thighs, inching her way toward his cock. Then she touched him, and his throat felt thick.