I lick my lips. “If I tell you that I like you carrying me, are you going to do it nonstop for the next three months? Or will you decide to punish me by making me walk of my own power?” A few minutes ago, I’d say I was playing with reverse psychology, but in this moment, even I don’t know what I want his answer to be.
He finally registers that I’m mostly joking and shocks me by rolling his eyes. “It never ceases to surprise me how difficult you are determined to be. Pick a safe word, Persephone.”
A shiver of apprehension goes through me. All joking aside, this is real. We’re truly doing this, and once we go through that door, he might honor my safe word, but at the end of the day, I have no way of knowing. Two days ago, Hades was little more than a faded myth that might have been a man a few generations ago. Now, he’s all too real.
In the end, I have to trust my instincts, which means trusting Hades.
“Pomegranate.”
“Good enough.” He pushes through the door and into another world.
Or at least that’s what it feels like. The light moves strangely here, and it takes me a few moments to realize it’s a clever trick of lamps and water that sends ribbons of light dancing across the ceiling. It’s like the polar opposite of Zeus’s banquet room. There aren’t any windows, but thick, red wall hangings give the room a decadently sinful feel rather than making it claustrophobic. There’s even an honest-to-gods throne, though like the rest of the room, it’s black and actually looks comfortable.
Realization rolls through me and I laugh. “Oh wow, you’re really petty.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. All it’s missing is a giant portrait of you.” He must have seen the banquet room at some point, because he’s built something that is its antithesis. It’s a smaller room and has more furniture, but it’s impossible not to see the connection. More, it’s not like the rest of the house. Hades obviously likes expensive things, but the bits of the house I’ve seen so far feel cozy and lived in. This is as cold as Zeus’s tower.
“I have no need for a giant portrait,” he says drily. “Everyone who walks through these doors knows exactly who rules here.”
“So petty,” I repeat. I laugh. “I like it.”
“Noted.” I can’t be sure, but I think he’s fighting back a smile.
To keep from staring up into his handsome face like a lovestruck fool, I peer at the comfortable couches and chairs—all leather—gathered strategically around the space as well as a number of pieces of furniture that I recognize by description if not by sight. A spanking bench. Saint Andrew’s cross. A frame that might be used to suspend a person from if one got creative with rope.
The room is also completely empty.
I twist in Hades’s arms to look at him. “What is this?”
He sets me down on the nearest couch, and I skim my fingers over the smooth leather. Like every other piece of furniture I can see, it’s flawless and pristine. And cold. So incredibly cold. It’s exactly what I would have expected from Hades, based on the myth surrounding him, and nothing like the man himself. I look up to find him watching me closer. “Why isn’t anyone here?”
Hades slowly shakes his head. “You thought I’d throw you to the wolves on the first night? Give me a little credit, Persephone.”
“I don’t have to give you anything.” That comes out too sharply, but I had built up my courage for this, and the letdown is leaving me dizzy. This place is leaving me dizzy. It’s nothing like I expected. He is nothing like I expected. “You have to stake your claim, and you have to do it now.”
“And you have to stop telling me what I have to do.” He looks around the room, expression contemplative. “You say you’re no virgin, but have you done any kink before?”
That takes the wind right out of my sails. No point in lying, at least not at this juncture. “No.”
“That’s what I thought.” He shrugs out of his jacket and slowly rolls up his sleeves. He’s not even looking at me, isn’t paying attention to the way I devour each inch of revealed skin with my eyes. He’s got nice forearms, muscled and tattooed, though I can’t make out the design. It looks like swirls, and it takes me several long moments to realize the tattoos are moving around scars.
What happened to this man?
He sits next to me, keeping a full cushion between us. “There are some preliminary questions I need answered.”