I can’t quite catch my breath. We haven’t even done anything, and I feel like my body is on fire. “Yes…Sir?”
“You’re not wearing anything under your dress.” He states it like he’s commenting on the weather.
I have to fight the urge to squirm, to drop the dress to cover my nakedness. “My borrowed wardrobe is missing a few items.”
“Is that the truth?” He steps out of the darkness and joins me on the dais, and it’s almost as if the light shies away from him. Hades circles me slowly, stopping at my back. He doesn’t touch me, but I can feel him there. “Or did you think you could tempt me into doing what you want?”
The thought had crossed my mind. “Would it work if I tried?”
He lifts my hair off the back of my neck. An innocent touch as such things go, but I feel like he’s doused me in gasoline and lit a match. Hades’s other hand drifts to brush the bared skin at my hip. “The dress, Persephone.”
I take a slow breath and continue easing it up my body. He’s perfectly still behind me, but I swear I can feel his gaze devouring each newly bared inch of skin as the fabric rises. It feels horribly intimate and also sexy beyond belief. I finally pull the dress over my head and, after the briefest hesitation, drop it on the floor.
There’s nothing hiding my body from him now.
I jump at the press of his fingertips to my upper arms. Hades chuckles darkly. “How do you feel?”
“Exposed.” Having to answer the question only makes the sensation more acute.
“You are exposed.” He trails his fingers up to my shoulders. “The next time we do this, every eye in the room will be on you. They’ll look at you and want you for their own.” And then he’s there, his body against mine, one hand lightly bracketing my throat. Not applying any pressure. It’s a simple touch of ownership that has me fighting not to curl my toes. “But you’re not theirs, are you?”
I swallow hard, the move pressing my throat more firmly against his palm. “No. I’m not theirs.”
“They can look their fill, but I’m the only one who gets to touch you.” His breath ghosts the shell of my ear. “I’m going to touch you now.”
I can’t stop shivering, and it has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. “You’re touching me right now.” Is that my voice, all breathy and low and filled with invitation? I feel like I’m floating above my body and yet devastatingly grounded in my flesh.
His hand drifts down to my sternum, tracing a line between my breasts. Still not where I suddenly desperately need him to be. He’s barely done anything and I can’t stop shaking. I bite my bottom lip hard and try to hold still as his fingers feather over my ribs and down my stomach. “Persephone.”
Gods, the way this man says my name. Like it’s a secret just between us. “Touch me.”
“As you said, I am touching you.” There it is, that sliver of delicious amusement. He goes still, his hand resting on my lower stomach. The weight feels like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this world. He traces one of my hip bones. “This is how it’s going to go. Listen closely.”
I’m trying, but every bit of my concentration is wrapped up in not spreading my legs and trying to contort myself to get his hand where I desperately need it. I settle for a shaky nod. “Yes, Sir.” Funny, but calling him that hardly feels strange at all.
“I will give you every fantasy you’ve dreamed up in that ambitious brain of yours. In return, you follow my every command.”
I frown, trying to think past the feel of his body against my back, his hard length pressed against me. I desperately want to get up close and personal with this man, to strip him down and touch him as intimately as he’s touching me now. “I have a lot of fantasies.”
“Of that, I have no doubt.” His lips brush my temple. “Are you shaking out of nerves or desire?”
“Both.” So tempting to leave it at that, but I need him to understand. “I don’t hate it.”
“And the thought of people actually filling this room and watching me touch you like this?”
“I don’t hate it,” I repeat.
“I’m going to make you come, little Persephone. And then I’m taking you upstairs and changing the bandages on your feet. If you’re very good and manage to restrain from complaining, I’ll let you orgasm a second time.” He gives my stomach another slow stroke. “Tomorrow, we’ll get you clothed appropriately.”