She planted her hands against his chest and moved against his cock, and he could feel the heat of her through the thin sheet that separated them.
“I don’t need words to know you’re thinking about sex.”
Well, that was true, and since it was no secret, he let his hands trail up her sides and to her breasts. He loved them—their fullness, their weight, the color of her hardened nipples. He wanted them in his mouth, and though Persephone inhaled against his touch, her hands stilled his.
“I want to talk, Hades.”
“Talk,” he said. “I can multitask…or have you forgotten?”
He sat up, and Persephone’s arms wrapped around his neck while he lowered his head to tease her nipple through the fabric of her nightshirt. Meanwhile, his hands moved up her naked thighs.
“I don’t think you can multitask this time,” she breathed, her fingers twisting into his hair. “I know that look.”
“What look?” he asked, pulling away with the intention of lavishing her other breast with just as much attention, but Persephone clasped his head between her hands.
She might be able to stop his mouth, but his hands continued his exploration, moving beneath the hem of her dress, skimming up her sides.
“You get this look. The one you have now. Your eyes are dark, but there’s something…alive behind them. Sometimes I think it’s passion. Sometimes I think it’s violence. Sometimes I think it’s all your lifetimes.”
He said nothing, but he felt every word she spoke and knew they were all true. His hands tightened around her waist, and as he moved to kiss her, she spoke his name, but whatever she intended to say was lost as his mouth closed over hers. He rolled so that she was beneath him, parting her lips with his tongue, kissing her deeply before shifting, trailing kisses down her neck and over her breasts, but he was halted by Persephone, whose thighs clamped down on his waist.
“Hades. I said I wanted to talk.”
“Talk.” It wasn’t as if they hadn’t managed a full conversation during sex.
Then she spoke, and what she said drained the heat from his body. “About Apollo.”
Fuck Apollo, he thought as he sat back on his heels. Why was he suddenly haunting his days? First Leuce and now Persephone?
“Tell me why the name of my nephew is on your lips.”
“He’s my next project,” she said, as if that explained everything, but Hades felt agitated to the point that his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. Apollo was not the kind of god one turned into a project, and if project meant what he suspected—that Persephone hoped to write one of her articles about the God of Music—the answer was no.
She seemed to see his frustration and continued in an attempt to convince him. “He fired Sybil, Hades. For refusing to be his lover.”
He was not surprised. Apollo’s response to rejection was revenge.
Spurn Apollo once, and never again.
Which was why Persephone could not write about him, but even as he looked at her, he knew this was going to be an argument. He could see the flash of determination in her eyes. She wanted to change Apollo, but Apollo was power, and power did not necessitate change.
Hades left the bed. Once again, he needed a drink.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I can’t stay in our bed while you talk about Apollo.”
He was honestly surprised by how triggering it had been to hear her speak his name, but perhaps it had something to do with Leuce’s return. She was a reminder of Apollo’s fury, and Hades could only think that if given the chance, Apollo might continue to execute his revenge.
Persephone pushed off the bed and approached as he poured himself a drink.
“I’m only talking about him because I want to help Sybil! What he’s doing is wrong, Hades. Apollo can’t punish Sybil because she rejected him.”
“Apparently he can,” Hades said, glancing at her as he took a slow sip from his glass.
Her features hardened and her eyes turned a vibrant green. Her glamour was burning away, which was how he knew she was truly mad.
“He has taken away her livelihood! She has nothing and will have nothing unless Apollo is exposed!”
But his frustration was growing too, and he drained his glass only to pour a second. He started to drink this one too but paused, staring at the amber liquid, one hand braced against the bar top, knowing that what he said next would just exacerbate the situation.
“You cannot write about Apollo, Persephone.”
“I’ve told you before, you can’t tell me who to write about, Hades.”
He set the glass down and turned to face her. He felt like a fucking giant, towering over her, yet she just seemed to grow braver.
“Then you should not have told me your plans.”
He regretted those words as soon as he spoke them. He was glad she had shared her intentions, but would she again given how this was turning out? He wasn’t so sure.
“He won’t get away with this, Hades!”
Her fists clenched, and he could sense her magic awakening beneath her skin. There was a part of him that wanted to reach out and touch her, urged on by his own magic, which always seemed desperate to tangle with hers.
“I’m not disagreeing with you,” he said, realizing that he had to change his approach or she would never see reason. “But you aren’t going to be the one to serve justice, Persephone.”
“Who, if not me? No one else is willing to challenge him. The public adores him.”
And they always had.
Apollo was the golden god, the light bringer, the epitome of youth and male beauty in ancient Greece. He had numerous temples built in his honor and even more today. His most basic role was driving away the darkness—something all mortals feared. He was their hero, the representation of everything good in their society. If they let themselves see the bad, they’d be forced to acknowledge the cracks in their own world.
And no one wanted that.
“All the more reason for you to be strategic,” he said. “There are other ways to have your justice.”
She glared at him. “What are you so afraid of? I wrote about you, and look at the good that came out of it.”
If she was referring to their relationship, that would have been achieved by their bargain without her scathing articles, though he could admit that her words made him want to prove her wrong, to be better, and some good had come from them. The Halcyon Project, for example. But everything else was a thorn in his side, especially the public’s obsession with both of them.
“I am a reasonable god,” he said, though Persephone raised a brow at his response. “Not to mention you intrigued me. I do not want Apollo intrigued by you.”
Her features softened for the first time since they began this argument.
“You know I’ll be careful,” she said, taking a single step closer. “Besides, would Apollo really mess with what’s yours?”
She really had no idea.
He frowned and held out his hand.
“Come,” he said, sitting in a chair before the fire. He pulled her to him, her knees framing his thighs. She leaned against him enough so that he could feel the softness of her breasts against his chest and still hold his gaze.
“You do not understand the Divine. I cannot protect you from another god. It is a fight you would have to win on your own.”
Hades could not prevent retribution between a god and their target, even if it was Persephone. The only possible way was to bargain, and no god wanted to owe another.
Especially Hades.
But for her—for this goddess whom he loved more than anything—he would bargain, and that made what she asked next somehow more painful.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t fight for me?”
He wouldn’t just fight.
He would dismantle the world, and he would only feel remorse for Persephone, who would grieve for humanity. As he stared at her, innocent and beautiful, he thought he could see a hint of fear at whatever she saw in his eyes. He hated it but could not deny this darkness. It was as much a part of him as his magic—as her fate was woven with his.
He brushed a piece of hair from her face before trailing his fingers over her cheek.
“Darling,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “I would burn this world for you.”
Then he kissed her and cupped her face with his hands, moving them into her hair. Her lips parted for him, and his tongue slipped into her mouth. When her arms closed around his neck and her body melded fully to his, he felt as though he were no longer grounded. The world had fallen away, and it was only them and sensation. It was how he knew he could end worlds for her.
He pulled away only to rest his forehead against hers, their breath coming harshly against their lips.
“I am begging you,” he said, drawing back only a fraction to meet her gaze, his voice barely a whisper. “Do not write about the God of Music.”
She nodded. “But what about Sybil? If I do not expose him, who will help her?”
He understood her worry for Sybil. Being the chosen oracle of Apollo was no easy task. They were part of the reason he got away with so many of his antics and how he maintained his status among the public. Sybil knew Apollo’s behaviors, and she had stuck to her values when she had denied the god. It was that fact that led Hades to believe she would be okay.
But Persephone could not see that, and it was likely Sybil couldn’t either. They, like everyone else, were caught up in the very human tendency to care what others thought.
“You cannot save everyone, my darling.”
“I’m not trying to save everyone, just the ones who are wronged by the gods.”
He brushed another strand of her wild hair away, studying every feature of her face—her bright eyes and freckled nose, her pink lips, raw from their kiss. “This world does not deserve you.”
“Yes, they do. Everyone deserves compassion, Hades. Even in death.”
“But you are not talking about compassion. You are hoping to rescue mortals from the punishment of gods. It is as vain as promising to bring the dead back to life.”
“Because you have deemed it so.”
His frustration was so immediate, he had to remove his hands from her body and grip the arms of his chair. He looked away, toward the fire. He wanted to argue with her, to point out that he had lived thousands of years with these gods and they had never changed. What made her think they would listen to a new goddess whose life was shaped by a mother who was too afraid to teach her about the harsh world save for a few false tales about the gods she hated most?
She placed her hands on his face and drew his gaze back to hers.
“I won’t write about Apollo.” She spoke quietly, sounding almost defeated, and though guilt twisted through Hades’s stomach, he was relieved by her promise.
“I know you wish for justice, but trust me on this, Persephone.”
She thought she knew the gods, but their histories were long and dark. It made them unpredictable.
It made them all dangerous.
“I trust you.”
You don’t, he thought, though he desperately wanted her to. He couldn’t blame her, especially given what he’d just been thinking.
In the next moment, he stood, gripping her ass as he carried her to bed.
He was done talking.
He set her down and drew her nightdress up and over her head, and as he knelt before her, she held his gaze with a sensual stare that had his cock throbbing. He kissed the insides of her knees and then lifted himself enough to kiss her.
“Lie back,” he whispered, and she did.
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.
“Would you like release?”
He swallowed. “You will be late.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps the waiting crowd will disperse some, then.”
He said nothing, just stared at her as his skin grew warmer. She unzipped his trousers and pulled his sex free, rubbing him up and down before licking him from root to tip. He took a breath, letting it out slowly, watching as she swirled her tongue over the crown of his cock. His mind went blank, focused only on her warm and wet mouth, and his body responded, his chest expanding, his head light, his body hot and tingling. He had a moment when he wondered if he should come in her mouth, but she seemed intent, increasing the pressure and pace, and suddenly his want to come became a need, and he could no longer hold on to the tension in his body. His release came hard and fast, in a surge of electricity that left him feeling completely euphoric.
Persephone released him, standing to return her attention to her waiting coffee. Hades restored himself and stood, touching her jaw with a gentle brush of his fingers.
“You are far too generous, my darling.”
She smiled, her face flushed. “I have no doubt you will return the favor.”
“Eagerly,” he said.