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.”