I do as he says only because physically, I’m no match. At least that’s what I tell myself.
“What are you doing?”
He keeps his gaze on mine as he smears that butter on my asshole. When I understand what he means to do, how he plans to fuck me, a panic sets in and I’m back up on hands and knees, crawling away.
Or trying to.
He keeps me in position with one hand clamped around my hip as he laughs, pushing a thick finger into my asshole.
“Oh god!”
“What am I doing?” he asks, sliding that finger in and out, the butter making the passage slippery.
“Hayden, please—”
“Hades,” he corrects.
He pulls his finger out to collect more butter. Shifting his hand to push me back down to my elbows, he grips his thick cock with the other and rubs butter all over it. As afraid as I am, I’m equally aroused.
“What am I doing?” he asks again.
I just stare back at him.
“I’m bringing you down a notch.”
14
Hayden
I’m not sure what I prefer. A woman on her knees her mouth filled with my cock, or a woman on her knees about to take my dick in her pussy or her ass.
I guess the common theme here is a woman on her knees.
And Persephone on her knees like this, fuck, if I’m not careful I’ll blow in my fist just looking at her.
“Don’t worry,” I say, scooping up the last of the butter and finger-fucking her tight little hole. “I’ve lubricated you inside and out. You just try to relax and enjoy the ride.” I pull my fingers out and bring the head of my cock to her tight hole.
“No, no, no! You’ll rip me in two! Please!” Her eyes go wide as I grip her hips with both hands, using my thumbs to spread her ass cheeks wider. I close my eyes and enjoy that initial squeeze.
“Fuuuuck,” I open my eyes and look at her. “You’ll be the death of me.” I pump slowly, taking centimeter by centimeter. I don’t want to hurt her. I want her ready when I fuck her. I want to watch her swallow her pride as she comes multiple times with my dick up her tight ass.
“It hurts!”
I slide one hand down to her clit and when I take it into my hand, she catches her breath. For a moment, she’s fighting it, fighting me, but I feel when her body relaxes, when she arches her back just a little.
“Do you hate me now?” I ask when she closes her eyes and I take an inch. Her asshole is tight and warm and slippery with the butter lubricant. “Tell me,” I say, pumping slowly, looking down at her as she stretches to take my length, my girth.
When she doesn’t reply, I smack her ass.
She gasps and her eyes fly open.
“I asked you a question.”
“I…” she starts but I’m rubbing her clit again. I’m about half-way in and fuck, I’m going to come hard.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Her answer is a whimper as her mouth opens and her eyes close.
I grin, rub her swollen nub and watch her face because she’s so fucking beautiful when she comes. When her walls begin to pulse around my cock, I claim more of her, her moans making me harder, her asshole opening to me like a greedy little thing that wants more. More. More.
I’m happy to oblige.
When I’m fully seated, I stop, taking a moment to enjoy the tremors of aftershock as she pants and tries to force my hand from her clit.
“I’m all the way in. All the way inside your tight little hole. Are you ready to get your ass fucked, sweetheart?”
“I can’t…It’s too much—”
“You can and you will. You’ll take my cum too. I’m going to fill you up with my cum.”
And when I pull out and thrust back in, she lets out a loud moan, and arches her back. The words she’s saying are nonsensical. The only one I recognize is my own name.
Hades.
The name she gave me a breath on her tongue.
Her life’s breath.
God.
Fuck.
This woman. Fuck. Fuck me. I’m screwed.
Because I know what this is.
And as her walls throb again, I thrust deep inside her and still there. It’s like just then, in that moment, time is suspended. Stopping just for us and we’re both coming. She’s moaning my name, her cheek on the floor, eyes closed, one hand fisted, the other clawing at the carpet as I fill her up. As I empty inside her and I claim this other part of her. And all the while I know the truth, even if she doesn’t.
She owns a part of me. She always has.
No. That’s not it.
Persephone owns my fucking soul.
15
Persephone
How is it like this with him? How is everything different with him?
He’s gentle after. He lifts me up and cradles me on his lap like I’m his most precious possession.
I lay my head against his warm chest and close my eyes. I listen to his heartbeat and let myself snuggle into the safety of his arms.
And like last night, I want to cry.
I don’t understand this confusion of emotion. This chaos inside my head. My heart.
He’s right. I don’t hate him. And it’s not just that that scares me. It’s that the opposite is true. It’s always been true. Maybe since that first day out on the curb when I was a kid.
And I know I’m fucked. I am well and truly fucked.
That’s exactly why I can’t do this. Why I can’t let him hold me. Why I can’t let him be gentle. Tender, even.
I can’t take comfort in his arms, or against his chest. I can’t feel protected. Safe.
I can’t.
I push away, look up at him.
He seems surprised but doesn’t speak. He studies me instead and I have to be careful because I think maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s not human.
He can’t just read my mind. I think he can see inside my soul.
“I don’t want Anna,” I blurt out.
“What?” He’s clearly taken aback.
“I don’t want a cook.”
My throat feels full, like the emotion is going to choke me. Like it’s going to cut off my oxygen and kill me.
I push away, try to stand, stumbling as I do with my jeans around my ankles.
He’s already got his pants up. I guess he took care of that after fucking me.
I bend to pull my jeans up while he gets to his feet. He disappears into a room I didn’t realize was there—another one of those doors flush with the wall like the elevator. I hear water running and a few moments later, he returns, drying his hands.
“Let me clean you,” he says.
I still feel him inside me, his cum inside me. And this insane, masochistic part of me, it wants that part of him.
Wants any part of him.
I shake my head, rub my face. “Where’s my coat?” I ask, snatching my purse from the couch.
“Persephone—”
“I need to go.” I swipe my hand over my eyes, hoping he thinks it’s just an itch. Not the tears I need to hide.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I take a deep breath in, my gaze falling on the empty butter dish. I try not to think about what he did with that butter.