“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.