Page 40 of Captive Heart

I clear my throat, acutely aware of her arm against my back, my arm laid over her shoulders like a battle cloak.

As we walk, the houses that line the street begin to shift. They grow larger at first. Then they disappear behind white sandstone fences. Instead of seeing doors and windows close enough to touch, now there is only the occasional arched trellis and wrought iron gateway. In between, smooth white sandstone gates rise above my head.

I think about my own question again, my face narrowing with concentration.

“Ye said ye went to art school. What did ye study?”

Persephone's lips quirk. Her eyes slide away, as ye often see when someone is trying to remember something. “Painting, mainly. A lot of studio work. But also, the history of painting. Art history, too.”

I purse my lips. “Those sound like the same thing.”

She slides me a glance. “They aren’t.”

We pass a large cemetery on the left, overlooking the sea. The street turns and begins to climb upward. The paved stones rise gently at first, getting steeper and more crowded further on.

“Who was yer favorite painter? Or… I guess, what period?” I narrow my eyes, feeling like I’m not entirely sure what I’m talking about. “That’s a thing, is it not?”

“It is.” Persephone looks up at me. I see a tinge of relief on her beautiful face. “I like the English and Spanish Romantics quite a bit. Friedrich, Lorraine, Roussy- Triosson, Goya. They were quite expressive.”

I nod. “I’ve heard of Goya, I think.”

She sends an amused glance my way but I’m not particularly offended by it. I’m an expert in a lot of things, but painters are just so clearly not part of my world.

Around us, the crowd has now thinned and mostly dispersed. As we hike upward, we leave behind the ocean with its rocky, sandy views. We also leave nearly everyone behind.

Persephone's breathing returns to normal. Her eyes stop roving. But I don’t drop my arm until we hit the steepest part of the hill. She squirms a little and I let her go.

My skin aches bittersweetly where her arm pressed into my lower back. I move away, huffing and puffing a little as we reach the hilltop. Glancing around, I see the gate to our villa on the left and a breathtaking vista spilling out from our feet, down the hill to the ocean.

“Not bad, eh?” I offer.

Persephone looks at me, giving me a small smile. “Now that there is no one on the street?” She looks around, sucking in a breath. “Yeah. It’s beautiful.”

I run a hand over the white sandstone wall, parking my chin toward the wrought iron gate. “This is our stop.”

She wrinkles her nose, pushing her cheek out with her tongue. “Thank you. For… you know. Talking to me. I think I was freaking out.”

I swing the gate open, smiling at her coolly. “Oh, ye think so?”

She blushes and ducks her head, shaking it as she heads through the gate. “I’m just trying to show a little gratitude, Hades.”

She bends over and plucks a tiny flower from the otherwise perfectly green carpet of grass. I can’t help but glance at her ass.

My cock stirs. The black fabric of her dress seems to grow thin as it stretches.

My mouth begins to water.

She straightens back up, looking at the tiny blossom clasped in her fingers.

I close the gate after us. The villa is set back a way, white sandstone rising against the crisp green of the well-manicured lawn.

But my eyes are glued to Persephone's ass as she strolls toward the villa. I can’t help it. Her ass sways ever so gently as she walks, seemingly well muscled and perfectly plump.

I tilt my head, trying to figure out whether she is wearing any panties. It’s impossible to tell. But for some reason, I want to believe that she’s not.

That I could skim her dress up her legs, exposing her flawless ass. And there would be absolutely nothing between me and her. I could push her down with one hand, spread her thighs with the other, and press my whole face into her creamy ass?—

“Hades?”

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