Page 12 of Hades and Persephone: Threads of Fate

Done with this conversation, with feeling like a lunatic on the verge of losing every last marble ofsanity, I stand at the pool’s edge. Hades’ head tips back and he watches as I fight with the indecision that plagues me before I think,what the hell, and lift my shirt over my head.

Next to go are my little pajama shorts. The moon paints my pale flesh silver a moment before I dive into the deep of the pool—completely naked.

As my body cuts through the water, my heart slams a drumbeat between my ears. It’s not like the man hasn’t seen me naked. I mean, he’s had his head between my legs. He’s made me come apart at the seams only to stitch me back up and do it all over again.

Still, I feel tender and exposed under the deep dark of his endless gaze. I feel dangerously fragile under the rough skin of hands I suspect are gentle only for me.

I feel breakable under the deadly whisper of his kiss.

And the fact is this is new to me, having a man in my life. I’ve never even had a boy.

Hades, for me, is my very first. He’s also a lot.

I break the surface of the water in time to see his big hands move to the buckle of his belt. He’s shirtless, and the hard tan skin moves over granite muscles that ripple beneath. His arms flex as he unfastens the belt, popping the button of his slacks.

My mouth goes dry and my throat feels tight as I bob in the water. In all the times he’s had me stripped bare, I’ve yet to see the man naked.

He pushes his pants from his hips to bare inch after inch of golden skin. He’s so muscular and big, I can’t help but think that he’s been built by muscle stacked on muscle, carved from stone. He’s beautiful. Every deep line, every dip and sharp curve. It’s all so beautiful, a sculpture of deadly art crafted into the body of a man and honed to utter perfection.He’s Godly…

I’m entirely struck by the thought as Hades lifts one large arm to swipe his hand through long dark waves. I can feel his eyes on me as I take in the body he’s finally bared to me—and the very large—sort of frightening appendage that hangs hard and veined between his legs.

Water hovers at my lips as I bob in the pool. The water is cool, but there is an uncomfortable heat burning under my skin that I can’t quite calm. I can’t seem to cool it—the blood that simmers.

I drag my eyes up the length of his carved torso to the wide expanse of his shoulders, the corded length of his neck, and over the hard square cut of his jaw. My heart skipping beats before pausing entirely when my gaze connects with the inferno of his eyes. I’m not close to him. In fact, I’m on the opposite side of the pool and the sky is an endless sea of starlit obsidian, but I swear that I see flames dancing in his eyes.

A low sound rumbles from the deep of his chest. A growl, perhaps. A warning, most definitely.

It sparks a quickening of fear-filledanticipation. I feel the urge to run from him, delighted by the fact I know he will hunt me, and catch me.

He dives as I dip under the water. I’m about to spin and swim, but the man is fast. Faster than I could have ever anticipated. He catches me around the back of my ankles. His big hands slide up over the backs of my legs and skim the swell of my butt before one thick arm slides around my waist. He pulls my body flush against his, his other hand continuing the travel up the length of my spine. His thick fingers spear my hair, and he holds us under the water as he brings his lips to mine.

Against my belly, I can feel the hardness of his arousal. My body responds in a way that steals my breath. My core clenches with a need so hard, it’s painful.

I whimper into his kiss, and he swallows the water-muffled sound before he spears my mouth with his tongue in much the same way I wish he would spear my body with his. I’ve never felt empty quite like I do right now. It’s as though I’m entirely hollow on the inside, crafted to be filled exclusively by this man.

My soul cracked open wide the night I met Hades, and it’s been waiting to pull him inside since. I sense this as fact, even though there is a part of me that clings to reality just enough to know it’s yet more proof of my ever-evolving insanity. Because I can’t be made for this man. I can’t have been crafted to belong eternally and exclusively to him.

It’s not possible.

Soul mates aren’t real.

It’s a fabrication of desire built entirely on foolish hope. The idea that one soul could be made for a single other.

And yet…

In my chest, my lungs burn. I’m not sure if it’s from the overload of feeling I feel for the man. Or if it has to do with the fact I’ve been starved of air. Either way, I am happy to die here in his kiss. In his arms.

As though sensing I am at the limits of my very vulnerable body, Hades gives one firm kick and we’re moving up through the water. We break the surface, our mouths still locked together. My hands move over his shoulders, arms circling his neck as I pull my body tighter against his. He growls a groan that sinks into the deep of me when I circle my legs around his waist, feeling the hot tip of his arousal sliding through the wet heat between my legs.

I can’t help myself as I rock my body down onto him, stroking the bud of need with his shaft even as he rocks his hips to meet the roll of my own.

“Persephone.” His arm around my waist tightens, pinning me into place against his hard, searing hot body.

I gasp into the night. “Please.”

He says something low in a language I don’t recognize. But I think it sounds like both a curse and a prayer.

My movement is restricted by the band of his arm, but I still manage a slight roll of my hips. I moan at the feel of his tip against my clit, desperate for it to move lower. Deeper.Inside.

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