Page 66 of Hades and Persephone: Threads of Fate

My lips part and he watches as I wet them before his hand drifts slowly from my face, over the flickering pulse that flutters in my throat, to palm one breast roughly enough to draw a shuddering sigh from between my lips. He moves to the other breast, the callouses on his fingers a scrape against the tender flesh of my nipple. He plucks and pulls and twists, flicking and rolling until my body is a cord of oversensitive need pulled too tight.

All the while, his eyes don’t drift from mine.

With my hands still locked in the cuff of his high above my head, his body arched over mine, he lets his free hand move from my breasts to drift, featherlight, down the line of my belly. He circles my navel. My breath hitches, my belly dipping at the gentle scrape of calloused fingers over smooth flesh. He finds the warmth between my legs, his eyes still locked on mine as he dips his fingers into the hot wet of my center. My lips part. I suck in breath, biting down hard when a moan threatens to break free.

His lips twitch, as though he recognizes the challenge in my silence and likes it.

I try to close my legs, try to make this possession just a little harder for him, but he stops me with a knee in the bed, a force I can’t fight between my legs. Beneath his shorts, I can see the proof of his desire. He’s so big, I’m not confident I can take him. Still, I want to try.

The twitch of his lips morphs to a hitch. He presses his thumb into the button of my clit and aligns two fingers with my entrance. I think he’s going to thrust deep and fast, but he doesn’t. He rims me in a slow, agonizing circle that has a symphony of whimpers spilling from the deep.

“Hades…”

“Spread wider for me.” I do as he commands without even a moment of hesitation, spreading sowide my knees hit the bed. He murmurs sweet praise, “Good little goddess.”

And then, rewarding me, he slowly slides two fingers deep. Heat erupts across my flesh, searing the very marrow in my bone. Prickles of warmth sting my pores as I throw my head back, biting down to conceal the cry of delicious ecstasy that threatens to escape.

He pumps in and out. It’s a slow, decadent torture that forces me higher and higher. His thumb doesn’t release the button of my clit, but circles it as he draws a painfully reluctant orgasm to the surface. It bubbles over, simmering in the spill. I twist my head to the side, loosing a cry into my raised arm as I lift my hips off the bed, seeking more and less and…I don’t know…

“Hades,” I sob when he doesn’t pull his fingers from the core of me, but instead flicks them up to toy and stroke an entirely new and entirely too sensitive spot deep within. My legs tremble as I try and fail to clamp them closed. That flush of heat simmers just under my skin now, the evidence of it spilling a bloom of red into my skin even as a sheen of sweat coats every inch of my body.

“Beautiful,” Hades praises me as a second orgasm rockets through my core, threatening to break me apart in the unexpected violence of it as it moves like a torrent of endless waves through my body.

He roots his fingers deep as my core clenches around him. I think this is it—that he can’t give me more—can’t take more—that there is no more to take—when the last wave pulses, and Hades pushes a third finger into me.

I’m oversensitive, my flesh puffy and swollen. The stretch stings, but my hips roll into him as he shoves knuckle deep. I want to cry and scream, but as I open my mouth to scream—no sound flees. He is not gentle now as he thrusts his fingers inside me. My breasts bounce with the invasion, and fire dances in his eyes.

“Hades—I—oh, God!” I scream now, because he’s kicked my legs wide apart with his knees in the bed. His body is between my legs now, stretching me wider around him as he pumps me with his fingers, stretching, and filling, and branding me with his touch.

Peering up at him, he’s never looked more like a dark god of possession than he does in this moment. Like the Hades of myth and lore—his namesake. He’s darkness personified, as shadows of a night sky spill in through the windows around him, haunting him with a halo of white moonlight reflecting like glitter cast from Heaven on dark waters.

The pressure builds and my body writhes against it, fighting it, rejecting it. I fear it may very well break me apart. Rip apart my seams. Spill the innermost parts of me for his consumption.

And he will consume me. All of me, given the chance.

“Hades,” I cry. Maybe I scream again. “Too much. It’s too much.”

Am I crying?

“You can do it, beautiful goddess.” He doesn’t sound like him, but like something other. Something born of darkness and night. He urges, “Give me one more.”

I shake my head even as he bends low to suck my breast into his mouth. My back arches. My breaths are so ragged, so violent and deep, I feel like I might choke on them. On the very air that tastes of woodsmoke and sin as it seeps into my lungs, invading every crevice of me. My eyes slam closed because as much as it hurts, as spent and aching as my body is—as hot as the itch that coats my bones burns—I’m not sure that I can do this, can suffer the agonizing bliss of this shattering at his hand.

I whisper my plea, “Please,” as white hot pleasure erupts in my core in a burst of fire so deep and primal, it ignites my very soul.

And then, with fire in my bones and a spent, spent soul, I drift into nothingness.

Chapter

Thirty

Hades

Her eyes flutter closed,exhaustion sweeping her body as a third and powerful orgasm crashes through her body. I didn’t expect tonight. Didn’t expect the itch to return along my bones. For that itch to burn with a new and aching heat that threatened to incinerate me from within. I’m used to heat, but tonight, holding back from shoving inside her, from losing myself in the sweet warmth of her womb, that heat that burned like the river Phlegethon along my Gods’ bones had prickles of sweatbeading on my flesh.

It drips now as I fight against the burn—the primitive urge to take her for my own before she is ready.

Before she loves me.

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