Page 82 of Hades and Persephone: Crown of Souls

But I will play with her.

“I suspect Aphrodite cursed him with an obsession for you.” I dip my head, grazing the tip of my nose along the blade of her jaw. A tiny eruption of goosebumps rises over pale skin, and she shivers.

“Why would she do that?” Persephone gasps.

“He was her lover first.” I trace the shell of her ear with my tongue. “And she is a jealous goddess.”

“Hades—”

I nip the tender flesh behind her ear, earning a sharp little sigh. “She was angry when he chose you. When he spent a season in the Underworld with you. When he mourned your loss when you left him to the living realm to return to me.” I kiss a burning path down her neck, my own hunger raging behind my pants. “She cursed him for his betrayal. An obsession bound to his very soul.”

“That’s awful.”

I nip her breast through the thin gauze of her dress. She moans.

“The Gods often are.” I pull back, cooling the desire from my face even as I take in the flushed beauty of hers. “Come. We need to get back.”

“Wh—” She blinks quickly, her jaw falling as realization sets in. “You’re punishing me?”

“Consider yourself lucky I didn’t throw you over Alastor’s back and paint your ass red with my hand.”

Her mouth snaps closed, and she shoves herself from the tree. “Oh, you’re going to be the one punished when this is over, Hades. I’ll make sure of it.”

As I ride behind my stiff little goddess back to the Palace of Hades, the ache in my cock throbbing painfully and not relinquishing, I begin to suspect that she may be right.

Chapter

Thirty-Three

Persephone

It’s been three days—ornights—since I visited Adonis under the Elm of Lost Dreams, where the forest of haunting whispers taunt dreams that can never come to pass. It’s been three rise and falls of the moons since Hades worked me up and denied me.

He denied himself, too. And it’s obvious it’s been agony for us both.

It’s also obvious we’re both painfully stubborn.

I’ve lain next to Hades for three nights, my body ready to burst with need, and I’ve done nothing about it.

This morning, under the fall of the shower, each pebble of water that connected with my skin bordered on physical pain. Every inch of me is oversensitive and over stimulated by everything that touches me. Everything that is not Hades.

I am no less sensitive where I sit on the beach, watching blue waves roll.

I swear, I can feel every pebble of sand through the thin material of my dress. I am captivated by the color of the foamthat bubbles over the deep midnight blue with every rolling wave. In the distance, the Isle of the Blessed glows with a halo of bioluminescence. It ignites the trees that dot the shore with shadows that dance.

Unlike Asphodel City, which is loud with life, the Isle of the Blessed hums with a quiet that is born of a demand for peace.

I can’t say I’m surprised when the dark water splits, and a crown of satiny white hair appears. Poseidon’s shocking blue eyes land on me as though he knew exactly where he would find me. As though he came looking.

I call as he swims closer, “Do you visit the shores of the Underworld every night?”

“No.”

“The two times I’ve come, you have, too.” I dip my toes deeper into the sand, reveling in the cool wash of the sea against my burning skin that hungers for a man who might be more stubborn than me.

I sense I’m close to breaking. To be fair, he’s had a lot more practice in holding out.

Poseidon stands in shallow water, and I’m relieved to see he’s already fixed the sea skirt thing he wears so as not to force me to blush over his complete nakedness. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still blushing. The man—God—is massiveandmostly naked. Dark skin stretches taut over impossibly hard muscle, born from an age of pushing through rough waters, surely.

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