Hot as Hades (2 page)

When he realized that he didn’t know exactly how long he’d been working over her bare breasts, he drew away, mildly appalled at his behavior and loss of control. He looked into her eyes, so wide he could see the whites around the pupils. That dazed expression was back, and her lips were parted, her breath coming in fast pants.

He took the frustration he felt toward himself and transformed it into anger. Why the fuck didn’t she crack? Or zap him? Give this game up? “Strange, your body doesn’t seem to mind my questioning.” He scraped his nail over her wet nipple, pleased at the way she swayed into his touch. “Maybe you decided to ignore an age-old treaty and come out for a jaunt just to play big bad hellhound and the scared little pussy.” Hell, that was a plausible and not an altogether unwelcome scenario. Morbid sexual fascination wasn’t limited to desperate mortal souls, he supposed. Though if that was the case, it might be the first time he was more than tempted to satisfy the curiosity.

Her throat worked as she tried to regain her composure. “I can’t help how my body responds. For all I know, you’ve cast a spell on me.”

“No spell, love. Lust. Surely you must know all about that.” The gods up above were filled with lustful excesses. Him? Well, see above, his pickings were a hell of a lot slimmer.
Too damn long.

She shook her head, and he wasn’t sure if she was denying his claim or the allegation that she knew exactly what was going down. Oddly enough, he hoped it was the latter. The thought of any randy god putting his hands on this female made him want to pulverize some skulls. Not to mention what it made him want to do to their genitalia.

To get that thought out of his head, he smoothed one hand down her belly—he wished he could lay her out on his bed and nibble on that curved sweetness—and tangled his fingers in the hair at the apex of her thighs. It was as soft as it looked, like down against the hard tips of his fingers.

She was wet, which made him want to shout in glee. Her body gave a small shudder as he gently prodded the moist opening to her body. He cleared his throat, suddenly remembering what he was about. “Your name, female.”

She didn’t respond, only gave a tiny moan as his finger slightly breached her clasping cunt. Tight it was too, the walls massaging his finger as if they were welcoming him farther in. He withdrew and glanced down to see her wetness clinging to it, loving the copious lubrication. She would feel insanely delicious wrapped around him.

“Wait,” she said weakly.

He circled the opening of that pussy, wanting in again. “What?”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Stop. I’ll…I’ll tell you.”

Tell him what? Oh. Goddamn it. He’d forgotten why he’d originally started teasing her. He removed his hand from her body with the greatest of reluctance, wanting to bring his hand up to his nose to inhale her scent. Better yet, he wanted to wallow inside of her until it covered him completely. The rest of her body had already dried from what he assumed was her alleged bath, but her nipples were still wet from his mouth. He wanted to suck those morsels in, nibble on them until she wouldn’t know what life was without him at her breast. He wanted…

He shook his head, struck by a pang of self-protection, admittedly too late. He’d only meant to kiss her, maybe tease her a little. How had he forgotten himself when dealing with another god? He knew better than anyone that they excelled at games of lust and trickery.

He cleared his throat gruffly. Best to play this off as if he’d been in control the whole time. “Good.”

“I’m…Persephone.”

The name meant nothing to him. “Go on.”

The beauty sighed. “Persephone, daughter of Demeter.”

Shit. A shock of distaste and outrage cooled his arousal, and he abruptly stood, which pushed her off his lap. Since the ground was hard stone, he materialized a lush pillow to cushion her ass. She gave a soft little huff of air as she landed.

“Daughter of Demeter? Hell, why didn’t you say that before you snuggled into my lap, all sweet and luscious?” He wanted to hit something. He, who knew better than anyone that life was absolutely, motherfucking unfair, wanted to strangle someone.

This was not. Fucking. Fair. How could he have been so wrong?

Persephone stared up at the towering giant who stood above her. His thighs looked like tree trunks under his black leather pants. The bulge of his penis was prominent, despite the fact that he was looking at her with dismay instead of lust now. He would have been intimidating even if she wasn’t sprawled naked at his feet. Even if she wasn’t struggling with a never-before-experienced combination of fear and arousal.

She shivered, hating the weakness that led to the involuntary physical reaction. She couldn’t even blame it on a draft. Though she was naked and the huge room appeared cold with its black granite walls and black marble floor, it was actually surprisingly warm. There was no sunlight or obvious source of heat, but flickering torches hung on the wall gave off warmth and light. Larger lamps stood near the huge red and black throne she had landed in, gilding every inch of Hades.

And there were a lot of inches. Despite her isolation from the rest of Olympus, she’d heard rumblings about Hades, as she had about Zeus and Poseidon, the three big honchos. Her adoptive mother, Demeter, was closemouthed about other deities, but Persephone had friends amongst the water nymphs. The only thing the nymphos—their term, not hers—liked as much as sex was gossip. So of course she’d heard whispered rumblings about the uber scary, merciless, pitiless, torture-and-pain-happy Lord of the Underworld.

Some of the older nymphs had also whispered that he was a god in appearance too, but she’d discounted those as romanticized fantasies. No more. The male was devastatingly attractive, like no one she’d ever seen, either in her humble youth with mortals, her brief time amongst the foppish court at Olympus, or her return to Earth to live with Demeter. Blue-black hair was cropped close to his skull, and his face was hard and defined, with a square jaw and high cheekbones. Gold glinted in the simple armbands around his massive biceps. He was shirtless, which allowed her to see his ripped chest and abdomen. A tattoo highlighted those muscles, an intricate design of a red and black serpent. The snake’s tongue flicked his nipple, its sinuous body draped across his chest, presumably wound around his back, and then came back around his hip to disappear into his pants.

She tried not to think of where the tail of that snake ended.

Hades’s eyes were his most fascinating feature, black and endless, and glowing from within with a red fire. The memory of those burning eyes flicking up to her face when his surprisingly gentle lips had been wrapped around her nipple would be hard to scrub from her mind.

Now they were filled with cold fury. And why not? Her mother’s name alone was generally enough to rile and inspire the wrath of any god, which was why Persephone had hoped to keep mum and get herself out of here before Hades discovered her identity. How Demeter managed to piss off every deity she came into contact with, save Persephone, she would never know.
Brazen it out, girl.
“I take it you have some sort of beef with Demeter?”

“Your mommy always was a self-righteous, selfish little bitch, chick.”

Caution told her to curb her tongue, but she couldn’t stop the small burst of anger. Whatever her faults, Demeter had done her best to be a mentor and protector to a lost, clueless goddess. “Watch how you speak of my mother, dark one.”

“I’ll call my
sister
whatever names I like, Sephie.”

“The name is Persephone and… What? Wait. Sister?”

He sneered. “Whiny, bitchy Demeter is my little sister. Surely you knew that, if you’re her daughter.”

“I…I’m sorry. I’ve never really paid attention to all the relationships.” And interrelationships. After millennia, blood relations seemed to matter less and less, she supposed. The gods married and mated with little concern for something that troubled mortals to no end.

He was shaking his head, disgust curling his lips as he repeatedly wiped his hand—the hand he’d had inside of her—on the front of his thighs. “I can’t believe I… Why the hell didn’t you say something sooner?” He swallowed. “Seriously, put some clothes on.”

“I’d love to, but my luggage seems to have been lost.” Dumbass, she added silently.

“You’re adorable. Conjure the clothes.”

A blush rose in her cheeks. Did he think she liked sitting here nude? “I can’t.”

“You can’t now or you can’t ever?”

“Can’t…ever.” Persephone raised her chin, unhappy in admitting to something that was probably possible for godlings. Maybe he would let this proof of her shameful lack of abilities pass without comment.

“Stop fooling around and get dressed.”

No, he wouldn’t let it pass. “I told you, I can’t.” Pretty and stupid, she tsked. They always went hand in hand, it seemed. Though Hades didn’t seem quite as idiotic as Narcissus. That moron regularly had to be rescued from lakes when he tried to make out with his own reflection.

Hades studied her with his brow knit, though this time he kept his gaze on her face. “You’re serious. You really can’t.” Within a blink she was clothed in a flowing red gown of velvet trimmed with black lace. It was the most decadent thing she’d ever worn. She only realized that he’d freed her bound wrists when she ran her hand along the drape of fabric over her leg.

His groan made her glance up, and she flushed again to see him watching her hand coast along her leg. Their eyes met, and the self-disgust in his was readily apparent. “You should have said something sooner. I may be many things, but a molester of my niece is not one of them. I don’t know how I could have been so wrong.”

She blinked up at him. He wasn’t upset because he hated Demeter so much. He was upset that he’d touched…his
niece
…with lust.

His
niece
, because she was Demeter’s
daughter
. Well then. She glanced away, unclear on how to use this development to her advantage.

Something must have given her away; she’d always been a crappy liar. Suddenly he was crouched next to her, his hand on her chin, giving her no choice but to turn her head to him. He stared deep into her eyes before a smile broke out on that stunning face. “Liar.”

She played dumb. “Huh?”

“I should have known—after all, I’m never wrong,” he arrogantly stated. “You aren’t of my blood.” He gave her chin a little shake, which made her instinctively snap at his fingers with her teeth. He only laughed. “You’re no more Demeter’s daughter than I am.”

She pulled away from him, scooting out of his reach—it annoyed her further that she wouldn’t have been able to had he not allowed it. “You can’t tell that by looking at me.”

“Actually, I can. One of my dubious powers—to see what flows through others. Comes in handy when I have to deal with as many souls as I do. You aren’t of my bloodline, which means you weren’t born to any of my siblings. So tell me the truth now, Sephie…if that’s even your real name.”

“It is. I… Can you see who my parents really are?” she asked, distracted for a moment.

“No. Sorry.” He cocked his head. “You’re…foreign. Not quite like anyone I’ve looked into before.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know if she absolutely believed him or not. Gods were notorious liars, after all.

“The truth. Now.” His tone was hard and brooked no disobedience.

Sadly, as much as she wanted to tell him to go to hell, one thing was true. She was already there—and he owned it. “Demeter
is
my mother. She adopted me and cared for me after I finally came to Olympus.” Demeter had approached her at first because their powers were similar, and had ended up becoming a friend, mentor and a maternal figure, protecting her from the cattiness and advances of the other gods on Olympus. She’d also given Persephone whatever love and tenderness she was capable of. No, Demeter had her faults, no doubt, but Persephone would have probably withered away long ago without her.

“Adopted,” he purred. “Well now, bit. That’s music to my ears.” A finger stroked along her cheek, awakening all sorts of nerve endings.

What was wrong with her? Usually she was quite immune to the unearthly beauty of immortals. When she’d first come to Olympus, she’d realized quickly that she was the equivalent of the new girl at school, which meant that every god wanted to fuck her, while every goddess wanted to rip her hair out by the roots and set her on fire. Demeter, who had already taken her under her wing, conferred with Zeus, and before she could say “Apollo, you ignorant slut,” she’d been spirited out of Olympus back to Earth.

End result: except for some fumbled flirting and sex with mortals, and again in the beginning of her foray into the world of the gods, it had been a long, dry, isolated spell for her. And it wasn’t like any of those spoiled, pampered Olympians had even a hint of the raw sex appeal of Hades.

Hades, Lord of the Underworld, you fool. Slap a virtual chastity belt on, and pull yourself together.
Bad boys were bad for a reason, and she had zero experience in dealing with them. It wouldn’t do to start with the ultimate bad boy. She shouldn’t be here, didn’t belong here. She belonged back home, in her safe and protected bubble, surrounded by meadows and rivers and babbling brooks. “Our lack of blood relation changes nothing.”

He didn’t appear to be listening, so transfixed was he with tracing his finger over the bodice of the dress, following the lace trim. It scratched her skin, making her want to rip the dress off and throw herself at him. She wanted to tell herself it was the fact that she’d been without for so long, but she’d never had such an instantaneous response to anyone, ever, god or mortal.

Fear trumped the arousal.

Since she couldn’t fight with her fists, she would do what she’d always done and rely on her words. “Do you need me to write it out? My body might respond, but I’m not about to get horizontal with the Lord of the Underworld. Have sex with me if you want, but know that it would be rape.”

She expected him to bear her back onto the ground and ravish her—and, no, her thighs had
not
clenched in invitation at that thought—or maybe even manhandle her into a cell somewhere. She didn’t truly believe anymore that he had brought her here, as his anger and demands to know her identity were extremely genuine. Since he thought she was the intruder, nobody would interfere with any punishment he extracted from her. She’d heard enough stories about Hades’s almost obsessive territoriality about his world. No one who entered left it. Or at least, no one left it unscathed.