A Game of Fate (Hades Saga #1)(54)

“I don’t want to rest,” she said.

Hades just stared at her.

“Ask me what I want, Hades.”

He wanted to groan. This was torture, and worse, he indulged her.

“What do you want?”

“To finish what we started in the limo.”

It was significant to him that she had not responded with ‘you.’ And only solidified his wish to ensure they go no further than they had.

“No, Persephone.”

She scowled. “You want me.”

He said nothing; he could not deny it and would not admit it.

She pushed away from him and walked toward the bed, slipping the straps of her dress off her shoulders.

“Persephone—”

“What?”

She turned toward him, and her dress fell in a puddle at her feet. She stood bare before him, all golden skin and glorious curves.

“Tell me you don’t want me.”

He swallowed hard, clenching his hands at his sides. So many emotions swirled inside him, a carnal need to claim her and protect her. He could not do both. He reached for the robe she had worn the last time she was here; it hung in the same place, on the screen behind where she’d changed. He held it out so that she could slip her arms inside.

“Get dressed, Persephone.”

She glared at him and snatched the robe from his hands, but she did not put it on. Instead, she stared at him.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He hadn’t because if he said he did not want her, that would be a lie, and admitting it would be inviting her to his bed.

She touched him, her hands sliding down his arms, pausing at his fists.

“Let go,” she coaxed, stepping into him and placing his hands on her hips, his fingers splayed, digging into her skin. Was this some sort of trial? Had this woman been sent to test his control? He studied her hard, expecting her to vanish into smoke, but she did not. She remained there, solid and warm and soft beneath him. Her hands twined behind his neck, her bare breasts pressed against his chest.

“Hades?” She whispered his name, breath caressing his lips. “Hold me.”

Her mouth closed over his, and his arms tightened around her waist. He drew her against him tight, one hand breaking free to glide up her back to the nape of her neck, where he held her head, lips pressing hard against hers, urging her mouth open wide, tasting and taking. Persephone’s hands moved from around his neck, down his chest, to his crotch. She grasped his cock through the fabric of his slacks, and he groaned, tearing free from her mouth.

“Persephone.”

“I want to touch you,” she said, and suddenly, Hades found himself being guided back toward his bed. She pushed him, guiding him to lie flat on the silken sheets, and as she climbed on top of him, straddling him, naked and rosy and beautiful, he thought he might come then. She leaned over him, her hot and soft center rocking against his hard length, the tips of her breasts barely touching his chest.

“Let me please you,” she whispered, and kissed him again.

His hands landed on her sides, and he rolled, pinning her beneath him. He took her wrists and guided them over her head.

“You please me,” he said, kissing her swollen lips a final time, reveling in the way her body arched against his, warmed with need. It was a reminder of why he had to stop this. “Sleep.”

The command came with a rush of magic that instantly sent Persephone into a deep slumber. Hades paused there a moment, suspended over her, before rolling off onto his back.

He sighed, full of frustration and rage, and growled.

“Fucking Fates.”





CHAPTER XVII – BREAKING POINT




Hades watched Persephone sleep while he tried to reconcile the contradiction of her words and actions. He reminded himself that she had been under the influence, not just of alcohol but of some sort of drug. He had tasted it upon her tongue—metallic, salty, wrong. She had not been herself, not in the limo or his office or his bedroom, which meant her words—the ones she’d written in her article—won his thoughts, and he turned them over and over again in his head until he seethed.

He sensed when she woke because her breathing changed. She bolted upright, holding his silk sheets to her chest, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. He would have liked to see her this way after a night of love making. Instead, he was watching her after a night of rejecting her drunken advances. He took a sip from his glass, holding her gaze, bright eyes trained on him, wary.

“Why am I naked?” she asked.

“Because you insisted on it,” he said, keeping his voice as devoid of emotion as possible. It took effort, because every other thought was a remembrance from last night—a memory of her desperation to hear him say he wanted her, the phantom press of her body against his, the heat of her lips urging his apart. “You were very determined to seduce me.”

Her already-flushed cheeks turned crimson. “Did we—”

His laugh sounded more like a bark. He wasn’t sure what he was reacting to, maybe it was the fact that she would assume he would take advantage of her in her inebriated state, or that he had spent the better part of her slumber agonizing over the words she’d used to describe him.

“No, Lady Persephone. Trust me, when we fuck, you’ll remember.”