A Game of Fate (Hades Saga #1)(73)

Her answer was to wrap her hands around his cock, thumb brushing his sensitive head, and lower to her knees.

“Persephone.” Her name was rough on his tongue, and he wasn’t sure why he said it—as a warning or in prayer. Either way, he didn’t feel completely prepared for her mouth, even knowing the sensations she’d coaxed from him the night before. This was somehow different. This was head given in the daylight, a choice that wasn’t spurred by frustration or given courage by wine. Her mouth was warm, her tongue teasing, her throat deep. He grasped her head and thrust into her until he came, and savored the sight of her licking him clean.

He helped her to her feet again and devoured her mouth until he could no longer taste the salty sweetness of his come.

They finished their shower and started to dress, when Persephone turned to him, holding the red silk of her gown to her chest.

“Do you…have something I can wear?”

He gave her an appreciative looked and answered, “What you have on will be just fine.”

The look she offered was a challenge. “You’d rather I wander your palace naked? In front of Hermes and Charon—”

He’d really rather not spend the day gouging out eyes.

“On second thought…” he said, and teleported to the only place he could to find a dress—Hecate’s cottage. When he arrived, the goddess sat at her table, a suite of cards spread before her. She didn’t look at Hades as she spoke.

“On the bed.”

He turned and found a green peplos waiting. He gathered the fabric and turned to Hecate.

“Have I told you that you’re the best?”

“I will note the date and time,” she said. “And remind you every chance I get.”

Hades chuckled and left, returning to Persephone.

“Will you allow me to dress you?”

She stared at the peplos and then at him. Part of the reason he asked was because he was not sure how often she wore one, and wrapping it might prove difficult, but it was also an excuse to touch her. After a moment, she swallowed and nodded, and Hades thought that just as much as he was reliving the past few hours of his life, she was too.

He set to work, making slow, tedious work of the process, wrapping it around her breasts, over each shoulder. She held the fabric while he pinned, and he pressed kisses to her shoulder, neck, and jaw. As he went in to tie her belt, his mouth descended on hers, and he spent several minutes kissing her, his tongue moving languidly over hers.

Finally, he pulled away, threading his fingers with hers, and led her to the dining room. It was a room he rarely used, save on very rare occasions when he hosted one of the Divine in his realm. Still, it was meant to impress, with diamond-encrusted chandeliers, gold dining chairs, and an ebony banquet table hewn from obsidian sourced from the Underworld.

“Do you actually eat in here?” Persephone asked. He could not place the tone of her voice, but he got the sense that she felt it was just as outrageous as he did. Still, Hades knew what it was to compete with the gods, and while he detested it, he was not above—or below—illustrating his wealth and power.

Hades smiled at her. “Yes, but not often. I usually take my breakfast to go.”

Once they were seated, his staff bustled into the room, bringing trays of fruit, meat, cheese, and bread. Minthe followed. It was impossible for Hades to ignore the distinct tap of her heels against the marble floor. He didn’t look at the nymph as she approached, or as she took up space between him and Persephone. He could feel her judgement and her anger, no doubt having heard how he had carried Persephone to his chambers the night before.

“My lord. You have a full schedule today.”

“Clear the morning.”

“It’s already eleven.” Her voice was tight, betraying her frustration.

He honestly could not care less about the time or his obligations at this very moment. He had just seen months’ worth of agonizing fantasies come to life. This was the morning after, and what a morning it had been already. He was going to enjoy this; he would revel in it as he had reveled in war long ago.

He focused on Persephone, and as he filled his plate, asked, “Are you not hungry, darling?”

“No.” She looked at him sheepishly. “I…usually only drink coffee for breakfast.”

Somehow, that didn’t surprise him. He thought about commenting on the nutrition, how she would need the energy after their night, but decided against it. Instead, he summoned her a cup of coffee.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Cream,” she answered with a smile that made him want to give her the sun and the moon. “Thank you.”

“What are your plans today?” he asked, popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.

She was silent for a moment, glancing at Minthe with a sullen expression, but as the silence stretched, her eyes widened as she realized he was talking to her. “Oh, I need to write—”

She stopped abruptly.

“Your article?”

He tried to keep the bitterness from leaking into his voice, but it was hard. He could not deny that he felt a slight betrayal at the thought that she would continue writing, even after the night they shared.

“I will be along shortly, Minthe,” he said, dismissing her, but when the nymph hesitated, he spoke firmly. “Leave us.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Minthe bowed and practically pranced out of the dining room. He almost snapped at her, but stopped himself, thinking, One battle at a time.