A Game of Retribution (Hades Saga #2)(8)

She was a dream—one he never wished to wake from.

He drew each of her legs up, so her heels rested on the table, and kissed the inside of each of her knees. The skirt of her dress was pooled at her hips, and he pressed her legs apart, exposing her hot flesh as his mouth closed over her clit.

She arched, her legs coming up to cradle his body, and while he liked the feel of her thighs against his face, the position did little for her pleasure and his access, so he pushed them down once more and continued to caress her with his tongue. She tasted warm and wet, and he was consumed by her as she writhed and moaned and whispered encouragement.

Then she stretched her leg, her foot rubbing his engorged flesh, and as much as he would have liked to free his sex and slide inside her, what he wanted most was to make her come.

And she was close.

Her body was a bowstring pulled taut, and Hades was desperate to feast, but his chase was hindered by a knock at the door.

Persephone tensed, and a wave of frustration roared through him.

“Ignore it,” he snapped, glancing up at her from where he still knelt, unceasing as he continued his work. His face grew hot, ears ringing as he pushed Persephone toward the edge, preparing to wring every bit of pleasure from her body, and in the aftermath, he would pour his own into her.

It was just as much a cycle of life and death—a give and take—one he would never bargain away.

The knocking sounded again.

“Lord Hades?”

“Go. Away.”

Another word from the other side of the door, and he would send whoever it was to Tartarus.

“It’s important, Hades.”

Fuck. He recognized the voice now—Ilias.

He straightened completely, and Persephone followed.

“A moment, my darling.”

He tried to keep his frustration at bay, but it was difficult given the nature of this interruption, made worse by Persephone’s roving eyes, which lifted from his hard cock to meet his gaze.

“You won’t hurt him, will you?” Her voice was low and silky, urging him to return.

“Not too terribly,” he said, though he was already weighing options.

He stepped away, gaze lingering on her flushed skin, the evidence of how hard he’d chased her orgasm, and slipped outside to find Ilias waiting.

“This better be important,” Hades hissed, “or I will send you to Tartarus

—a year for every word you speak. Choose carefully.”

Ilias did not seem fazed by Hades’s threat as he replied, “It’s urgent.”

Hades stared at the satyr for a moment, recognizing that he never summoned Hades unless absolutely necessary, which meant whatever had occurred was not good. He wondered if it had anything to do with Kal or Hera, and he stiffened at the thought.

“I will be along soon,” he said.

Ilias nodded. “I’ll be in security.”

That made Hades curious and slightly concerned, but he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he returned to the dining room before he could watch the satyr leave. Persephone had moved from her perch on the dining table and now stood, staring up at the ceiling. Hades wondered what she found so appealing, but he did not ask, remaining silent as she turned to face him.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, keeping her arms crossed tight over her breasts, as if she wished to put up some kind of wall between them. A wall he refused to allow.

He drew closer, and her hands went to his waist. “Yes,” he said. “And no.

Ilias has made me aware of a problem better dealt with sooner than later.”

“When will you be back?”

“An hour. Maybe two,” he guessed, depending on what Ilias wanted, but he did not wish to worry Persephone.

Disappointment darkened her eyes.

He placed a finger beneath her chin to hold her gaze. “Trust, my darling, that leaving you is the hardest decision I make each day.”

“Then don’t,” she said, and her arms wound around his waist, sealing their bodies together. “I’ll go with you.”

Her suggestion made him stiffen. Though he did not know what Ilias had to show him, he could not imagine anything good coming from Persephone’s presence in his work, at least aboveground.

“That is not wise.”

“Why not?”

“Persephone—”

“It’s a simple question.”

“It isn’t,” he snapped and regretted the loss of his temper as her eyes widened and her mouth hardened. He sighed. All he wanted to do was get this over with so he could return to her. Could she not see that?

“Fine,” she said and took a step away. Her distance felt like more than the loss of physical touch. “I’ll be here when you return.”

Was she only saying that to appease him?

“I will make it up to you,” he promised.

She arched a brow and, like a queen, commanded, “Swear it.”

He offered the slightest smile, his still-heavy cock spurring his mischief.

“Oh, darling. You don’t need to extract an oath. Nothing will keep me from

fucking you.”

Though it felt like sacrilege to leave her without having made her come.





Chapter III

Return of the Nymph

Hades met Ilias on the top floor of Nevernight, which was dedicated to security. It was a large room, but the walls and ceiling sloped inward to a shadowed point just like the exterior of the building. The room was awash in the pallid light of computer screens, illuminating the stern faces of Hades’s security team, though this was only a fraction. The others roamed the floors below and the dark alleys of the exterior, eyes peeled for anything untoward.