Neon Gods (Dark Olympus 1)

To keep from staring up into his handsome face like a lovestruck fool, I peer at the comfortable couches and chairs—all leather—gathered strategically around the space as well as a number of pieces of furniture that I recognize by description if not by sight. A spanking bench. Saint Andrew’s cross. A frame that might be used to suspend a person from if one got creative with rope.

The room is also completely empty.

I twist in Hades’s arms to look at him. “What is this?”

He sets me down on the nearest couch, and I skim my fingers over the smooth leather. Like every other piece of furniture I can see, it’s flawless and pristine. And cold. So incredibly cold. It’s exactly what I would have expected from Hades, based on the myth surrounding him, and nothing like the man himself. I look up to find him watching me closer. “Why isn’t anyone here?”

Hades slowly shakes his head. “You thought I’d throw you to the wolves on the first night? Give me a little credit, Persephone.”

“I don’t have to give you anything.” That comes out too sharply, but I had built up my courage for this, and the letdown is leaving me dizzy. This place is leaving me dizzy. It’s nothing like I expected. He is nothing like I expected. “You have to stake your claim, and you have to do it now.”

“And you have to stop telling me what I have to do.” He looks around the room, expression contemplative. “You say you’re no virgin, but have you done any kink before?”

That takes the wind right out of my sails. No point in lying, at least not at this juncture. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” He shrugs out of his jacket and slowly rolls up his sleeves. He’s not even looking at me, isn’t paying attention to the way I devour each inch of revealed skin with my eyes. He’s got nice forearms, muscled and tattooed, though I can’t make out the design. It looks like swirls, and it takes me several long moments to realize the tattoos are moving around scars.

What happened to this man?

He sits next to me, keeping a full cushion between us. “There are some preliminary questions I need answered.”

That surprises a laugh out of me. “I didn’t realize this was an entrance interview.”

“Hardly.” He shrugs, looking like a king with the way he unapologetically takes up more than his fair share of space. It’s not even his body—he’s not particularly huge. It’s his presence. It fills this large room until I can barely breathe past it. Hades is watching me too closely, and I have the uncomfortable feeling that he’s clocking every single one of my micro expressions.

He finally motions around the room. “This arrangement might have a purpose beyond pleasure, but I’m not interested in traumatizing you. If you’re going to fuck me, you might as well have a good time, too.”

I blink. “That’s so very considerate of you, Hades.”

My sarcasm rolls right off him like water off a duck’s back. Though I am certain his lips twitch. “Answers are yes, no, maybe.”

“I—”

“Bondage.”

My body goes hot at the thought. “Yes.”

“Fucking in front of people.”

No. But that answer isn’t the truth. The truth is the very idea sets me aflame. I look at his face, but he’s not offering me a single thing. No encouragement. No judgment. Maybe that’s why I’m able to answer honestly. “We already talked about this. Yes.”

“It pays to be sure.” He goes on like that. Him naming thing after thing and me trying to answer as honestly as I can. Most of these things, I’ve never thought about too hard outside of fiction. I know what makes me hot and squirmy in the books I read, but the possibility of acting it out in reality is almost too much to contemplate.

The conversation, if one can call it that, is hardly comfortable, but it reassures me all the same. He really is doing the proper homework instead of throwing me into the deep end. I can’t remember the last time I was the recipient of focus this intense; the realization has heat working its way through me in slow surges, and my breath picks up at the thought of acting out all the things Hades names.

He finally sits back, expression contemplative. “That’s enough.”

I wait, but his gaze is a thousand miles away. I might as well not be in the room. I open my mouth but decide against interrupting wherever his thoughts have gone. Instead, I stand and turn for the nearest kinky furniture. It looks a bit like a less soulless version of the table you sit on at the doctor’s, and I want to see exactly how it works.

“Persephone.”

The snap in his tone has roots growing from my soles and freezing me in place. I glance over my shoulder. “Yes?”