Neon Gods (Dark Olympus 1)

I’m still processing that statement as I set my hand in his and allow him to assist me the mere twelve inches up onto the dais. It’s not high, but it gives the impression of looking down at the rest of the room. Of being on display. It doesn’t matter that there’s no one else here but us. Imagining all the chairs and couches filled has my heartbeat kicking into high gear.

Hades releases my hand. “Stay there a moment.”

I watch him weave through the furniture to a nondescript door tucked behind a carefully draped curtain. A few seconds later, a set of lights flick on over the dais. They aren’t particularly bright, but in the relative darkness, they immediately cut off my view of the room. I swallow hard. “You weren’t kidding about making a scene, were you?”

“No.” His voice comes from an unexpected direction—to my right and slightly behind me.

I turn to face him, but I can’t see much in the glare. “What is this?”

“Tell me your safe word.”

Not an answer, but did I really expect one? I can’t tell if he’s trying to scare me or if this truly is a preview of what he intends to do in front of an audience. I lick my lips. “Pomegranate.”

“Take off your dress.” This time, he speaks from somewhere in front of me.

My hands fall to the hem of the dress and I hesitate. I don’t think I’m shy, but every remotely sexual encounter I’ve had to date has been behind closed doors and mostly in the dark. The exact opposite of this experience. I close my eyes, trying to still the shaking in my body. This is what I want, what I asked for. I grip the hem and begin to lift.

Cool air teases my thighs, the lower curve of my ass, my hips.

“Persephone.” His voice is deceptively mild.

I can’t quite catch my breath. We haven’t even done anything, and I feel like my body is on fire. “Yes…Sir?”

“You’re not wearing anything under your dress.” He states it like he’s commenting on the weather.

I have to fight the urge to squirm, to drop the dress to cover my nakedness. “My borrowed wardrobe is missing a few items.”

“Is that the truth?” He steps out of the darkness and joins me on the dais, and it’s almost as if the light shies away from him. Hades circles me slowly, stopping at my back. He doesn’t touch me, but I can feel him there. “Or did you think you could tempt me into doing what you want?”

The thought had crossed my mind. “Would it work if I tried?”

He lifts my hair off the back of my neck. An innocent touch as such things go, but I feel like he’s doused me in gasoline and lit a match. Hades’s other hand drifts to brush the bared skin at my hip. “The dress, Persephone.”

I take a slow breath and continue easing it up my body. He’s perfectly still behind me, but I swear I can feel his gaze devouring each newly bared inch of skin as the fabric rises. It feels horribly intimate and also sexy beyond belief. I finally pull the dress over my head and, after the briefest hesitation, drop it on the floor.

There’s nothing hiding my body from him now.

I jump at the press of his fingertips to my upper arms. Hades chuckles darkly. “How do you feel?”

“Exposed.” Having to answer the question only makes the sensation more acute.

“You are exposed.” He trails his fingers up to my shoulders. “The next time we do this, every eye in the room will be on you. They’ll look at you and want you for their own.” And then he’s there, his body against mine, one hand lightly bracketing my throat. Not applying any pressure. It’s a simple touch of ownership that has me fighting not to curl my toes. “But you’re not theirs, are you?”

I swallow hard, the move pressing my throat more firmly against his palm. “No. I’m not theirs.”

“They can look their fill, but I’m the only one who gets to touch you.” His breath ghosts the shell of my ear. “I’m going to touch you now.”

I can’t stop shivering, and it has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. “You’re touching me right now.” Is that my voice, all breathy and low and filled with invitation? I feel like I’m floating above my body and yet devastatingly grounded in my flesh.

His hand drifts down to my sternum, tracing a line between my breasts. Still not where I suddenly desperately need him to be. He’s barely done anything and I can’t stop shaking. I bite my bottom lip hard and try to hold still as his fingers feather over my ribs and down my stomach. “Persephone.”

Gods, the way this man says my name. Like it’s a secret just between us. “Touch me.”