Neon Gods (Dark Olympus 1)

I hope to the gods I never have to find out.

But tonight? Tonight is just for us.

“I’m not nervous,” I finally say. “If you’re not ready—”

“Hades, I’m ready. I’m more than ready.” She looks at the door leading into the playroom. It’s too soundproofed to be able to hear the people gathered behind it, but we both know they’re present. Waiting.

Persephone takes a breath. “How do I look?”

It’s another question she’s asked half a dozen times since I walked into our room and found her getting dressed. “You look like perfection.” It’s the truth. She’s left her long, blond hair loose and done something to give it waves, and she’s wearing Juliette’s newest creation. It’s another black dress that hugs her body, dripping down her neck in a halter top and skimming over breasts and stomach and hips to flutter about the tops of her thighs. It’s also backless, and every time she turns around, I have to fight the urge to go to my knees and kiss the dip at the bottom of her spine. “Little siren—”

“I’m ready.” She bounces up and presses a quick kiss to my lips. “I’m really ready. I promise.”

I take her at her word. “Then let’s go.”

We’ve already talked about how this will go. I’ve played it out for her step by step. There are times when surprise is part of the game, but I don’t want anything to ruin Persephone’s night. Our night. Not when this feels like a particularly meaningful step in the midst of a pair of lives that have been turned upside down.

I lead the way into the room. Once again, it’s set up to my specifications. The furniture surrounding the dais has been moved back a bit, a clear indication that this is meant to be a show and not an invitation to participate. The lights are down low and every spot is filled.

Persephone’s grip on my hand is loose and trusting, and she happily follows me as I weave through the chairs and couches to the dais. Before I can give her one last chance to change her mind, she steps easily up and into the light. She gives me a look over her shoulder as if she knew exactly what I’d been about to do. I bite back a grin and follow her up.

The lights give a different sort of privacy than the shadows do. I can see every inch of Persephone, but the rest of the room is a blurred glare. Another adjustment that can be made later on if this becomes a repeat thing; tonight, everything is orchestrated to ensure she has the best time possible.

I point to the center of the dais. “Stand there.”

“Yes, Sir.” She says it primly, as if there isn’t a wicked smile already curving her lips.

I circle her slowly, building her anticipation. Gods, she’s so fucking perfect, I can barely believe that she’s mine. That she’s made me hers as surely as if she’d tattooed her name on my very soul. I would do anything for this woman. Conquer the upper city. Knock the other Thirteen from their ivory towers. Give another endless interview with a gossip columnist.

I flick the hem of her dress, making it flutter around her thighs. “If I flip up this dress, am I going to find that you have no panties on?”

Her smile widens. “Only one way to find out.”

“In a moment.” I manage not to grin at her blatant disappointment and step closer to slide my hands up her arms, over her shoulders, to cup her face. I lower my voice, speaking just to her. “You have your safe word, but if you want this to stop at any point, just tell me. It stops.”

She lightly grips my wrists. “I know.”

“Good.”

“Hades?” Persephone smiles at me. “Would you like to see the best thing about this dress?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, the little brat, before reaching to the back of her neck and unclasping it. The fabric flutters down her body and floats to the ground, as delicate as a flower petal.

She’s not wearing a single thing beneath it.

I take her hand and lift it over her head, urging her into a slow spin. “You want to put on a show, little siren? Let them see.” I enjoy the way a blush steals across her golden skin in response.

I drop her hand long enough to walk to the edge of the dais and grab a chair I had placed there earlier this afternoon. It’s made of black metal with a wide seat and a back just high enough to bend over comfortably.

I motion for her to sit in the chair. “Spread your legs, Persephone.”

Her breath is coming in little gasps now, and when I place my hand on the back of her neck, she leans hard into my touch. Because what my little siren needs isn’t only to be on display; it’s to have me grounding her while she is.