A Touch of Ruin (Hades & Persephone 2)

“For now,” he said, his voice tightened, and his chest rose and fell with his anger, but instead of leaving, he moved toward her. She held her ground, unafraid. Lifting her chin and glaring at him.

“Who brought you here?” he asked.

“A taxi.”

“You think I won’t find out?”

“I have free will. I chose to come here of my own accord.”

“A choice that cannot go unpunished,” he said, and reached for her.

Instinctually, Persephone pushed his hands away. His eyes gleamed. “Are you telling me no?”

She knew if she said no, he would stop, but she couldn't deny she wanted to see his punishment through. It would mean intense pleasure and it would be angry and rough and primal, and she needed release.

She shook her head once, and then Hades spun her around to face the mirrored wall. She used it for support as he bent her forward and watched him in the reflection. He nudged her legs apart and lifted her skirt, eyes hungry.

His hand brushed across her skin, and then he swatted her ass. She yelped, more from surprise than pain, and Hades glanced up, meeting her gaze in the mirror before drawing her underwear to her ankles, and helping her step out of them. Her core tightened in anticipation as he shoved them in his pocket.

She gasped when his hand dipped between her thighs, her back arched as his fingers teased. She was molten for him—she didn’t even need the foreplay.

Hades inhale was a hiss. “So fucking wet. How long have you been like this?”

A moan stuck in her throat as she answered.

“Since I got here,” she said. “I wanted you on the dance floor. I willed you to manifest from the dark, but you weren’t there.”

“I’m here now,” he said, and bent to kiss her shoulder, down her back, and then her bottom all the while his finger curled, going deeper while his other hand worked her clit in soft, aching circles. She could barely breathe, focusing on the feel of him inside her, mindless with need.

“Hades,” she begged. “Please.”

He withdrew and Persephone gave a frustrated cry. She started to twist toward him. She felt rabid. She needed release and if he would not offer it, she would chase it herself.

But Hades’ hands clamped down on her hips.

“Stay,” he commanded, and she glared at him in the mirror.

He offered a devilish smirk. “It wouldn’t be punishment if I gave you what you wanted when you demand it.”

She stuck her chin out and said, “Don’t pretend you don’t want me.”

“Oh, I’m not pretending,” he said as he unzipped his trousers, took out his cock, and entered her from behind. Persephone’s breath caught in her throat. Was it possible Hades was somehow thicker? She took him in one, quick thrust, a guttural sound escaped her throat as he pumped into her.

At first it was like Hades wasn’t sure what to touch—his hands clasped her breasts, her stomach, her hips. Then he wrapped a fistful of her long hair around his hand like a bandage and pulled her head back so he could kiss her mouth. When he released her, his thrusts became languid and she felt him in the bottom of her stomach.

“This is for us,” he said. “You will share this with no one else.”

All Persephone could manage was a breathy whine. She felt the intensity of his words like she felt the rawness of his sex inside her. His arm cut into her stomach as he held her in place, and her nails dug into his skin.

“Some things are sacred to me,” Hades’ breath grew ragged, but he kept speaking, his words interlaced with Persephone’s moans. “This is sacred to me. You are sacred to me. Do you understand?”

Persephone nodded, sweat beading on her forehead and her brows drew together in a hard line. She w

as barely holding onto her sanity.

“Say it,” he ordered. “Say you understand.”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, gods-dammit. I understand! Make me come, Hades!”