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I surge forward, moving out of the water. Persephone licks her lips, glancing nervously toward my cock once. Her pupils dilate, just a hair. Then she flushes and diverts her gaze.
She doesn’t leave, though. She just… waits.
I stalk up the beach, snatching my black boxer briefs off the ground and stepping into them. Once I have them on, I pick up my shirt. Persephone turns and her eye catches on the scars covering my back.
Her jaw goes slack. She reaches out, her fingers barely touching the back of my muscular arm. “What… what?”
“Stop,” I warn her, pulling away. My tone turns lethal. “Dinnae touch me.”
Her hazel eyes are wide with disbelief as she keeps looking. “Does… does that hurt?”
“It’s fine,” I hiss. I yank at my shirt, but my wet skin stops it on my forearms. It’s halfway on and my hands are shaky as they pull at the material. “Fucking hell.”
“Hades,” she says, her voice plaintive. “Wait. Please.”
At that, my breath seizes. I grimace at the ground, torn.
I want her to look away. I want her to not have seen the scars.
But her melodic voice, at just that soft timbre… that makes it hard to keep moving away from her.
Persephone looks me in the eye, moving her hand ever so slowly until her fingers touch the back of my arm. She waits, perhaps checking to see if I am going to cry out or lose my cool. But when I simply don’t react, I can feel the heat of her fingers tracing an arc across my back.
I have the sudden, violent urge to physically make her stop. To whirl, grab her hand, bend her fingers back until she cries out in pain.
But I don’t. I’m not my father.
I just stand here, my hand clenching into fists, my eyes sinking closed.
Persephone's voice is hesitant. Shaky, even.
“How did you get these scars, Hades?”
I weigh my options. Lie? Tell the truth? Something in between?
A minute passes while I wrestle with what to tell her. Finally, I just tell her what I am able to.
“I was a child,” I say, my voice gone to gravel. “Dinnae ask me for more.”
I feel the warmth of her hand dip to my lower back. Spreading her fingers, she trails her touch up my spine. “This is okay, right?”
I shiver. My thoughts are a tangled snare of dark, unnamed emotions. I can’t formulate any words. So, I just nod stiffly.
To be touched like this… Persephone's delicate fingers trace the lines of my scars as they arc across my flesh, back and forth. Almost no one has seen my scars since I was a kid.
To have this woman bear witness, to have her touch my back and ask me gentle questions about how they came to be…
It is both pleasurable to an extreme degree and at the same time deeply humiliating. My body almost hums at her innocent touch. But in the very next thought, I want to kill her for taking such liberties with me.
That doesn’t stop me from leaning into her touch. The sensation of her fingers touching the skin of my back… even the girls I fuck don’t touch me like this. I never take my shirt off, doing the deed quickly and in dark places where my wearing a shirt doesn’t really matter at all.
Persephone brings her other hand up, rubbing away a knot of tension just beneath my right shoulder blade. The sensation switches from heavenly to painful, then from overwhelming to eyes-rolling-up-in-my-skull blissful.
I can’t get enough.
Her touch is killing me.
I must have more of it.
