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Eros goes quiet for a beat. “What does that mean, Hades? Did ye already fuck her?” Then, softer: “Did it go badly?”
I snarl at him. “Mind yer own fucking business!”
He sighs, unperturbed. “If ye are looking for a way out, all ye have to do is say so. I’ll come and take care of her. Ye can go about yer own business. And I promise not to fuck her, if that’s what yer worried about…”
I hang up, gripping the phone and staring down at its face. It takes every bit of willpower not to whip the phone into the ocean and walk away.
By the time I return to the warehouse, it has been dark for an hour or so. I roll open the door to find Persephone standing in the well-lit work area, unpacking boxes.
She turns her head to see me walking in. Her nostrils flare. Her chin lifts, her eyes tightening just a little bit, her body language growing taut.
Then she turns back to opening and spreading out thick sheets of paper. As I walk to the bedroom, I catch a distinctly frosty wave radiating off of her.
She produces the white earbuds that came with her phone, pops them in her ears, and proceeds to turn the music up loud in her phone.
Glowering at her back, I realize that my whole body is tense. What I need is a shower.
The whole time I’m in the shower, I stand under the water and try not to think of how hot Persephone is. She’s hot when she’s angry, like she is right now.
But that has nothing on having her tied up and moaning underneath my body. The little gasping breath she sucked in right before her silky pussy began to spasm…
I swear, it was hotter than nuclear fission. Maybe that’s why I’m still hard just thinking about it.
Imagining what it would be like to actually fuck Persephone is actually so hot it overloads my senses. I can feel my brain shutting down every time I start to fantasize about feeling her legs clamp around my body as her slick little pussy fucking drains my balls.
I clench my teeth, jerking my thoughts away. This? This is why I can’t just fuck her.
She already owns as much of me as I can stand. And I can’t afford to lose my shit over some raven haired siren.
Not now.
Not ever.
When I’m out of the steamy shower, I take care with dressing myself. Black slacks. Black shirt. Black tie. Black socks and matching ass kicking boots.
I catch my hair behind my head and tie it back in a low ponytail. Looking down at my hands, I catch myself thinking that something has fundamentally changed. Something essential. Something important.
But what that thing might be, I can’t say.
Flexing both of my hands, I expel a breath. I have to talk to Persephone.
I should explain why what we did — what almost happened between us? That was a terrible choice.
For both our sakes, I have to keep my eyes on the prize and watch for any sign that we might have caught outside attention.
That’s the most important thing. It also happens to be what I am best at.
Pushing my cheek out with my tongue, I stalk over to the work area. Persephone looks up, her eyes narrowing. She doesn’t stop her task, standing paintbrushes upright and shoving them into mason jars.
I narrow my eyes on her hands. She is sorting the brushes by some mysterious method. Every once in a while, she stops, holds a brush up to the light. Then she makes some decision about it, sorting it into one of two piles.
The two piles seem almost identical to me. My lips flatten into a thin line as I walk up to the worktable, folding my arms and cocking my hip to rest against it.
She’s doesn’t acknowledge me in any way. Just glares at a pile of paint brushes like they have personally offended her.
I gesture for her to take out her earbuds. Persephone slows, taking one earbud out but leaving her music cranked up.
“Yes?” she asks. She is very careful not to look at me.
