Page 63 of Hades

I wanted to deny his words, deny him, but that would mean he’d stop, and I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted more. Wanted to feel him everywhere for days after he left. Wanted to be so thoroughly fucked that I couldn’t walk without remembering the way he’d made me come. The way he’d made me his.

Because somewhere inside me, I knew he would leave again.

He would take what he wanted and then disappear like last time. Men like him didn’t stay. Didn’t commit. Didn’t choose women like me. Women with blood on their hands and poison in their gardens and darkness in their souls.

“Stay with me, Lettie,” he ordered, his voice rough and commanding. His fingers pumped inside me as his lips wrapped around my nipple again. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, and my head fell back against the house. The sound of the thump echoed in my skull. Pain ricocheted through me, but I pushed it back, letting Brock’s touch take over once more.

His thumb found my clit. Circled it. Pressed. My hips bucked against his hand. Desperate. Shameless. I didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not when he touched me like this. Not when he made me feel like I was the only woman in the world.

“Come for me, Lettie. Come for the King of the Underworld, my queen.”

His command pushed me over the edge. For a moment, I let my heart believe his words. Let myself believe he was who he said he was. That as the King of the Underworld, he wouldn’t bat an eye at the things I did.

The people I killed.

The vengeance I took.

The poison I brewed from my secret garden.

I let my heart believe there was someone who would understand. Someone who would accept me for who I was and not try to change me. Who would see my darkness but not let it overshadow the light.

Someone who, once they saw the darkness, would still look at me as though I were the sun.

My orgasm crashed through me like a wave. Violent. Consuming. I cried out, not caring who heard. Not caring about anything except the way his fingers curled inside me, hitting that spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids. My pussy clenched around his fingers. Pulsing. Throbbing. Soaking his hand with my release.

He held me in his arms until the spasms faded. My legs slowly fell to the porch floor, and if not for his body pressed against mine, I would have crumpled. My thighs trembled. My breath came in ragged gasps. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might crack my ribs.

I concentrated on regulating my breathing, keeping my eyes closed, afraid to let him see inside me. Afraid he’d see the truth. That I was falling for him. That I wanted him to stay. That I was terrified he would leave and even more terrified he wouldn’t.

I wasn’t foolish enough to think sex was ever casual. It was intimate. It was messy, filled with emotion and vulnerability. It was giving someone the power to destroy you and hoping they chose not to use it.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face.

My eyelids fluttered, obeying him instead of me. His eyes were dark. Intense. Predatory. They looked at me like I was prey and he was the hunter. Like he’d already caught me and was just deciding how to devour me.

“You’re mine,” he stated, as though he had the authority.

“Says who?” I asked defiantly. The words came out breathless. Weak. Not nearly as strong as I wanted them to be.

“Says the way you breathe when I’m near you. The way your body responds to my touch.” He placed a hand on my chest, over my heart. The heat of his palm burned through my skin. “Says the way your heart races when you hear my voice.”

“Maybe it’s fear,” I countered, keeping my face somber and my eyes dropped in submission until his finger lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“Are you afraid of my darkness, Lettie?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

“No,” I replied, my answer short, though there was so much more I wanted to say.

I’m afraid you’ll see mine.

I’m afraid you’ll see what I am and run.

I’m afraid you’ll see the blood on my hands and the poison in my veins and the bodies I’ve left behind, and you’ll look at me with disgust instead of desire.

I’m afraid you’ll see me and realize I’m not worth claiming.

Brock grinned, and I told myself he couldn’t read my mind, but I wasn’t so sure when he cradled my face in his hands and kissed me hard, devouring me like he couldn’t get enough. His tongue swept into my mouth. Claiming. Possessing. Branding me from the inside out. He only pulled back when his phone rang in his pocket. He pressed his forehead against mine and cursed.

He stepped back to answer the phone, and his body went rigid at whatever was said on the other end. I watched the tension ripple through his shoulders. Watched his jaw clench. Watched the softness in his eyes harden into something cold and dangerous.