Page 45 of Hades

“Why are they here?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to find out before you started screaming for me. What do you need?”

“I need to know why they’re here.”

I rolled my eyes at her theatrics. “I’ll let you know when I know. Now please just stay quiet and I’ll fix your tea.”

I left the room to my mother muttering about inconsiderate people showing up unannounced, as if it somehow inconvenienced her. As if she did anything but sit in that damn chair all day. I left my guest on the front porch and headed to the kitchen to make my mother’s afternoon tea, needing a few minutes to compose myself before facing him again. Before I did something stupid like climb him like a tree.

Only, when I entered the kitchen, he was already there leaning against the counter, smiling at me. Predatory. Knowing. Like he could see every filthy thought running through my head.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I came to see my queen.”

I ignored the way my stomach fluttered when he called me his queen. Ignored the heat pooling low in my belly. The ache between my thighs. “You can’t just walk into someone’s home without being invited,” I said, pulling the tea bags from the cabinet and filling the kettle with water. My hands shook. Just slightly. Just enough that I knew he noticed.

He caged me in against the sink, his hands gripping either edge as he ran his nose up the side of my neck and whispered, “I’m not a vampire. I don’t need permission.”

My thighs clamped together as I tried to swallow my gasp, hoping he didn’t notice the effect he had on me. The chuckle against the side of my head told me I wasn’t subtle enough. Told me he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Knew exactly how wet I was getting just from his proximity.

He moved easily when I turned to set the kettle on the stove. I faced him and bit my lip. He was so damn sexy, with his long hair hanging down, his leather cut covering his broad chest, and the denim jeans that hugged his thighs. Even the scar that framed the side of his face didn’t detract from his looks. If anything, it made him sexier. Dangerous. A warning I knew I should heed but wouldn’t.

And then there was the unmistakable bulge between his legs. Thick. Hard. For me.

“Who are you?” I asked, realizing I didn’t even know his name.

He chuckled. “Hades.”

I glanced over at Cerberus, then back at Hades. The God of the Underworld. The handler of Cerberus, the three-headed hellhound who guarded the gates of hell.

Persephone’s mate.

I swallowed down the feeling bubbling inside me, afraid to name what I was experiencing. Afraid to acknowledge that this man, this stranger, had already burrowed under my skin.

“Your name is Hades?”

He nodded as he stalked closer, eyeing me like a treat he’d been denied for too long. Like he wanted to devour me whole.

“You can call me Brock,” he said before his lips found mine again. This time his hands gripped my hips, fingers digging into my skin as he pulled me against his hard length, letting me feel exactly how much he wanted me. How much he needed me.

The moan escaped involuntarily, and he growled his approval. A sound that vibrated through my chest and settled between my legs. My hands clutched his arms, desperate to ground myself when all I wanted was to float away. When all I wanted was to wrap my legs around his waist and let him take me right here against the counter.

His lips moved to my neck, and I closed my eyes as his fingers danced up my sides, stopping just beneath my breasts. My arms went around his neck as he lifted me onto the counter, pushing his body between my legs until he pressed against my core. The pressure was perfect. Maddening. Not nearly enough.

His hands returned to my hips, tugging me closer. Grinding me against him as my breathing quickened to match my heartbeat, which threatened to burst from my chest. Heat flooded my system. My skin felt like it was on fire. Every nerve ending alive and screaming for more.

The kettle’s whistle pierced the air as Brock whispered, “Come for me, my queen.” My body felt like it split in two. Cleaved by my orgasm. White light exploded behind my eyelids. My thighs clamped around his hips as pleasure rolled through me in waves. He held me in his arms as I floated back down to earth, as I remembered how to breathe.

My breath hitched when I caught him watching me, studying my face as I panted. His eyes were dark. Hungry. Satisfied in a way that made me shiver.

“So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”

I didn’t have words. I had plenty of questions, though. Like, what the hell was going on? But my brain had short-circuited the moment my panties flooded with arousal. The moment this stranger made me come with nothing but friction and his voice in my ear.

Brock stepped back, leaving me on the counter as he removed the kettle from the heat and poured it into the teacup. He dipped the bag a few times, then picked up the sugar. He held it up with a silent question, and I nodded.

“Three,” was all I could mutter through my confusion. He held up the cream and I nodded again. Brock poured some into the cup and swirled it around with the spoon. The domesticity of the moment was jarring. Surreal. This man who’d just made me come was now preparing my mother’s tea like it was the most natural thing in the world.