The expensive material of his suit was buttery soft beneath my hands, and I felt how muscular he was as he shifted slightly and leaned forward.

  His lips were precariously close to mine, so I smelled the soap on his skin and felt the heat emanating from his body.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said slowly, enunciating each word as if he didn’t want me misunderstanding. “You’re going to strip, sit on the table, and spread your legs.” My heart thundered, and he slowly smiled. “And I’m going to enjoy my breakfast as I stare at your pussy. Get on the table, Bunny.”

  After what we’d done, I shouldn’t feel shy about anything. Hades had seen every intimate aspect of my life.

  He pushed his plate aside, moved his chair back, and spread his legs wider to give me more space. Then he watched me like a hawk.

  Getting on the table was harder than it should have been, but I was very aware of every move and flex of my naked form, as I had to move between his thighs in order to sit right before him.

  I was burning alive with my desire. He wasn’t even touching me—hadn’t laid a finger on me—yet I was ready and willing for anything he demanded.

  I was so wet, my juices coated my inner thighs in a slippery, filthy display.

  Long moments passed as we just looked at each other, me feeling like I’d just run a marathon for how hard I was breathing. A light sheen of sweat covered my body, my nipples ached, and I was on the verge of moaning out my need because I wanted him to touch me.

  Yet, Hades was unaffected, his respirations calm, steady, his face showing nothing.

  “Move back on the table, Bunny. Enough that you can spread your thighs and brace the heels of your feet on the edge.” The inclination of his voice was as if he were talking about the weather, not asking me to bare my pussy to him as if I were an art exhibit.

  I flattened my hands on the table and pushed myself back enough so I could put the heels of my feet on the edge, just like he’d ordered.

  I focused on the detailing of the trim that ran around the ceiling, then moved my gaze along the light fixture directly above me.

  “Open wider for me. Let Daddy get a good look.”

  I did what Hades wanted, spreading my thighs so my pussy was on full display, so my lips parted and the cool air brushed along them.

  And as the seconds felt like they turned to minutes and Hades didn’t speak, didn’t touch me, I finally tore my gaze from above to chance a look at him.

  He hadn’t moved, his body still relaxed in his chair, his coffee mug in hand as he stared at my pussy and drank.

  My pulse was throbbing in my clit, and I’d long since grown numb to the fact there was a steady stream of my juices sliding down my pussy and the crack of my ass.

  The linen tablecloth beneath me was damp because of it.

  “Are you going to touch me or just look?”

  “Just look, baby. Just. Fucking. Look.” He slowly lifted his gaze from between my legs to look at my face. “You have the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen. A damn work of art. Let me enjoy basking in the fact no other man will ever see it but me.”

  And so he did just that, and the longer he stared at me, the more turned on I got.

  “You’re making such a mess. The tablecloth is soaked.”

  I started biting my lip, wanting to have just a stream of his warm breath along my clit. That alone would surely get me off.

  My nipples hurt and were hard and tight because all I could imagine was having Hades lean forward and suck on them.

  He rose from the chair and just stood there for a moment, looking down at me. I allowed myself to take in his huge, imposing form, and across his wide shoulders and broad chest that blocked out everything behind him. I continued staring along his narrow waist and the muscles I could see clearly defined under the expensive material of his white shirt.

  And when my gaze landed on the massive erection he sported, I couldn’t hold in my moan.

  I was attracted to him in the most primal way a woman could be toward a man.

  I’d had Hades, yet I felt so starved, like he hadn’t fucked me multiple times already.

  “Lean all the way back, elbows on the table.”

  I instantly obeyed, and he was kneeling between my legs, hands on my inner thighs as he kept me open.

  “Ask me to suck your clit until you come.”

  “Please, Hades. Please suck my clit until I come.”

  He blew that warm stream of air along my pussy, and I let my head fall back as I moaned.

  “Ask me the way I want to hear it.” He spanked my clit, and I cried out. I didn’t care how loud I was, and if the staff could hear. I wanted to get off so badly I’d do anything he wanted.

  “I want Daddy to suck on my clit and make me come.”

  His grunt was primal and feral, and when he sucked that bundle into his mouth, I moaned so loud my ears rang.

  I was right on the precipice of getting off when I felt the coldness of the blade skate down my inner thigh. I’d been in such a hazy cloud of arousal that I didn’t even remember setting it down.

  My eyes flew open, and I watched as Hades moved the knife down my leg to my ankle, and back up until he pressed the sharp tip to that soft junction where my pussy and thigh met.

  My mouth dropped open, and he sucked harder. It was when he added pressure to the blade, cut my skin, that I tumbled over the edge. And it was the sight of that little bead of red dripping along my alabaster skin that had me flying higher than I’d ever been.

  And the entire time, it was Hades’ praise and his worship of my body that kept me in euphoria.

  Chapter 25

  Persephone

  At first, I didn’t know what startled me awake. But then I heard the harsh groan come from Hades and turned my head to see him supine, a frown furrowed across his darkly handsome face.

  “Hades?” I whispered his name and shifted my body so I was facing him now.

  I was about to reach over and gently wake him, when he suddenly shouted out harshly. I snatched my hand back on instinct, mindful he was clearly lost in a nightmare.

  After a second, he relaxed once more, and I breathed out slowly. I didn’t know if it was a good idea to wake him and to pull him from the nightmare he was currently trapped in.

  But when he started murmuring again, his face looking as if he were in pain, I pushed myself up slightly. I braced my hands on the mattress, supporting my upper body off the bed as I stared down at him.

  The sheet was pooled around his waist and his tattooed, cut torso was on display. The sliver of moonlight that pierced through the window washed the room in a blue glow, as if it couldn’t help itself from reaching him.

  He groaned in his sleep, the furrow between his eyes deepening, his hands gripping the sheets.

  “Hades?” I whispered softly and went to touch him on the chest, his skin damp from sweat. And then he was shooting up in bed, a harsh sound leaving his chest as he turned his head and looked at me.

  I snatched my hand back, now frozen in place as he stared into my eyes. But I felt like he wasn’t really looking at me. He was looking through me.

  “Hades? It’s me. Are you okay? Hades, wake up,” I said softly and reached out, cupping the side of his cheek, the scruff having grown overnight. Faster than I anticipated, he growled low, like a feral animal, and reached out to wrap his hand around my neck.

  Hades pushed me back on the bed and used his much bigger body to keep me pinned on the mattress. I made a startled sound—as much as I could with his fingers tight around my neck. I clawed at him, trying to pry them away, trying to suck in some much-needed oxygen.

  I grew dizzy. I couldn’t breathe. And then I brought my hand hard across his face, slapping him with so much force, and with every ounce of strength I had, his head whipped to the side.

  He blinked rapidly, his vision clearing right before he took a shuddering breath. And then he glanced down and into my eyes. His gaze slid down to where he was gripping my throat. A look of horror crossed his face as he ripped his body away from mine so suddenly he nearly tumbled off the bed.

  Hades stood and moved several feet away from where I still lay on the bed. His chest was pumping so rapidly, and he kept clenching and relaxing his hands. I didn’t dare say anything, just rubbed my throat. I swallowed, the feeling raw, my focus never leaving him.

  I let him be for long moments, watching him work through whatever he had just experienced. He stayed silent, but brooding, and then he started pacing, completely naked, his hard body broken up by the shadows and the small sliver of moonlight. I couldn’t help but think about how beautiful he was.

  “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He exhaled and rubbed his hand over the back of his head as he walked over to the window and pulled the curtain aside. I could see the French doors and the small balcony right beyond them. The moon was full tonight, big and round, and glowing brightly as he stared up at it.

  Finally, I licked my lips and said, “What were you dreaming about?” Whatever it was, it had to have been terrifying, suffocating him. It had such a tight grip on him he hadn’t even realized what he was doing to me.

  I didn’t think he’d ever answer. But as he leaned his shoulder against the window, staring out at the grounds, I knew he was taking this moment for himself. I could see the wheels in his mind turning, even if he refused to meet my gaze.

  I wrapped myself with the blanket and just waited, feeling the sheets move against my bare skin, hearing his soft breathing across the room.

  “My father was a bastard,” he finally said. He stood there naked, the shadows of moonlight caressing his skin.

  He looked like one of those Greek statues chiseled out of marble. All hard lines and severe planes. He was absolutely beautiful.

  A fallen angel. The very devil himself.

  “He started beating me when I was five years old.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath, my gaze immediately going to his back. I couldn’t quite see the scars because of the thick shadows playing intimately around him, but I knew they were there.

  “Hate and pain were my companions as a child.”

  I could see his jaw work, feel the anger pour from him.

  “I learned from an early age the only person I could trust or rely on was myself. But even I couldn’t stop myself from taking pain. It’s like I absorbed that shit, needed it to survive because it was the only thing I’d ever known in life.”

  Hades ran a hand over his jaw, his bicep flexing. But still he didn’t stare at me. He looked out the window as if he were lost in his thoughts.

  “It didn’t take long for Zachariah to beat me, too.”

  For a moment, I couldn’t compute what he said.

  My father used to beat him?

  Out of all the things I’d imagined about why they hated each other, that hadn’t been one of them.

  “So I covered each one of those scars with my own. Dark slashes, designs, and scenes of how I felt on the inside, now projected on the outside.”

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. I was shaking my head, even though he wasn’t looking at me. “I don’t believe my father would be a monster.” I denied it because how could that be true?

  At my silence, he turned and looked at me, a sardonic smile curving his full lips.

  “The man who was your father isn’t the man I knew. He wasn’t soft or gentle. He wasn’t a brother. Zachariah was cold, hard, and with the help of our father, they beat me until the only thing I knew was pain.” He gripped his neck, his biceps flexing. “I let them think I was nothing, that I could be nothing. But I harbored all that anger and hatred deep inside of me until I rose from the ashes.”

  He faced me then, holding out his arms, the muscles flexing, all that unrestrained masculine power on display.

  “You want to know the type of man your father and grandfather were? Let me tell you a story, Bunny.”

  Chapter 26

  Hades

  The fist came at me so hard and suddenly that my entire body was thrown back. I stumbled to stay upright, but a wave washed through my head, dizziness clouding everything around me.

  I struggled to right myself as I crashed into the wall.

  I gripped the brick, my fingers raw, bloody, and the skin torn. But I didn’t cry. At fifteen years old, I was bigger than all the men my father put me up against. All I did was eat, sleep, and train.

  My tutoring was done by teachers of my father’s choosing. He wouldn’t even allow me to attend a normal school, not like Zachariah.

  No, he’d be too ashamed to allow that shit, wanting to use me as a weapon to make him more money.

  But the man my father put me up against tonight wasn’t like any of the other ones I fought. He was a head taller than me, so stocky and muscular that he hardly had a neck. He cursed at me in Russian, spitting at my feet and cracking his knuckles. He grinned sadistically.

  His tattoos were ones I’d seen plenty of times covering the men who watched these fights. Prison tattoos that told the story of the underground.

  “You stupid fucking piece of shit,” my father shouted, his face red as he glared at me.

  He had a lot of money riding on this fight, but I felt drunk from all the hits and couldn’t even walk straight. The Russian had hit me twice upside the head. I was sure he rattled something, loosened my brain so it just slammed against my skull every time I moved.

  “Get back in there.” My father pointed back to the center of the room. When I weaved, he grabbed my arm roughly and tossed me back toward the Russian.

  My opponent grinned, his mouth tinged red from the one and only shot I got to his jaw. He turned and spit out a mouthful of pink-colored saliva. He crooked his finger at me. I could smell the anticipation coating him.

  He swung out but I dodged and ducked. He was big but fast. I landed a few hits to his kidneys, and felt my own sadistic pleasure rise when he grunted from the impact.

  I kept landing hit after hit, and I felt fucking optimistic that this wouldn’t be the first fight I lost. I was high on it.

  Maybe Father and Zachariah would see me as an equal if I took this big fucking bastard down? Maybe they’d realize I wasn’t a lowly piece of shit, and part of the family? A real Cronus.

  It was that moment of arrogance, that sliver of confidence, that had me picturing all the things I’d never have in life, but had always wanted.

  The Russian barreled into me, shoulder checking me so hard I crashed to the ground, my head cracking back on the asphalt.

  I was dazed, confused. He had his hand wrapped around my throat, hauling me up so just the tips of my toes touched the ground. I felt something warm and wet sliding down the back of my neck, and I blinked furiously to try to get my focus to correct. I couldn’t hear anything but this rush in my ears.

  I could see the Russian’s mouth moving but I couldn’t hear anything.

  The crowd was going crazy, violence-lust saturating the air. I knew what they wanted. They wanted blood. They wanted mine. They screamed for a body to be on the ground, broken and ruined.

  And I knew at that moment I would be that body. My father wouldn’t allow the Russian to kill me, not when he still had so much use for me.

  The big fucker slammed his forehead against mine. There was a crack of pain and the instant feeling of blood slipping down my temples. All I could smell was copper. It filled my nose, almost suffocating me in the aroma of metal.

  I finally blacked out.

  My body ached, my bones and muscles screaming. I shifted slightly and realized I was on something hard. The ground.

  “The piece of shit is awake.”

  It was Zachariah who spoke, the venom and acid in his voice so strong it should have burned my flesh. It sure as fuck felt like it. But I was so used to it, so used to the malice thrown my way.

  My brother had been poisoned by our father for so many years there was no changing him, no making him see that we were stronger together than against one another.

  I’d already come to that resolve, knew I couldn’t count on anyone but myself.

  At that moment, I knew I’d play their games. I wouldn’t let them break me. And when the time came—when my time came—I’d take them down.

  I would forever be alone, and I used that as a shield, a wall that I built brick by brick. It was the only way to protect myself.

  Someone kicked me hard in the ribs and I groaned, rolling onto my side as I wrapped my arms around my middle.

  My body felt like a meat tenderizer had gone to work over me, and I was pretty sure if I looked at my flesh, it would be covered with black-and-blue marks.

  “Wake up, Hades.” My father spit out the words, and I was surprised he used my given name instead of one of the other colorful insults he liked to taunt me with.

  I blinked my vision into focus and then forced myself to get into a sitting position. The pain was excruciating, but I gritted my teeth and pushed past the wave of nausea that threatened to make me pass out.

  I recognized where we were. It was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Desolation, New York. Butcher and Sons was an old slaughterhouse that was now used for the illicit business my father ran on the underside of Cronus Enterprises.

  I knew this was what he trained me for. He wanted me to do the gritty work because he and Zachariah were too good to get their hands dirty with the filth they associated with.

  I must’ve been out for a while for them to bring me to Butcher and Sons. It was a good forty-five minute drive from where we’d been.

  “I said get up,” my father growled and I staggered to my feet, swaying as my legs threatened to give out.

  I was dying of thirst and my head throbbed something fierce. I was also confident a couple of my ribs were broken.

  When I looked at Zachariah, he stood beside our father. They both flanked a long battered table. And littering the top was an assortment of implements they would use on me tonight.