Drag Me Up

by RM Virtues

  Her eyes are unwavering as they meet his, and the two of them seem to stay that way, in soft silence, for ages. Even the wind has stopped blowing, as though it too holds its breath, awaiting some grand defining moment. At last, he looks away, his eyes falling upon the tray on the table, the pomegranates piled on the plate beside their wine glasses. Glancing between him and the fruit, she catches the slick movement of his tongue over his lips. He slowly reaches over into one of the pomegranate halves, scooping out some of the seeds. They glitter like rubies in the light, rich juices dripping down his fingers but never falling from his skin. The droplets cling to him as though they know nothing else, and never will.

  She can relate.

  “Do you want this?”

  She inhales, and her body tightens once more, an invisible cord winding around her chest. He isn’t speaking about the seeds when he asks this question, and she knows it as well as he does. She shivers against him, her voice now low and thick with anticipation.

  “Yes.”

  Her answer is simple, but it encases entire worlds, heavy as it lands in her lap. Every fiber of her being screams the affirmative again and again, leaving no room for denial, for doubt. He looks up at her. His eyes have darkened considerably. She imagines her own have as well. With his fingers suspended in the air between them, he asks once more, a subtle urgency underscoring the words.

  “Do you want this?”

  “Yes.” She doesn't hesitate this time. “Yes, I want this.” She is little more than scorched earth in the wake of her own desire. “I want you.”

  His hand moves in slow motion. He twists his fingers as they approach her lips, which part for him as though it is the most natural reaction they can have. He slides the seeds into her mouth and across her tongue. Her eyes flutter shut, and she envelopes him, teeth scraping the offering from his skin. A single drop finally breaks free of his draw in a way she never can, in a way she never wants to. It trickles down her chest through the valley of her breasts. It has yet to cool by the time it reaches her navel. Everything he touches is destined to burn, and burn forever.

  Though she is far too captivated by the taste on her tongue to worry about that. Dionysos’s wine is divine, but its flavor cannot even begin to hold a candle to the fresh fruit on Hades’ fingers. Light and sweet, yet it falls heavily into the pit of her stomach. Like a promise. It tastes like all of the things her mother warned her about with hints of all the lines she should never cross. It tastes like damnation and divinity and an unfailing devotion to both.

  And she wants more.

  She sucks his fingers clean, and she keeps sucking, the hand at her waist clamping down upon her. His nails bite at the skin barricaded behind her dress, her hips shifting against his thigh. She braces a hand against his stomach as he slowly pulls out of her mouth. Then he brings those same fingers to his own lips, taking them in and leaving her panting. Her own digits curl into his vest, the rigid fabric of the garment keeping her from him, but when she tries to move, the hand around her waist tightens. It takes everything in her to combat the whine climbing up her throat. She still winds up burying her face in his neck, and so she misses the moment when he extracts his fingers from his mouth and slips them beneath her dress.

  She gasps as those devious digits land on her inner thigh, tracing a path towards her heat. It takes her a breadth of a second to realize just how wet she is for him already, teeth sinking into the juncture of his neck as she fists the collar of his waistcoat. She has no clue which is more unnerving, the agility of his fingers or his impenetrable composure, but the stark mixture of both is enough to have her whimpering against his skin. His knuckles bump against her clit through her panties, which are soaked through without question. Her body writhes, helpless, against his immovable form, and she has to force her hips to remain in place, to keep from bucking against the exploration of his touch. Neither of them say a word, and not a word is needed, but if she could beg, she would. At the moment, her tongue has forgotten its purpose beyond collecting the salt upon his skin.

  He shows mercy at last —if one can call it that at all— gripping the center of her panties and brushing over her bare folds in a most tantalizing way. She gives into the need to roll her hips, but the moment she does, his grip on her thigh becomes bruising, holding her firmly in place. She beats a fist against his broad chest and feels the rumble of his laughter. She bites down harder on his neck. He never stops stroking her lips.

  “Hades…” she growls, tugging hard on his tie before she wraps it around her fist.

  “Yes?” he asks as though they’re out to fucking breakfast. “Did you need something?”

  “For you to stop - fucking teasing me.”

  “Ah, I see. And where are your manners? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Hades!”

  “Babygirl, I’m not sure what it is you’re asking of me. I-”

  She tears her face from his neck, pulling back enough to press her forehead to his. Her eyes bore into those dark pools with the embers burning at the bottom, but she does not waver.

  “I want you to fuck me - with those fingers you have in my panties.”

  “Ohh.”

  There is no warning before he plunges two of those fingers into her, pressing the pads of them into her walls so hard that she bucks her hips with a loud cry. Long and thick, he works them inside of her at a slow pace as she struggles to catch her breath. She claws at his chest, the hand that had been tucked between them now seeking perch in the back of his vest. He does not break eye contact, and it feels like a challenge. However, it’s a challenge she’s going to lose, by way of forfeit, because he is as good with that hand as he is with that tongue, and that belt, and that cock, and every other damn weapon he’s brandished against her. She’ll move into this Fates forsaken penthouse tonight if it means he keeps doing things like this to her.

  She wants to scream, to reprimand him for all of his continuous teasing, but her voice fails her. He drags her dress further up her thighs until he’s able to see what he’s doing. Then his thumb finds her clit, and all hope is lost. She cries out into the cool night air, squeezing her thighs around his hand. None of this perturbs him in the slightest, his concentration unscathed, and he merely pushes deeper into her as he strokes her throbbing ball of nerves. She grits her teeth, but soon enough, she is actively riding his fingers, seizing her pleasure and taking what she needs.

  She comes with a withering wail before she claims his mouth, conquering it with teeth and tongue alike. He reciprocates with a tangible hunger as he pulls out of her pussy, eliciting a groan. In the space she creates for the sake of breath, he brings those fingers between them. Again, it is his mouth that takes them, sucking them clean as his eyes lock on hers.

  She has never been so needy in her life.

  Even as her thighs continue to shake amidst the aftershocks, she adjusts her position so as to straddle him fully, and he doesn’t interfere this time. She fumbles for his belt, unbuckling it while he’s preoccupied with cleaning his palm. By the time he gets his hands back on her hips, she’s freed him from the confines of his boxers, and he’s pulsing in her hand. His swollen head glistens with arousal, and she licks her lips, torn between gratitude and greed. Her patience dissolves into nothing, and as much as she wants to taste him, she knows damn well where she needs him. He has no one to blame but himself.

  He seems to read her inner turmoil, his lips curling and his eyes flashing, but he only squirms beneath her in his seat, making no move to start or stop her. She surges forward and kisses him again. Then she impales herself on his thick cock and catches his groan between her teeth like a prize. There is no easing into it now. She rides him with reckless abandon, throwing her head back as her hands grip his neck and head. His hand leaves her hip and leaves her cold, but she gasps when it yanks down the front of her dress. He shoves up the fabric of her bra until his mouth finds her breast, teeth tugging her nipple before taking it in to ravish it with his tongue. It’s carn
al and crazed, and she revels in every ounce of it. She loves to see him lose control.

  She calls out, her nails unforgiving against his scalp as she bounces higher, harder, faster upon him. Soon, he has both hands on her hips again, guiding her up and down his shaft. She spreads her legs wider, as wide as she can within the outline of the chair, taking him deeper than ever. Her eyes roll back, her sensitive clit glancing off of him and eliciting a guttural groan. She would risk it all for this. There is no doubt left about it.

  His mouth moves to her other breast, and she is careening towards the edge. His fingers spread her ass and strain her folds, and she knows his trousers must be soaked through by now. She growls his name through gritted teeth, but he only returns it around her nipple, slapping her ass once and nearly shoving her into oblivion. She only just holds on although she doesn’t know why. Perhaps it is because she hates how fucking easy it is for him to make her come. Perhaps it’s because he’ll be behind two orgasms. And maybe it’s a mixture of both.

  Tearing herself away from his mouth with a whimper, she grasps his head and tilts it upward so he can look at her.

  “Come with me,” she demands, but her voice breaks as he hits her spot again. Still, she clenches her jaw and braces herself enough to make it again. “Come with me - Hades. Now.”

  He nods. All he can do is nod, his eyes fathomless and unfocused, his nails clawing at her skin. He all but lifts her now, almost all the way off of his dick before slamming her back down over and over in quick succession, A raucous moan rips from her throat before she manages to sink her teeth into his shoulder. She fails to hang on though when he grabs her hair and yanks her head back.

  “You want to come with me-” He breathes. “You’re going to do it - out loud, Persephone, so that you - and anyone else who listens knows who this pussy belongs to..”

  Bastard! Another blinding light precedes this orgasm as well. It turns her moan to a shriek and her body to a tremor. Hades turns his head into her neck, roaring against her skin and sending wave after wave of shivers through her lithe frame. His load is hot and thick as it fills her, joining her arousal before it spills out over her thighs and onto his lap. They ride it out in misjudged movements and rogue ruts, but nothing has ever felt so good. She didn’t think he could top last night. Now she isn’t sure he’ll ever stop seeking to ruin her.

  She goes limp against him though her frame continues to quiver, and he slouches back against the chair, wrapping his arms around her.

  His hoarse laugh tickles her neck. “I think the whole casino heard you.”

  “Me?” She scoffs, peering out of one eye although she doesn’t have the strength to raise her head enough to see him. “You were loud as fuck too.”

  “Definitely not as loud as you.”

  “You wouldn’t let me cover it!” She shuts her eyes again, exhaustion overtaking her. “You’re cut off.”

  “Oh, really?” He runs his hand down her back. “Well, I did say I’d take it easy on you.”

  “You call that taking it easy on me?”

  “As opposed to last night?”

  “Hades, you don’t know how to take it easy. Not with me.”

  “I can only do my best. How I get when I’m around you is strictly instinct.”

  “And primitive.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Mm.”

  The sound is noncommittal, but her hand curls against the other side of his neck nonetheless, her lips pressing into his skin. He hums before standing up. She’s far too tired to look where they’re going, but she assumes the bedroom. She hears him close the balcony door behind them and flip some light switches, the space darkening outside of her eyelids. Moments later, he’s laying her on a bed, and she stretches out with a groan.

  “Is this your bed?” she inquires lazily, eyes still closed.

  He snorts. “No, you’re sleeping in the guest bedroom.”

  Her eyes snap open at that, only to find him undressing at the foot of the bed, his gaze fixed on her. She glares at him, which is difficult considering how fucking sexy he looks as he finally relieves himself of that waistcoat. He grins as he does so, setting it on the chair already housing his tie.

  “Where else would I put you, Persephone?” he returns, kicking off his trousers.

  She flops back down. “Shut up and come to bed, Hades.”

  Though moments later, she feels his hands on her thighs, and then he’s pushing her dress up over her body. She doesn’t protest, instead lifting herself up to allow him to pull it over her head. He then slips a hand beneath her and unclasps her bra, setting both garments on the same chair as his suit.

  “Would you like a shirt?” he asks softly. “Or a scarf to wrap your hair?”

  She should say yes to at least the latter. However, she simply answers by hooking her hand around his neck and pulling him down on top of her, relishing in the sound of his laughter and the weight of his body atop hers.

  “Keep that up, and you won’t be getting any sleep tonight,” he warns.

  “Shh.”

  She feels him reaching out, and then the lamplight shuts off, leaving them in complete darkness. They settle into the sheets, wrapped around each other as he pulls the comforter over them. Persephone burrows into his warmth with a content sigh, and she suspects that this might be her favorite part of the night. The sex is amazing of course, but seeing him soft —and for her— brings her a kind of joy no one else ever has.

  She’s glad she doesn’t have to choose between one or the other.

  Pressing one last kiss to his chest, she sinks into him and falls into the best sleep she’s had in a very long time.

  15

  Persephone

  Persephone wakes up to the smell of what must be bacon and eggs, and it takes her a long while to accept the fact that she isn’t dreaming. After pulling on Hades’ dress shirt from the night before, she saunters into the kitchen to find him hard at work in front of the stove, cracking eggs and flipping bacon in a pair of sweats that ride far too low on his hips, or not low enough. She didn’t even think he owned sweats, and she wonders how many people would be surprised at this particular development. How many people had truly seen the leader of the Underworld outside of his pristine, tailored suit? She doubts very many. Maybe she should keep a journal. Or write a book.

  In place of a shirt, a towel is tossed over his shoulder, and she stands in the archway for the longest time simply admiring him. Even with something as simple as breakfast, he is focused and composed. His hands move over his work the way a pianist’s would over his keys, and she doubts he’s ever done anything half-assed in his life. She would bet every dollar in this casino that he hasn’t. Regardless, she could definitely get used to this.

  He seems to sense her presence because without turning around, he takes a mug from the cabinet and fills it with coffee, adding just the right amount of cream and a dash of sugar. He does it as though he has been doing it for years despite the fact that they’ve only had coffee together once the morning after their first date, and she’d made her own cup. Like her drink order in Elysium, he’d remembered. He’d taken the facts in as easy as a breath. She has no clue if it’s that or the sacred soreness between her thighs or his physique in those sweats or a mixture of all of it, but she has to force herself to grip the counter before she jumps him right there over the stove. He turns around just then, smiling as he sets the mug on the counter.

  “How did you sleep?” he asks.

  “Like the dead,” she grunts, picking up the cup. “And you?”

  “Similarly, and in no way unpleasant.”

  She hums in content at her first sip. “I am - deliciously sore, Hades.”

  “Then I fulfilled my duties.”

  She raises a brow. “Mhm. You know not everything is work, right?”

  He seems confused by the statement. “Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply that you were work. I only meant that-”

  “Hey.” Setting down her
cup, she reaches over the counter for his hand with a soft smile. “I know what you meant, but what I’m saying is that - it’s more than that, right? You’re too hard on yourself to begin with. You think your entire purpose is to please people, and it isn’t.” Her smile widens. “Even if you’re really good at it.”

  There is something akin to relief in his eyes as he squeezes her hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing them to her knuckles. Again, there is that warmth he has put on display for her in their most private hours. It makes her feel like the keeper entrusted with a crucial secret, and she wants to protect it with everything that she has.

  “What do you have, before the show?” he asks now, loading a plate for each of them.

  “A few run throughs this afternoon,” she replies, snatching a piece of bacon off the plate as he sets it down in front of her. “Nothing too heavy, but if my legs give out on me tonight, I’m blaming you fully.”

  He smirks. “I’ll be happy to take the credit.”

  She glances up at him. “And you’ll be there?”

  “I will.”

  The feeling that rushes through her is all consuming, and she relaxes into it with a wide grin. She crams the piece of bacon in her mouth and nods.

  “Eight o’clock sharp, Sir,” she goes on. “Don’t be late.”

  “Hm, I am known to lose track of time.”

  “Oh?” Holding up a finger, she stands up and rushes back into the bedroom. When she returns, she has his watch cradled in her hand. He laughs heartily as she rounds the counter, taking hold of his wrist and securing the accessory in place. She then runs her fingers over the band of his sweats and presses a kiss to his chest.