Chapter 25
CORDELIA
We arrived in my suite in the Underworld. I checked Guinn’s room, but it was empty.
‘Is Guinn okay?’ I turned to Si, whose gaze bore through me.
‘She’s fine. Theseus is bringing her back later.’ My shoulders relaxed at the news. I stripped off my sweatshirt and dropped it on the chair, turning back to the arrogant god.
His gaze swept over me, slow and merciless, from my face to the tips of my toes. I sucked in a sharp breath, heat coiling low as his stare scorched across my skin. My nipples tingled, hardening under the weight of it, and a shiver of raw anticipation rippled over my flesh.
His power crackled in the air, so intense it felt like it singed my skin—burning, intoxicating. Gods, it felt too good. He looked at me like I was a feast laid out for him alone—prey to be devoured—and in three long strides, he was before me, driving me back towards the wall.
With effortless strength he lifted me, setting me down on a console table as if I weighed nothing at all.
His body caged mine, heat radiating off him in relentless waves.
Then he stepped between my thighs, prying them apart with slow, deliberate pressure—unyielding and insistent—forcing me open for him, baring me to him, to his hunger.
A molten tide scorched my veins, turning into a desperate throb between my thighs, and lust pulsed wild and unruly, drowning out reason.
His mouth twitched—he could smell my arousal, causing some small, stubborn part of my brain to spark warnings—this is madness, dangerous, a line I can’t uncross.
But gods, the rest of me was already burning for him.
His free hand settled at my throat—light, but claiming, a reminder of who held the reins. Possessive and dominating, causing slick heat to soak my panties.
I was pinned—caged between him and the wall.
One hand around my throat, the other curving around my hip, fingers grazing just above the waistband of my Pilates pants.
My top had slipped lower, baring a shoulder, leaving my skin vulnerable to the brush of hot air…
nowhere near as scalding as his mouth when it skimmed down my jaw, grazing my chin, branding my flesh with every brush of his lips.
He trailed lower, lips skimming my collarbone, then the hollow of my throat, each kiss a spark that left me shaking. A soft moan tore from me, unbidden.
‘I want to fuck you so badly it hurts, Cordelia,’ he breathed, the words a growl that vibrated against my skin. His hard length pressed into my stomach, insistent, unrelenting.
‘Poseidon…’ My plea was a gasp, half-want, half-warning.
His hand fisted in my hair, dragging my head back, the other slid to my lower back, pressing me flush against him. Heat bled through the thin fabric, branding me everywhere we touched. I reached back, clutching a handful of his firm ass, and as he moaned against my mouth, I gasped and arched.
‘Now.’ His voice was velvet-dark, thick with hunger. ‘Tell me to stop.’
I didn’t. Gods, I couldn’t.
He moved against me like a tempest held barely in check, the promise of devastation coiled in his every breath, as if the moment I surrendered, the world would split open. My breath stuttered as his hips ground into my core, and when his mouth crashed onto mine, I shattered.
The kiss was consuming, ravenous; his tongue swept in, claiming and demanding. He moaned against my lips, the sound spearing straight through me, making me gasp, my body desperate for more.
Everywhere his hands touched, heat bloomed beneath my skin. His hunger rolled off him, seeping into me until I was trembling with it. My Pilates pants did nothing to hide my arousal, or the way my legs tried to squeeze together against the relentless ache.
His fingers slid beneath my top, dragging across my ribs, leaving sparks in their wake, and my head hit the wall with a dull thump. Dizzy, dazed, the world shrank to the space between us—his mouth at my throat, my shoulder, his fingers slipping beneath the waistline of my pants.
And then—footsteps. The door handle rattled.
In a blink, he was gone. One second, I was pressed between the wall and the god, his hand nearly sliding beneath the fabric of my pants, the next, I was dumped into a chair across the room, legs awkward, breath ragged. My hair was a mess, my lips swollen, my body still humming with want.
He stood in the shadows by the far wall, arms crossed, predator-still, as if he hadn’t just set my world on fire.
The door cracked open.
‘Hey, you in here? Sephy said you’d popped to London.’ Guinn’s voice, casual, before her head popped in.
‘Yeah!’ My reply squeaked out, humiliatingly high-pitched.
She frowned, stepping inside. ‘You look weird. You’re flushed.’
I forced a grin, deflecting fast. ‘How did you get on with Theseus?’
Her face lit like the midday sun. ‘Wicked! He’s brilliant.’ Then her brows pinched. ‘Seriously, you sure you’re okay?’
I waved her off too quickly, my hand swiping at the air as if her suspicion was smoke. Then my hand ghosted over my throat, desperate to erase the phantom heat of Si’s grip. ‘Yup. All good.’
A beat of silence. She arched a brow. ‘I’m having snacks with Theseus and Perseus in the kitchen.’ I bobbed my head like a demented pigeon, and she cocked her head and squinted at me. ‘Right, I’ll be back soon… Stop being weird.’
The door shut again, and I exhaled shakily.
He hadn’t moved; still leaning, still watching me with that same unrepentant hunger. Completely unapologetic, as if he’d branded me with nothing but touch and would do it again in a heartbeat.
My fingers trembled as I tugged my top higher. I looked away—anywhere but at him—but the ache between my legs throbbed in protest, reminding me exactly what he’d left unfinished. Damn him. Damn the king of the sea.
I risked a glance back.
He hadn’t blinked. His eyes seared mine, burning, and waiting.
Then—slowly, inevitably—a smirk curved his lips. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at the coronation.’
And just like that, he was gone. A swirl of seafoam and mist, leaving nothing but silence, the ghost of his kiss, and the knowledge that my resistance was starting to crumble like a cheap deck of cards in a downpour.
* * *
The next morning dawned far too early, but Bronte didn’t give a toss. She barged in—a one-woman hurricane—clapping her hands.
‘Come on, dolls. Time to get trussed up like sacrifices. A coronation waits for no man.’
Guinn was already twirling in front of the mirror, her gown the colour of crushed violets. The dress clung to her curves before spilling into soft, sheer layers that caught the light with every spin; she was every inch a dangerous fae princess ready to charm an empire.
And then there was me. The jade-green dress Bronte had shoved into my hands the night before skimmed down my body like a waterfall, clinging to all the right places before dancing freely around my ankles.
It was indecent in all the ways a gown could be—baring shoulders, cinching waist, and plunging low enough to put my breasts on full display. You’re welcome, Si.
Bronte gave me a long once-over, one brow arched, and her mouth twitching in smug approval.
‘Perfect. You’ll make him choke on his own arrogance.’
I muttered something about throttling said god if he so much as smirked at me, but the truth was, the thought of Poseidon seeing me in this dress had my pulse stuttering like a faulty engine.
Bronte, of course, looked like wickedness wrapped in satin.
Her dress was a deep blood-red, cut close to her body as if it had been painted on, with a high slit that bared one toned leg with every stride.
The neckline plunged daringly low, though the sharp shoulders and long sleeves kept it from being anything but pure power-dressing.
Black embroidery gleamed across the bodice, catching the light in onyx shards as she moved.
She fastened on a choker of dark rubies, then gave a razor-sharp smile.
‘Don’t gawp. I dress to kill—literally. And if any of these gods gives me grief today, I want them too busy staring at my tits to notice me hexing them.’ And with that, Bronte swept us both out and into the corridor, her grin sharp as a blade. ‘Come on, ladies. Let’s go crown ourselves a queen.’
When we arrived at the gigantic ebony doors, Guinn twirled once more in her lilac gown, the skirts sparkling faintly, akin to moonlight, as she clutched the hem. Her curls bounced as she beamed at us.
‘Right, I’m off. Perseus and Theseus are waiting, and Simmy promised me a dance. Don’t wait up!’
I caught her arm before she could bolt. ‘Guinn. No alcohol, alright? Not a drop. You don’t know what gods pour in their wine, and I don’t want you waking up in Tartarus with a stinking hangover.’
She rolled her eyes, but there was affection in the gesture. ‘Yes, Mum. I’ll behave. Probably.’
She flitted away across the polished floor, weaving through the crowd towards the demigods and the satyr waiting by the columns.
Perseus was already grinning like an idiot when she reached them, and Theseus gave her a gallant little bow.
Simmy nearly tripped over his own hooves trying to get to her side, and Guinn’s laughter carried all the way back to us.
‘Well, she’s living her best bloody fairy tale.’ Bronte arched a brow, grinning. ‘She’s got them all dancing already. Not even crowned royalty, and she’s holding court.’
I tugged the neckline of my jade-green dress a little higher, muttering, ‘At least one of us is.’