Chapter ten
Josephine
The museum from Stafford’s note looms in front of me. It’s made of magnificent white marble, standing out against the historical background of the capital. It’s nothing like I expected, which was a shack in a swamp. It’s so white that it makes me think someone must have a job of just cleaning the outside of this place.
Clouds hang in the sky threatening to cry. People mill about. Children run up and down the stairs while their parents discuss architecture or something. That’s just what I assume people who bring their children to a museum do. There’s a gold banner hanging over the doors with ‘The Wonders of Tartarian Times’ printed across it.
I make my way inside, and I’m ambushed by someone with a pamphlet. The woman smiles wide, and I must look angry because she backs off immediately, not finishing her introduction. I flip through the pages while following the signs. Decorating the halls are paintings of the gods—Zeus and the like. Hades is surprisingly absent.
I pause to marvel over the ancient weapons. A plan starts to form in my mind. Staff never said I couldn’t take anything. These would display nicely in my chamber, and I bet the way they make someone bleed is magical. I shiver at the thought and my mouth waters. How many lives did each blade and spike take?
There are arrows that seem like they keep leading me through a maze until I see the entrance to the exhibit. It’s like walking into another world. The place is dark, almost pitch black except for candles flickering on the walls setting the mood.
I try to look at the pamphlet, but it’s so dark that it’s pointless. I shove it in my pocket and look around for a direction. A group comes through the entrance with a guide. I sneak into the back and listen to what he’s saying.
“...know the story of Tartarus?” The guide asks. There is a murmur between the group before someone gets the courage to speak.
“The king banned the Titans there,” says the genius in the front. Based on the look that crosses the guide's face it wasn’t the answer he was looking for.
“Yes, but does anyone know the lore before that?”
No one responds. At least I’m not totally ignorant.
“No one? Alright. Well, our myths state that at the Beginning, there was nothing, then came Chaos. She created the primordial gods which led to the Titans and then the Olympian gods, like our dear king Hades.”
I almost snort out loud. Dear king? Try an oppressive piece of shit who sits in his gold little palace all comfortable while the rest of us suffer. He drove my people away and burned them alive for being different and thinking differently. Dear king? What a fucking joke.
So far it seems like we’re all hanging onto the story.
“We’re going to rewind a little bit to the time of the primordial gods.” He pauses.
The Primordials were made up of Erebus, Nyx, and Gaia. I know a little about them, but my people don’t much care for beings that came from Olympus; the world that used to be connected to ours. In all honesty, I’ve only heard of Olympus in passing. It hardly seems relevant. The gates of the Underworld have been closed ever since Hades came here.
The Primordial gods are the first generation of beings after Chaos. Erebus was the god of shadows; Nyx was the goddess of darkness; and Gaia was the goddess of the earth. If they ever existed, they’re long gone. They probably left our Universe for a better one.
“Now, I want to preface this by letting you all know that while these are all real and genuine artifacts, there is a lot of skepticism and differing opinions between scholars about their origination and meanings,” the guide continues.
“Once upon a time,” he says quietly with a theatrical effort. “There were monsters. This time period coexists with the creation of the Primordials, and we now refer to it as the Tartarian period. We will revisit why we call it this later.”
Monsters? That’s something I’m familiar with, except he’s calling the age of Mondurians by the name of Tartarian. I roll my eyes in disgust. I guess Hades’ Underworld will do its best to rewrite our history.
Kate was obsessed with the Mondurians since it’s alleged that Rems are their descendants. She made me learn their language and read their books. The stories are brutal and fantastical. They knew how to entertain themselves, albeit gruesomely, but I always enjoyed it. Most Rems know a few Mondurian words here and there, mostly curses, and we know the gist of the stories. They’re unbelievable tales sometimes told by an elder around the fires at solstice.
This must be why Stafford sent me here.
“During this period the Primordials, like Nyx, bestowed gifts upon Tartarians. From our findings, this is when the first oracle was born alongside the Fates and many others, including the Furies. We have also found evidence that other creatures may have existed, although we don’t have a clear picture of what their purpose or role in civilization was.”
Murmurs break out amongst the group of people in front of me.
“I know. I know. This is a time where most legends and lore originate. If you’ll follow me, we’ll go to the first item on our journey. The tears of a unicorn.”
We walk up to an exhibit with a small vial full of water. Are we really supposed to believe something so mundane would have made it all these years? The guide gives some sort of explanation that I can’t hear through my own comments, which I manage to keep inside my head instead of on my tongue. People ooh and ahh at the vial. Our tour continues on like that around the front of the massive hall.
“Now we will visit the first known drawings of monsters,” the guide says excitedly.
He leads us to a side room with several detailed paintings of vicious creatures. They span from morphed animals, like something with a human head, wings, and a lion’s body, to men with the heads of bulls that look like they were transplanted onto a human body. They’re pretty decent for what I assume wasn’t a developed time. Maybe someone drew them up to add something of interest to the myths.
Hordes of people seem to have gathered around a particular picture, but the crowd is so dense I can’t slip through. I make another lap, waiting for it to dissipate. The group seems to be hanging around waiting for an explanation, so I sneak up behind them again as the guide clears his throat.
“This one is my favorite,” a velvet voice whispers in my ear.
I whip around. Sure enough, Aedon stands there in all his handsome glory. In the lighting he appears menacing, a monster in disguise. He doesn’t look at me, but at the drawing. He’s so tall he can see over the group.
“This is what we refer to as ‘The Leviathan’ due to a faded bit of writing on the back of the papyrus,” the guide loudly whispers. “Like most of these depictions, we don’t have much to go on, but it is the only surviving piece that has multiple subjects. Unsettling, right? Many believe this is a sketch of Nyx and Erebus at the entrance of Tartarus, but some evidence suggests that Tartarus did not exist at this time.”
He looks over at the art longingly. “When this piece was discovered, rumor has it that it was also uncovered with a tablet and a dagger. If the other pieces truly existed, they’ve been lost, but we still have this powerful work of art. Now let’s move on to our next artifact, the hammer of the cyclops.” The guide gives the drawing one last reverent look and moves on.
The group filters out and I make my way up to the portrait. I’m acutely aware of Aedon at my back.
The papyrus looks like it has been drawn with charcoal, smeared in a purposeful way in some places. The background is dark, blending into a void. In the forefront, hazy and undefined, are two figures. From what I can tell, they look like regular beings. But their most prominent feature is what makes them unsettling; black eyes stare out at me.
“Everyone finds them demonic, but I think they’re misunderstood.” Aedon’s voice is low in his chest.
“What makes you think that?” I breathe, unable to tear my eyes from the portrait. The hair on the back of my neck rises and a chill runs up my spine.
“All art is open to interpretation.”
I want to argue, but I realize everything I say will support his statement. It’s technically art, and everyone is trying to interpret it with no context.
“Who drew it?”
“Artist Unknown.”
“I need to get back to my group.” I take one last look, but Aedon blocks my path when I try to go.
“How about I give you a private tour instead?” I glance behind him and see that I’m missing another explanation. “I promise it will be much more interesting than whatever summarized theories he is going to spew. Plus, you owe me a date.”
“I said I would go on a date with you. As in the future,” I argue.
“That clarification was not outlined when we made the deal. You owe me a date and I want it to start right now.” His eyes glitter in the darkness.
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“You have no idea.” He smirks. “Come on. I want to show you my favorite thing here.”
As we pass by several artifacts, I can’t help but slow. Now that I’m here I’m invested, and I’m missing a lot of shit. Stafford didn’t send me to this place for no reason.
Aedon backtracks. “None of those are real. They’re all replicas. This isn’t even close to the number of artifacts that exist.”
“How would you know?” I glance up at him.
“Because everything is in Hades’ vault.”
“And how would you know that?”
He hesitates. “I’m well connected.”
“A stalker, a pest, and an asshole. Well done.” I clap, drawing the attention of the entire room. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He smiles at me with his hands in his pockets. “You’re the most sought-after artifact in this room. Let them look at something they’ll never see up close again.”
I scrunch my face up. “And you think you will?”
“I would never be so bold as to assume, but I have Hope.”
He strides toward the far corner of the room. I hurry to catch up and fall into step next to him. If Aedon knows anything, it’s how to pique my curiosity, and I hate it. There’s a black velvet curtain covering a doorway with a sign that says, ‘Keep Out: Private Tours Only’. Aedon pulls it aside and directs me in as if he knows where he is going.
Inside is lit by candles, too. A few cases with locks on them are dispersed around lavishly. This isn’t something for the public. He walks up to a glass case on the far side of the room and pulls off a cover, revealing a black stone box looking thing.
“Wow, this is quite the…piece,” I say carefully. I don’t want to leave this room before seeing everything.
He bites his bottom lip, eyes shining, and angles his body to conceal it. Then he reaches up and pulls off the glass case.
“I’m not a regular museum patron, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to touch the display,” I hiss. “Or go into places that say, ‘Keep Out’.”
“You don’t seem like a stickler for the rules,” he responds with amusement. He’s met with my own silence. “They call this the box of Tartarus.” He hovers his hand over the outside. It starts to vibrate the closer he gets, and gold symbols glitter from the crevices. “They say it’s unable to be opened. People have tried for centuries to no avail.”
There is no mistaking that they are the same symbols on my body. The same ones that are etched into the back of Kate’s Grimoire. My jaw drops. What the fuck? His hand retracts, shuts the case without touching it, and reaches over, pushing up my chin and shutting my mouth.
I practically plaster my face to the glass, not caring if anyone walks in, and inspect it. It’s made of smooth black stone, and they are definitely the same symbols. I’m acutely aware of the irritated scars on my body, and yank at the neck of my blouse trying not to call attention. I want to pull out my arm and compare it, but he’s standing there watching me expectantly.
“Cool,” I say nonchalantly.
He looks bewildered. “Cool?”
“Yeah. That’s cool. It’s a shiny rock box. What am I supposed to say?” I chatter nervously.
He shakes his head slightly, eyes wide with confusion. “You are insane.”
“Excuse me? I’m not the one who touched some ancient rock in a place that is pretty clear that you shouldn’t touch ancient rocks.” I flip my hair.
“I didn’t touch it,” he argues.
“The sentiment is the same.” I cross my arms and pop out my hip.
“You touch it then,” he dares me.
I get an uneasy feeling. The scars on my body have that phantom burn again. He’s watching me, taunting me, and I can’t give up a challenge. Plus, I’m curious and that’s always a dangerous thing to be. I reach over, pull off the glass cover, and right as my hand is reaching in, someone shouts. I step back quickly and the shimmering gold that had begun to surface fades immediately.
“What are you doing? Stop!” It’s the guide from the tour. Shit.
Before the guide can seize me, Aedon takes the glass from my hands and carefully places it back over the rock box. Then he takes the lapel of his button up shirt and lifts it, flashing a gold pin. The crest of the fucking palace: Cerberus the three headed dog. Shit.
The guide's eyes bulge and he straightens. “I’m so sorry, sir.”
I feel like I’ve been struck by madness. Things click into place. The Alibi, which is associated with non-Rems. David’s boyfriend, a liaison of the king. His comment that he’s well connected. I don’t know who he is in Hades’ organization, but I want to hate him that much more.
Hades is a natural enemy of my people. He stole Remnant land and named himself king. He initiated The Burning of the witches. The Underworld was ours before it was his.
“When they said you would be visiting, I thought you would be taking a private tour. I’m so sorry,” the guide continues.
“Really, consider it forgiven,” Aedon soothes him. “We should be on our way anyways, right, love? Things to do. Places to see. You’ve got a fine exhibit.” Aedon grins and whisks me away before the guide can say anything else.
The group is still fussing over some femur with carvings or something when we rush past. Aedon doesn’t lose hold of me the entire way back to the entrance. He navigates the maze of hallways with ease. Once we’re on the front steps, I dig my heels into the ground and tear my hand away.
“Are you trying to get me thrown into a dungeon or something?” I growl.
“Is that what you think happens to people who get into trouble?”
“I don’t know. People have been killed for less.”
“I thought it was just a ‘shiny rock box’?” he points out.
I redirect the conversation. “When were you going to tell me that you work for Hades?”
“Do you like tea?” he interrupts.
“Why were you here?” I change the subject back.
“Coffee, then?”
We’re at a standoff. He knows he has the upper hand. I’m sure he could deflect for days, and I have no more cards left to play. It’s midmorning and I’m tired after discovering the contents of the duffel last night. I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the book for hours instead.
“Fine.” If I can corner him, then maybe I can trick him into answering my questions.
He leads us to some little coffee shop that looks sleek and modern, and sits me at a table in the corner before going to order. I guess he learned his lesson about ordering last time. I’m honestly grateful because I don’t know the first damned thing about coffee. My sister always hands it to me, or I have to drink it bitter and black.
It’s not long before he returns with two papyrus cups. Little wisps of steam emit from the small hole on the lip. I catch a hint of hazelnut, and it smells delicious.
“If you had wanted to meet me again you didn’t need to stalk me to the museum, little devil. I’m not that hard to find.”
“Stalk you?” I shout in shock. The people around us look over. For the second time today, I’m making a scene.
“It’s alright. I’m flattered. Really.” His dark blue eyes are filled with amusement. There’s no denying my attraction to him, but I’m going to deny it anyway.
“You’re the stalker. You’re infatuated with me,” I hiss, quieter than before.
“I thought that was evident.”
“Can’t you bother someone else?”
“I told you. I like bothering you.” He flashes a quick smile, showing his white teeth. I feel like a dark sun has shined on me.
I sip the coffee, and of course it is also divine, much like everything this man manages to do. I don’t hate it, but I want to. While my brain is trying to revolt against his charm, my body wants him.
“I saw your sister the other day.” He leans back in the chair, his hand staying gripped around the bottom of his cup. If only it was around my neck.
I realize what he just said. He saw Vivian the other day.
“How?” I squeak, trying to keep my eyes up.
He focuses on the world outside of the front windows. “I went looking for you.”
“Of course. How did she know I was at the museum?” I don’t mean to say it, but the words just spill out. I didn’t tell anyone about the ticket, and she’s not usually the type to read my mail. She believes in privacy.
“She didn’t,” he says slowly, his eyes finding me again. “She refused to give you up. Gave me quite the talking to.”
I can picture it. Aedon standing there trying to smooth talk my sister. She would have had her arms crossed, lips pursed, and her smooth curls flaring around her head like Medusa. She would have kindly let him down. Inside she must have been dying.
“What did she say?”
“To summarize? To find you myself. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you walk into the exhibit.”
“So you really weren’t following me?” There is a little bit of disappointment, and it definitively seeps into my voice. He gives a slight shake of the head to tell me no. Out of nowhere, rain starts to splatter against the windows lining the front of the coffee shop.
“You know I tried to find you,” he says out of the blue.
“I know. You said you ambushed my sister.”
“No,” he says softly. “After the first time.” He looks a little ashamed to admit it.
“Really?” I’m astounded.
“I wouldn’t lie. I went to that pub many times over the years hoping to see you. Like you said, I’d never been rejected before.”
“You came to the same pub for years because I let you finger me in an alley and then left?”
“Something like that.” There’s something that’s changed in his demeanor; it’s made him softer. “I asked about you a few times, but no one knew what I was talking about. If I had realized you lived in the capital, I would have been looking elsewhere.”
“I moved here after we met.” It’s hard to say it. He can see it, and he, surprisingly, doesn’t pry. “I didn’t want to be found.”
I don’t know why I’m telling him anything. This man is a stranger, no matter how much attraction I feel. He’s Hades’ lackey. It would be stupid to submit to his charm, especially right now.
“I’ll say,” he chuckles. A smile creeps up at the corner of my lips, which coaxes out that boyish grin I like.
“I’m starting to think it’s more than infatuation.” I find myself flirting with him, and it feels good. I flirt with Stafford and others, but it’s not genuine. It’s more of a habit or a means to get laid. This feels different. Always flirting with danger.
“Borderlining obsession,” he says.
The atmosphere around us sizzles. A crack of lightning erupts. The sound of it brings forward the memory of the world cracking beneath my feet that awful night. It causes me to jump, and I knock over the coffee. The lid flies off and the delicious hazelnut splashes across the table, drenching Aedon’s white collared shirt. I’m flustered, just staring in disbelief at what I’ve done. I want to run. His grin grows and he starts laughing wholeheartedly. I can’t help but start laughing at him laughing at me, and the memory slips away.
I’ve laughed with Vivian a million times, but I have never descended into a fit of laughter quite like this. I’ve always been afraid to. I can’t catch my breath, and I’m doubled over the table trying to drag oxygen into my lungs. Thunder rumbles, shaking the mugs hanging on the wall. Aedon takes his cup and slides it over to me.
“Here, love.” He’s called me that twice now, and I want to melt at the way he says it, but I also want to punch him because, again, it makes me melt.
“There’s a free shower outside if you’re interested.” I take a sip savoring it.
“I’ve always preferred showering naked, but I like to try everything once.” He winks.
“Looks like our date is over,” I muse.
He peels the shirt away from his muscled torso. “I’m starting to think that spill was purposeful.”
“I’ll leave it open to interpretation,” I parrot his earlier art comment.
“Clever, but our date isn’t over.”
“Says who?” I challenge him.
“Me. Come on. Let’s take a walk.” He stands. A bored barista comes over with a rag and gives us a dirty look before she starts wiping up the mess.
“In the rain?”
“Are you afraid of getting wet?”
Oh, I’m definitely wet. I bite my bottom lip. “I’ll be soaked.”
“Ugh,” the barista grunts from the floor and begins mumbling to herself.
Aedon hums in his chest and takes my hand, leading me outside. The rain is coming down in a torrential downpour. It only takes seconds for it to plaster my hair on my face and make my clothes heavy.
“I should go home,” I shout over the white noise.
“I live near here. Come with me. We can dry off. Once the rain stops the date can be over,” he replies. His lashes are coated with droplets of water. His wet hair is clumped in thick locks, sending rivulets of water down his face. It’s sort of a question, but there’s a demand behind it.
“Sounds like you’re trying to get me in bed.”
“In the bed, on the patio, or even the kitchen counter. Whatever suits you.” He shrugs as if he isn’t about to drown in this storm. “Or nowhere at all.”
“Rain stops, date over.” I confirm. He takes my hand, and we walk along the street with no shield from mother nature. It doesn’t take long before we come up to a tall fancy building. A man in a dark green suit with brass buttons dotting both sides of his lapel opens the door with an umbrella extended out to us. This rich asshole lives in a fancy building with a fucking doorman.
That’s what I try to focus on instead of becoming dizzy with his proximity. The scent of leather and amber mixed with rain wafts around me, trying to hypnotize me. My mouth waters at the thought of his taste, honey and bourbon.
“Welcome back, sir,” the doorman says cheerily. He doesn’t even acknowledge that we’re dripping onto the floor, creating puddles.
“Thank you, Samuel,” Aedon says, briskly walking us to the elevator.
Samuel watches us with the same morbid curiosity of the woman from The Alibi. The place is huge with high ceilings and ornate gold trim. The floors are white marble, and the air smells of lemons. The place is clean and expensive. The water dripping from us makes a smacking noise on the floor with each drop. Aedon jabs the button for the elevator and turns to me.
“This is the first time you’ve ever held your tongue,” he says.
I purse my lips. “There’s a first for everything.”
The elevator dings and we step inside. It’s covered with decorative white panels. He waves something over a keypad, and presses a button to the top floor. I still don’t speak, unsure of where to begin. We ascend the floors quickly, and the doors slide open to a foyer so magnificent that I almost don’t step off. I feel so out of my league. I’m used to fields and small dilapidated buildings. Not this.
Paintings that look priceless line the walls. A small table has a vase of fresh flowers, and the place smells just like him. I follow him out into an elegant living room lined with panes of glass overlooking the city. Circling a black brick fireplace is a black crushed velvet couch accompanied by a black armchair embroidered with gold paisley.
The place screams edgy womanizer. The walls are white with black accents. Someone designed this place. Probably a previous girlfriend. Jealousy ripples through me, and I shove it away. We aren’t even a thing. I berate this man every chance I get before I run. There’s no reason I should care who designed his stupid penthouse, but I can’t help myself.
“Interesting decor,” I state.
“My mother. When she saw how empty and plain the place was, she took over. Made her happy.” Interesting. A momma’s boy, perhaps?
He goes over to the fireplace and tosses in a few pieces of wood, lighting them. A breeze floats through the air, and I shiver. The clothes sticking to my body are getting heavy and thick in an uncomfortable way. My boots squish with each step, so I slide them off, pressing my cold wet feet to the floor. I wander over to the window, my toes sinking into a plush black rug with intricate artsy details.
The city is hazy in the sheets of rain, kind of like we’re in the clouds looking down on it like gods. Rain beats on the glass pane. Little streams of water slide down and out of sight.
“Enigmatic.” Aedon’s voice is husky.
“It is,” I agree, touching my fingertips to the cool glass tentatively. I look over at him, and he’s watching me.
His gaze makes me warm and tingly. “Doesn’t look like the rain will let up any time soon.”
“A pity,” I murmur.
“I’ll get you some clothes.” He sizes me up for a moment before disappearing around the corner.
“I don’t really want to wear the left behind clothing of your past conquests,” I yell out.
“You make it sound like that’s something to be proud of,” he calls back. I follow his voice down a dark hallway and find an open door about halfway down.
I lean against the frame and watch him. He’s got sweatpants and a shirt in his hands. The walls are a light gray, and there’s a large bed in the middle covered with a blood red duvet made of crushed velvet, like the couch. It’s settled in front of a dark walnut headboard. The room is clean and organized, just like the rest of the place.
“But isn’t there? Isn’t that what you’re doing with me? Treating me like some girl you brought home from the club?” I’m taunting him, but I’m feeling fucking bold.
He rocks back on his heels smirking. “You want me to act bored?”
“You act bored?”
He strides over to me in a few large steps. “You want to know how I treat other women? I don’t have a conversation; I definitely don’t take them to my favorite shitty bar; and I certainly don’t seek out their sister so I can take them on a date.”
I look at him hovering above me, his chest dangerously close to mine. “Then what are you doing with me?”
“If you wanted me to spell it out for you all you had to do was ask.”
“Spell it out for me then.”
He huffs with amusement. “You aren’t like anyone I’ve met before. You’re intelligent and cunning. You are unbelievably frustrating. Something about you just makes me feel insane. I couldn’t act bored if I tried, love.”
“Stop calling me that.”
He caresses my face, running his thumb along my cheekbone. “Calling you what, love?” he says lightly.
I suck in a breath, and he bares his teeth in a wicked grin. His palm slides down my neck, over my chest, stopping over the buttons to my jeans. My body yearns for him. Actually yearns. I tell myself it’s because I haven’t been laid in a while, and I no longer have work as an outlet, but really, I want to connect with him. Be connected to him. Maybe for eternity. I don’t know because I’m so fucking turned on. Every bit of revulsion toward the crown drains from my body. I lean into his hovering hand.
“Losing your nerve?” I try to sound taunting, but it comes out as a breathy remark.
“Would this be a mistake?” he asks.
“You didn’t think it was last time.”
“I’ll make a deal with you.” He’s giving me a taste of my own medicine in the worst possible way.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “What are the terms?”
He slides his hand past my zipper and cups my pussy over my jeans. “That you don’t disappear again. I want to be able to find you, Jos.”
The way he’s shortened my name is personal and sexy. Not Josephine. Not Josie. Just Jos.
“Okay,” I manage to choke out. I would agree to burn alive just because of the way he growls my name.
Aedon gives me one last hungry look before he kisses me. It’s rough and dominating. Usually, I’m the one who has to take control. I gather his ruined shirt into my fists and pull him toward me, pressing my chest to his. It turns out there’s still a part of my brain that’s alive. His hand snakes up from where he grips me and slithers around my lower back, holding me against him.
His tongue prods the seam of my lips, and I let him in. My mouth salivates at the delicious taste of honey and bourbon. I come up for air, and start unbuttoning his shirt. He doesn’t make a move to stop me, just looks at me like he’s a spider that’s finally captured the prey, and now he’s going to suck the life out of me. Whether I’m soaking wet from the rain or my own arousal I don’t know, but I’m dripping either way.
Once his shirt is hanging open, he slides a finger into the waistband of my jeans and pulls me toward the bed. For one moment I hesitate, but I’m already this far in and we never finished what we started all those years ago. I oblige, and he shoves me down over the edge of the mattress. Leaning over me, he kisses me with his tongue again while he pops open the button at my waist. I wiggle eagerly as he slides my jeans off of me. He trails a finger at the edge of my thigh, and I arch my back with need.
Aedon smiles against my lips. “I don’t think you’ll need these.”
I hear the tearing of lace, and my underwear falls away. He stands and runs his hands along my legs, so I bend them at the knee and position my heels on the mattress, baring myself to him. He gently kisses me again, tugging at the bottom of my shirt. My hands snap down, stopping him just like I did in the alley. He waits for a moment, and gives me a quizzical look. I don’t know why I’m suddenly self-conscious of my scars.
“It’s alright,” he soothes me, retracting his hands.
I grab them and pull them back, placing his hands under my shirt on my torn-up stomach. I said I would stop letting Kate control my life, and I fucking meant it. He hesitates, and I nod confirmation. Slowly, he slides them against my skin, riding my shirt up until it’s scrunched under my breasts. He clutches it, and I lift my back so he can slide it over me.
Once I’m completely naked, he takes me in. He doesn’t ask about the symbols. A finger drags from my shoulder to my belly button, appreciating me. His lips meet mine one last time before he starts trailing kisses down my throat, eliciting a frustrated groan from me. This is pure torture; worse than the kind I’ve inflicted before. I’ve been doing it all wrong.
Aedon lands his soft kisses on my breast, taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking. My nerves ignite as I struggle to stay still, but he takes it in between his teeth and pulls. More blazing want electrocutes me. I arch back slightly, biting my lip with heavy eyes. He continues down to my hips, until his face is between my legs. He holds them apart, and kisses the inside of each thigh.
“Aedon,” I whine.
“I love the way you say my name. You should do it more often,” he growls, sliding a finger between my wet folds.
“Make me,” I dare him. It’s a mistake. I know it as I speak it. He grips my hips, and pulls me to the edge of the bed.
“Don’t worry, little devil. You’ll be screaming it by the time I’m done with you.”
Before I know it, his head is between my legs. His tongue glides expertly over my clit. I toss my head back, and squeeze my eyes shut. He’s fucking gifted. His tongue slides back over me, and into me. His fingers prod at the opening of my pussy, and I squeeze my thighs together around his head. His face emerges, and he bites his bottom lip, plunging his fingers into me.
I’m breathless and speechless. My eyes roll into the back of my head. It has been four years since I’ve felt anything like this. Since the first time I saw him. After a few strokes he stops. When I look down, he’s staring at me.
“Say my name,” he growls.
Goosebumps blossom across my skin.
“Aedon,” I whisper.
His fingers curl around my inner wall, resting along a spot that sends pulses through me. “Louder.”
“Aedon.” It’s loud and desperate.
He starts again, lapping at my sensitive bud, bringing me closer to the edge with each movement. I grab his wrist trying to stop my impending orgasm.
“Don’t,” he warns, prying my hand away and sliding it into his hair instead. I intertwine my fingers with his wet strands, and he hums, sending shivers up my spine.
“I don’t want to come,” I beg. “Not yet.”
He runs his tongue along me again. It has been too long since anyone has touched me, and it was never this good. “You won’t come until I tell you to, love. Do you understand?”
I grit my teeth. “Okay. Yes.” My knuckles are white, gripping his dark brown locks.
He withdraws his fingers. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Aedon.” There is a panic rising. He can’t leave me like this. My orgasm starts to painfully recede.
He stands, unbuttoning his pants. His shirt still hangs around him, sending a flutter through my entire body, all the way to my toes. He pulls his dick out over the zipper, and it’s about as menacing as he is. He slides his jeans off, and it falls forward, standing erect. Veins run along the thick shaft up toward a pronounced head. He’s big, long enough to be almost too deep. A glistening bead rests on the tip.
I will do anything to take it all. This man has turned me into a ravenous lunatic in moments, like I’ve been starving for sex since the day I surfaced from Lethe. I guess I have been.
Aedon slides the head of his cock through my juices, and then rests it at my opening. I’m holding my breath, waiting at the gates of Tartarus for the monsters to dig their claws in and drag me down. This is sin if there ever was such a thing. I try to move and force him to push into me, but his self-control is out of this Universe. He grabs my hip bones and digs his fingers in. I have no doubt there will be bruises tomorrow.
A whisper brushes against my lips. “Beg me.”
I want to kill him, but my arousal beats out my own anger.
“Please,” I whimper. “Please fuck me, Aedon.”
There’s a terrifying darkness in his eyes, but I relish it. I’ll beg until my vocal cords bleed if that is what it takes. His hand whips out and clasps around my neck, cutting off my airway just enough to feel my heartbeat in my throat.
“Good girl.” A new wave of wetness coats my pussy. Without warning he forces his way into me. I’m so full that I can’t remember how to breathe.
“H-h-holy fuck,” I gasp.
“There’s nothing holy about what I’m going to do to you, little devil, but I don’t mind blessing your cunt with my cum.”
He doesn’t loosen his grip. Aedon is merciless, gliding in and out in the slowest tempo I’ve ever experienced, coating his shaft with my wetness. I can feel every ridge; every bulging vein; every bit of friction between our skin; everything. My vision is blurred in ecstasy. The moan that escapes my throat only encourages his dance with death. It would be so easy to take my knife and drag it across his skin, watch him bleed for all the regret I’ll have about this later. He’s a participant in the oppression of my own people, and here I am fucking him.
I buck my hips trying to force him to thrust faster, and he pushes all the way into me, somehow finding an extra inch. “Do you want to come, little devil? Your cunt is begging for it.”
“Y-yes, puh-lease.” I try to focus as he pumps in and out again.
“Wrong,” he grins, holding himself inside of me. My walls spasm around him. More wetness seeps out of me around him.
“Please, Aedon. Please. Aedon, pl-please l-let me come.”
“Good girl,” he growls again. I want to hate his praise, but it pushes me closer to the edge.
He’s a force, slamming in and out of me with his hand around my neck. Each time he pushes back in he seats himself inside of me before pulling himself back out. A squelching sound emits from where we connect, and it encourages him until he’s furious.
“Harder, Aedon,” I beg again.
“What did you say?” he growls, stalling.
“I said harder, Aedon. Please.” I’m desperate for release. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close before. Almost every other fuck has been boring compared to this.
“Remember that you asked for it, love.”
He slams into me, the smack of his pelvis against me stings, and stars explode behind my eyes. I should be embarrassed at the noises I’m making, but I don’t even care.
“Shit,” he groans. “I’m going to come.”
“I…Me…” I teeter on the edge.
“Come for me,” he growls.
I choke. “Yes, Aedon.”
“Fuck, you’re so tight, Jos.” He strains, biting his fist trying to stave it off, but he can’t hold back. “Take my fucking cum like a good girl.”
His grip around my throat is so tight I can’t breathe. Not that I could anyways. I tumble over the edge into the most debilitating orgasm I swear anyone could ever have. He pushes deep inside, and I can feel him spill into me. We ride out the tsunami together. Each breath he takes sends another orgasmic jolt through me.
He pulls out of me. “You look fucking divine when you come, just like I remember.”
I can feel a mixture of our cum sliding through my folds. He looks at it and takes his finger, swiping it through.
“I said, take my cum. I meant all of it.” He pushes it back into me, making me moan again. Once he’s satisfied, he throws himself down next to me, a sweaty mess. Our chests rise and fall, still recovering.
We don’t say anything for a while, laying in silence. I almost think he fell asleep until he speaks again.
“Remember when I said I was borderline obsessed?”
I glance over at him. “Yeah. That was like three hours ago.”
“Consider me compulsive,” he says with a husky voice. “It will never get better than you.”
I study his face, and I can’t detect a lie. It’s exhilarating, being an enigma. It’s addicting to do things that are wrong. It will never get better than me, and I can’t say it, but it will never get better than him either. Something has shifted between us, and I have a frightening revelation. If I can’t have Aedon, then I don’t want anything at all.