“Thank you,” she whispered.
Hades stepped back, leaning against the counter opposite her. She had to admit, she didn’t like the distance. It was like he still had a hold of her heart and was stretching it as he moved.
“Are you punishing me?” Hades asked.
“What?”
“This,” he said, pointing to her. “The clothes, Apollo, the drinking?”
She frowned and looked down at her dress.
“You don’t like my clothes?”
He glared at her, and for some reason that made her angry. She pushed off the counter and shimmied the dress up over her hips.
“What are you doing?” Hades asked. His eyes glinted, but she couldn’t tell if he was amused or aroused.
“Taking off the dress.”
“I can see that. Why?”
“Because you don’t like it.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he replied.
Still, he didn’t stop her.
The dress was off. She stood naked in front of him.
Hades eyes raked her frame.
Gods.
Her whole body tingled, like her skin was a collection of exposed nerves. Her fingers itched to touch, to pleasure—either herself or him, she really didn’t care.
“Why weren’t you wearing anything under that dress?”
“I couldn’t,” she said. “Didn’t you see it?”
Hades jaw ticked.
“I’m going to murder Apollo,” he said, mostly under his breath.
“Why?”
“For fun.” His voice was gruff, and Persephone giggled.
“You're jealous.”
“Don’t push me, Persephone.”
“It wasn’t like Apollo knew,” she said, watching Hades drink straight from a whiskey bottle he’d retrieved from the wall. “Hermes was the one who suggested it.”
The bottle shattered. One moment, it was whole in Hades’ hands and the next moment, glass and alcohol covered the floor at Hades’ feet.
“Motherfucker.”
Persephone wasn’t sure if the curse was from what she’d said about Hermes or the whiskey he’d just wasted.