THAT Shower Scene

Persephone appeared in Hades bedchamber—their bedchamber, she corrected herself.  She spent all day interviewing people who had claims against the Divine and wanted to tell their  story. Most were unfounded complaints that the gods had not answered their prayers, but there  was one Persephone was still ruminating on and it actually shed a positive light on Apollo. The  story had come from a woman named Perimele, daughter of Alcestis and Admetus. She spun a  tale of how the God of the Sun had advocated on behalf of her parents twice—once when  Admentus was going to die and then when Alcestis died. She was not sure of the details—the  bargains Apollo had to strike in exchange for returning them to life, but he had saved the two  mortals and they had lived a long life.  

“Without Apollo, I wouldn’t be here,” she had explained. 

It was a story Persephone had never heard before, and as she pulled off her heels, she  wondered why Apollo had not spoken of his deed before. 

Persephone stretched and headed into the bathroom. Most days, she preferred to soak in  the Hades’ private baths, but tonight, she needed to wash her hair, something she tried to avoid  for as long as possible. Her hair was thick and long and when it was wet, it was heavy. Still, it  had been about six days since her last wash, and she could only use so much dry shampoo before  her scalp started to look like it was covered in snow. 

She started the shower and let the water warm while she poured a glass of wine. When  steam began to fog the air, she stripped down and stepped beneath the spray. The water was hot  and felt good against her skin. Any kind of bath was a ritual to Persephone, like she was washing  the burdens of the day away. She took her time, massaging her scalp and her skin, and as the 

soap slid down her body, and swirled away down the drain, she felt Hades’ magic surround her.  She inhaled his scent, letting the smell of spice and whiskey fill her lungs. Before she could exhale, Hades appeared in the shower with her. He was huge and naked  and his cock erect. 

She wanted to say something, but words were frozen in her throat as he turned her  around, spread her legs, and sheathed himself inside her. There was no teasing or touching. The  only warning was his swollen sex, and now it was inside her. She gave a guttural cry that caught  painfully in her throat as she was suddenly full of him—and it was pleasure. 

She arched her back, her palms, breasts, and face pressed into the cold tile as Hades  pumped into her. His fingers dug into her hips, and after a moment, he drew her hair around his  hand, and pulled her toward him, attempting to make her straighten and she felt him sharply in  the bottom of her stomach. She moaned and Hades’ captured the sound, tongue thrust into her  mouth. 

She had never felt him quite like this before and she knew that something wound him  tight and he had come to seek release just as she had—only in different ways. Her thoughts about his day were lost when he released her hair and his arm circled her  waist, his pace quickened, and their bodies slammed together. They came just as Persephone’s  legs gave out. 

Hades lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the shower. He held her gaze as he  walked, but they didn’t speak. She was dripping wet, and so was he, but he didn’t seem to care as  he lowered her onto his bed and left to shut off the shower.

When he returned, she hadn’t moved, exhausted from their coupling. She wasn’t sure  why this particular session had taken so much of her energy, but she was left feeling shaky— shattered, in the best way possible. 

Hades crawled toward her and as he covered her body with his, she touched his face,  fingers grazing his cheek.  

“Are you okay?” she asked.  

His answer was a kiss—gentle and sweet, nothing like the way he’d kissed her before. He  pulled away and spoke quietly.  

“Better now.” 

“Won’t you tell me?”  

“Later,” he promised, kissing her again, and she let him. For a while, she felt boneless,  still not recovered from earlier, but the longer his lips explored, moving from her mouth to her  jaw, down her neck and between her breasts, a familiar hunger curled in the bottom of her  stomach and crawled up her throat, and soon her fingers were threading through his wet hair, but  Hades took them in his own, kissed her palms, and moved out of reach, spreading her legs, his  tongue flicking her clit. She groaned and stretched, reaching over her head so that her hands were  pressed against the headboard as he took his time, parting her flesh and tasting her, his mouth  closing over her clit. 

Persephone’s breath escaped as a moan, and she arched her back. He stayed like that, the  pressure consistent, the pleasure, stunning. She moved her foot, brushing Hades’ cock. She  wanted to hold it in her hands, please him as he had pleased her.  

A familiar tension built inside her—it stole her breath and her thoughts and all she could  focus on was the sensation of coming apart—and when she did, it was with Hades’ name on her 

lips—words he captured as his mouth closed over hers again before he guided his sex to her  opening and thrust. Persephone drew her legs up and open, her lips leaving his as she gasped, full  of him. Hades moved, but he made slow and deliberate strokes, maintaining a close distance as he  hovered over her, resting on his forearms.  

“I missed you,” Hades said, his eyes as black as an abyss as he stared down at her.  “I missed you,” she whispered.  

They hadn’t been apart but for the duration of a workday—eight hours, and yet  Persephone found that he was all she could think about—memories from previous nights  accosted her at random moments, or she found herself wondering what he was doing—what part  of his world was he engaged with that she had yet to discover? She knew that whatever he had  experienced today—whatever had him pushing her into the tile wall and fucking her from  behind—was something she wasn’t aware of yet, and that’s why it was taking him so long to tell  her.  

But she could be patient, especially while he was inside her. 

She watched his face for as long as she could, until he could no longer maintain his  controlled movements. He drew himself up from his elbows to his hands and threw his head  back, the veins in his neck bulging as he pumped into her harder. Their heavy breaths filled the  air and turned to moans as they came and when Hades withdrew a warm spray of come glistened  on her thighs.  

Hades rolled off and stood, bringing her with him as he carried her to the shower. They  took turns washing one another, and dried off, returning to bed once Hades had manifested dry  sheets, though it was still early in the evening. Persephone rested her head against Hades’ bare  shoulder, her body pressed against his side. She thought she would ask about his day, but she 

found that as Hades traced lazy circles against her skin with the tips of his fingers, her eyes grew  heavy with sleep.  

“How was your day?” she mumbled.  

She felt Hades lips touch her hair as he answered. “I’ll tell you later.”  

“Okay,” she whispered as darkness consumed her.