Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 97

Eve

My wet body was sensitive to every contact of his hard body on mine. Yet, through the haze of my horror, confusion and arousal, I pushed hard against his chest. "You must be out of your fucking mind!" I ground out through gritted teeth.

He let out a dark chuckle that sent sparks through my skin. "Maybe, I am." He said easily.

"Let me go!" I snapped. "Now!"

But he did the opposite, he brought his face down and his hot breath fanned across my ear. "You fight me," he murmured, "Yet, you respond to me. Your body betrays you, Red." His voice was low, hypnotic, dripping with the kind of confidence that made my knees weak despite my fury. "You are shivering."

My face heated. He had a point there. I was shivering despite the heat in the space. I shoved harder, my palms flat against his chest, my nails biting into his skin. "Get off me," I hissed, even though my heart raced and my body trembled, betraying my resolve.

Despite my struggling, he used one hand to tilt my head up to him. His dark eyes locked onto mine, a storm swirling in their depths. "If you can let another man touch your body, then I have to own it."

I tried to twist away, but his strength was undeniable, his grip unyielding. He was close enough that I could feel every ridge of muscle against me, his scent—a dangerous mix of cedar and smoke—invading my senses.

"You’re a bastard," I growled, refusing to let him see the chaos he was stirring within me. When did I become this person? Where did that timid prisoner go? I could not recognize my own voice. He always managed to awaken something primal in me.

His lips curved into a wicked grin. "Perhaps," he said, his voice a teasing drawl.

I swallowed hard, glaring at him despite the warmth pooling in-between my legs. If I was so defiant, why would my body not defy him. "You don’t own me," I spat, my voice trembling with both anger and something I refused to name.

His smile faltered, his gaze darkening, a tinge of red corrupting the stormy grey swirls of his eyes. When he spoke his voice was reverberating like another entity spoke the words alongside him. "No, but you’re mine all the same." His words were like a claim, a brand searing itself onto my soul.

Abruptly, he let me go and pulled me under the shower head. He turned it on and warm water drenched us. I had not yet computed what had just happened before I felt the loofah on my arm.

I blinked, flabbergasted. The loofah trainer from my arms to my thigh. Was he...

I tried to turn around and demand what he was doing but he held my back to his body. Warm water cascaded over us, steam rising between our bodies, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from his touch. The loofah moved in slow, deliberate circles against my arm, the coarse texture grazing my skin, awakening every nerve.

"Stay still," he murmured, his voice a rough caress against my ear. His chest was firm against my back, his heartbeat a steady drum that I couldn’t ignore. I should have felt anger—humiliation, even—but instead, I was caught in the pull of something I couldn’t name. Something primal and consuming.

The loofah traveled downward, gliding over my ribs, tracing the curve of my waist. I bit my lip hard, trying to suppress the gasp threatening to escape. My breath hitched as it ventured to my thigh, his grip firm on my hip, holding me against him as though I might disappear if he let go.

"What the hell are you doing?" I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper, shaky and uneven.

"Taking care of you," he said simply, as though the act was the most natural thing in the world. "You’re filthy, Red. Let me fix that."

The nickname sent a shiver through me again, though I couldn’t tell if it was from annoyance or something far more dangerous. His hand guided the loofah upward, over my hip, then slowly down the back of my thigh. My knees buckled slightly at the sensation, but his arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me.

"Easy," he whispered, the vibration of his voice rumbling through my spine. His free hand rested flat against my stomach, not wandering but anchoring me in place. The gesture should have been controlling, but instead, it felt protective. Infuriatingly so.

The water plastered my hair to my skin, droplets running over my shoulders and trailing down between us. I felt every single one of them like they carried the weight of his gaze, the heat of his breath still fanning my neck. The loofah traveled back to my arm, then over the curve of my collarbone, lingering just long enough to make my heart race.

"This isn’t fair," I hissed, closing my eyes tightly as I tried to will my body into obedience. "You can’t—"

"Can’t what?" he interrupted, his voice dangerously low. "Wash my wife?"