#Chapter16

Aphrodite

“Sit on my lap,” Ares says smoothly, eyes wandering over my bathrobe-- the only article of clothing he’ll allow me to wear. Although I’m normally in either his shirt or some elaborate fetish lingerie. The only reason I’m permitted a robe is because we’re in the dining room, where a servant could enter any moment and see me.

Ares takes a seat, looking at me expectantly before motioning to his lap with his hands. A few days ago, I might have still had it in me to refuse. Now that he’s incorporated battery-operated devices into my torture, I would rather go back to pain than refuse him. So,...