"I do tend to bring that out in people," Peitho smirked right back, discarding what was left of the dress. It was unimportant, just another thing she could buy more of, and she liked being on display to the Olympian like this, wearing nothing but her high heels and thigh high black stockings.
Aphrodite certainly was not the first who couldn't make it back to a bedroom before needing to have Peitho undressed.
Peitho was softer in figure than Aphrodite. While the Love Goddess had a body that suited these times and fashions, Peitho's own hearkened back to a different time. If Aphrodite was the perfect image of modern man's desire, Peitho was the rounded curves of a Renaissance painting.
The grip on Peitho's hair made her catch her breath with delight. Aphrodite was always so collected (or so it seemed to Peitho), and so she liked seeing her like this. It felt secret, and therefore it felt dangerous. To see each other when their guards were coming down. This side of her must have been what Ares was interested in, not some sweet love goddess but the passion lying on the knife's edge of dangerous.
She closed the space between them and kissed a line up Aphrodite's throat before nipping a little at the seemingly delicate skin.
What would it be like, considered Peitho, to rip that throat out with my teeth? It was nothing by an idle thought, Peitho having no interest in violence and death. And even if she did kill Aphrodite, the goddess would just come back and probably try and kill her in return.
"Undress for me," Peitho purred against Aphrodite's ear.