Page 83 of His in the Dark

There is so much sweetness in her. So much heat in her body. She was made for me. She is the only place I will ever find solace or comfort.

It is at this point that I push myself above her, my pulse rampaging.

Persephone opens her eyes, panting, and looks into mine.

“Trust me,” I tell her, catching my breath as I do.

"I do.” Her lips are swollen from our kiss and her cheeks and chest flushed.

I have to lean away from her to reach the athame, a pagan knife, on the bedside table. It is silver and twinkles in the light, polished to a high shine, and the tip is razor-sharp.

“Give me your hand.”

Persephone offers her hand out without an instant of hesitation.

“Yours and mine forever bind,” I pronounce, then prick her palm with the tip of the knife.

A single drop of blood wells up.

I bend my head to lick it off Persephone’s hand, repositioning myself as I do. The taste of her blood—salt and iron—is divine. Black and white smoke curl out of the grate and circle over us on the bed.

The two shades of smoke separate. The black goes to me. The white goes to Persephone. But the boundary does not stay firm as I thrust into her, again and again, needing her more inthis moment than ever before. The smoke teases between us. It cannot find its place.

I will show it where it belongs. I will showherwhere she belongs.

Her blood—my spend. That is what the ritual demands. That is what will bring the smoke together. That is what will bind us.

Persephone grips me to her, pulling my body into hers. “Yoursandmine,” she moans.

That pushes me over.

I grab her throat out of instinct. Fucking her with reckless abondon as I squeeze her delicate neck. Her hands rise out of instinct, her eyes locked on mine. She grips my wrists and struggles to say something. My hips thrust even deeper and harder and I release her. She gasps for air as her head falls back and an orgasm like none before rocks through her body. Power consumes me as I lower my head to her neck and piston myself between her legs, desperate for my own release.

I come hard, my vision fleeing from me and going dark with the intensity. Persephone clenches around me, her arms tight around my neck, holding on through another strong orgasm.

Somehow I’m able to prick my palm and I offer it to her. In the haze of pleasure, she licks my palm and the requirements of the ritual are done.

The separate plumes of smoke wrap around each other, twisting and swirling until the black and the white are one and the same. They can never be separated again.

Persephone can never be separated from me again.

It is a high, intense peak. Knowing it is done. She is mine in all ways the Gods revere, I let my forehead lean against hers, struggling to catch my breath.

Persephone does the same. Her hands stroke over my cheeks and on the back of my neck. My Queen.

The question comes as if from a great distance and within my heart at the same time.

Perhaps it is a question I have been longing to ask.

“Persephone.” I roll my forehead gently against hers. “Do you love me?”

"Yes," she breathes, her hands on my nape now.

“You would never betray me, would you?” I question as the thought comes to me. The thought of her ever leaving me. “You wouldn’t leave me? Not after this?”

“Never,” she whispers. “I’ll never leave you.”

Persephone’s hands are much smaller than mine, and yet such power dwells in them. Such power dwells in every word, but especially heryes.

---