Page 90 of Hades and Persephone: Crown of Souls

I want to look upon the beast of his Gods’ Form.

I’m afraid.

I rasp, “Will you show me, Hades?”

“You want to see my Gods’ Form?” His voice couldn’t be deeper.

Fear wars with desire, and desire wins out. I want to know him. All of him.

Even if that means I come face-to-face with the frightening parts of him.

A shuddering breath escapes me as I shuffle just a little closer.

We’re already close, so the shift urges me to tip my head back. To expose my throat to the darkness that lurks beneath his beautiful skin.

Hunger erupts in his eyes, spilling magma into the flame.

Prickles of heat battle the shiver that slithers down my spine.

I finally whisper, “I want to see all the parts of you, Hades. I want to know all the parts of you.”

He sounds pained. There is a broken kind of hunger that whispers of eternal starvation when he warns roughly, “You can’t touch me, Persephone.”

He’s waiting for me to agree, but I can’t.

I feel the same way about his vehement warning that I never explore Tartarus. Just as something calls me closer to that darkness, I am called to the darkness within him.

He takes my, “Show me,” as agreement that I will not touch him in his Gods’ Form.

His hands, so big and burning with warmth, connect with my face. His eyes are pools of danger, and yet I could sink into the deep of them for the rest of forever.

When he crashes his mouth to mine, the kiss is deeper than even the deepest crevice of this realm. It cuts through me to my core that aches with a brutal emptiness to be filled.

My eyes are closed as I kiss him back, losing myself to the pain of this hunger that flares inside me. A hunger I am fully aware only he can sate.

My fingers are twisted into the lapels of his shirt. My hips crash into him, seeking to close the space that stands between us. He’s so warm even now, I swear just a little longer and the fabric of our clothes will go up in flames.

But my flesh doesn’t hurt in the heat. If anything, it only serves to light the wick inside me. I crave it. Hunger for it in the same way my womb hungers for his seed. With absolutely no explanation to be had for it.

My tongue slips out to graze his. I am caught momentarily by the heat of it against my own. That burning need in my core clenches violently, and I moan into his mouth. He devours the sound with a growl. When he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, and his body shudders in physical response, I know he can scent the need that spills from my body.

I’m past being embarrassed that he can scent my hunger for him. There is no hiding it. No changing it.

And when his hard arousal only grows against me in response, I can’t help but revel in the obvious way he responds to that scent.

“You need me inside you,” he taunts.

“Youneed to be insideme,” I rasp.

He’s trying to make me crack and beg for him. I won’t.

In this, I will be the victor.

His laughter brackets a dark promise. “I’ll make you beg for me, little goddess, before I sink inside you again.”

“Then I guess we’ll both starve.”

“Challenge accepted.” His hand shifts to the tie of my robe. He’s ready to taunt and tease, but I catch his burning wrist.

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