Page 42 of The Queen & the King

Clarity. I don’t suppose that could help her memory return, could it?

“Fuck…” she moans into the kiss, rocking her hips against me.

That sounds more like my Persephone.

I press my cock against her entrance. “My spring…”Tell me to stop.

Instead, she rolls her hips against mine, and I thrust inside her, unable to hold back. She digs her nails into my shoulders as I seat myself to the hilt inside her.

Clarity.

Fuck, I forgot how incredible her cunt feels wrapped around my cock. The sense of belonging shoots through me as I thrust. Every movement is frantic, and the space between our bodies feels wrong, even as minuscule as it is. I need every part of her pressed against me. I need to taste every moan she whispers against my lips, and I need every squeeze of her cunt seared into my cock.

My fangs descend, and I sink them into her neck. My claws dig into her ass, keeping her still as I thrust frantically inside her. Every time I withdraw from her pussy, I slam back inside, hating the sensation of not having her wrapped around me.

The anxiety. The despair. The hopelessness. I need to fuck it all out of me and into her. I need to give her fucking everything inside me.

She digs her nails into my back, breaking the skin. “Fuck, demon! Don’t stop!”

Demon.

Maybe my hunch is correct, and I can fuck her into remembering me and the life we shared. She grabs my horns, pulling my lips to hers. The movement is so familiar, soPersephone. I dig my fangs into her lip, needing her to feel me even when we’re apart.

You’re mine. Memory or not. Wife or not. The end is always you and me.

I swallow her cries and mumble into her lips, “I love you.”

Come back, my queen.Look into my eyes and remember.

“I’ll give you new to replace the old,” I growl, thrusting even harder, and for a moment, fear and desire flicker in her eyes. “No matter how many times I have to.”

I will win her in every way as many times as I have to.

“Hades…” she moans.

The base of my spine tingles, and I can feel myself getting closer. “It’s you. My queen.”

She winces, and blood trickles from her nose. The sight makes me want to roar with rage. She’s not back.

“Come for me,” I command, already too close to stop myself.

She screams my name as she comes, and I roar, rage and desire twined as one. We pant into each other as we descend from our bliss, our breaths mingling. I struggle to shore myemotional barriers back up. I can’t feel the sorrow right now. It didn’t work. She doesn’t remember.

“Still with me?” I whisper, nuzzling her nose.

“Fuck, demon,” she whimpers, kissing along my face, ears, and cheeks. “I missed you…”

I don’t know which is worse: her remembering nothing or these aching glimpses of her remembering me. It is brutal to be teased with the woman I love.

“I missed you, too,” I say, kissing her deeply.

I’m going to get you back, my spring.

I keep my hold on her, heading back up the beach, not putting her down or pulling out of her. If I can remain in this small sliver of memory a while longer, I can remain with Persephone.

Twenty-Seven

Persephone

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