Page 153 of Where Darkness Bloomed
His grip tightened around her. One hand splayed wide across her back, the other cradling her head as she buried her face against his chest.
Fire rose to answer him.
Flames stirred, curling to life in a slow, encircling dance—neither fierce nor wild, but alive. A flickering veil drawn around them, creating a world made only of breath and heat.
And everything beyond melted away.
Chapter 57
When the flame and ash fell away, they were in his home.
Their home.
A place of warmth and polished stone, once shaped by solitude and heat.
But now, it too was transformed. A sanctuary where he came and lost himself in her.
He left no room for hesitation. No chance for retreat. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers anchoring there with an unspoken claim. Then his mouth found hers in a heated rush, hungry and impatient—fierce with longing.
Her fingers gripped his tunic, gathering it in her fists. She rose into him, her mouth parting beneath his as he consumed her. He moved on instinct, bearing them toward the bed with long strides, his hand rising to the bronze pin at her shoulder. One sharp pull, and her chiton slid free.
He laid her bare on the bed. For one long breath, he stood there over her, his gaze devouring her.
He stripped the tunic from his body in a hard drag, the fabric rasping against his skin. It fell to the floor, forgotten, as he came to her.
Her hands found his waist, dragging him over her until his body caged hers—positioned between her splayed thighs, one hand braced beside her head. He could feel her trembling as he dipped his head, his mouth brushing her jaw.
His voice was rough, wracked with longing deep enough to ache. “I will give you a child.”
He thrust into her slow and deep.
A broken gasp cracked from her throat as her hands clutched his shoulders,dragging down the broad bands of his back. He drew back, then drove deeper.
His rhythm was steady, smooth. His mouth found her throat as her head tipped back, and her nails scraped his skin.
“A babe born of grace and fire,” he murmured hoarsely. “These halls will echo with joy.”
Another thrust. Another vow.
“This home will know peace,” he breathed, groaning into her skin. “It will hold your laughter like the sky holds stars.”
Her arms twined tighter around him, her ankles sliding up his hair-roughened legs to lock around his waist. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and he caught it with his lips, drinking it like something sacred. A groan broke from him as she pulled him deeper, tighter.
He moved with purpose now. Deep. Commanding. A rhythm as old as fire, a prayer written in motion and breath. His fingers slid into her hair, drawing her closer, erasing the last breath of space until it was her and him, soul to soul.
And when her eyes—silvered with tears, burning with trust—met his, he saw all of her. The truest part of her, offered without condition.
“And you,” he whispered, voice roughened by awe, “will never know a day unloved… so long as I endure.”
They moved together, urgent and instinctive, desire and devotion twining tighter with every breath.
She gasped, breathless and pleading. “Please—”
Hephaestus stilled. When he moved again, it was slower. Heavier. Like molten iron pouring into a mold.
“You are not my solace from the past, Aglaia,” he vowed, his voice coarse and shaking. “You are my reason to shape the days ahead.”
With a hard roll of his hips, he drove them both over the edge into release—fierce, shattering, absolute.
