Page 154 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Her mouth fell open in a wild cry, back arching, tears streaking down her radiant face like starlight. The sound, sacred and beautiful, echoed through him, mingling with the groan that wrenched free of his chest as his forehead dropped to her shoulder. His hands clamped hard on her hips as he poured into her with a shudder, grinding deep. He held there, unmoving, chest heaving as the world slowly came back to itself.
Afterward, he cradled her close. Their bodies were still sweat-damp, heatstill lingering between them. Charged but soft, like the hush that follows thunder.
Aglaia lay against him, breath softened, her naked skin luminous in the fire’s light. Her fingertip traced soft touches across his chest, each one stirring sparks beneath his skin. Softly, she pressed a kiss to the curve of his bicep. A small thing, achingly tender.
A faint smile tipped across Hephaestus’s lips. Fierce warmth gathered in his chest at the gentleness of her. So freely given, so fully offered.
She shifted slightly then, resting her forehead against his chest. Her breath warmed his skin. But he felt the tremor that rippled through her.
His smile faded. His brow furrowed, the warmth inside him fading into sudden unease. He tilted his head down toward her. “Aglaia,” he murmured. “What is it?”
She didn’t answer at first, only held him tighter. Her lips brushed over his chest—soft, seeking. A kiss to his collarbone. Then higher, to his throat. To the rough edge of his jaw. Her fingers followed, tracing the strong line there. His eyes slid shut, dragged closed by the sensation.
Then, her breath touched his ear. A whisper, soft as gossamer—
“I love you.”
Everything in him went still. For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His hands flexed against her back. His arms tightened—instinctive, fierce—before he forced them to loosen. He drew back, just enough to see her face.
She tried to press closer, to tuck herself into the crook of his neck. To hide.
But he was having none of that. He cupped her cheek, tilting it, bringing her gaze back to his. Her eyes were bright, lit from within, like sea-glass catching sunrise.
“Say it again,” he rasped. The words tore from him, raw, wrecked. A plea dragged through flame.
Her gaze softened. Then her fingertips touched his lips, gently tracing them.
“I love you.”
The words rang through him like molten gold poured into cracked iron. They filled every fracture, every hollow, burned beneath his skin—remaking, reforging—turning the broken shards into something whole again.
He bowed his head, pressing his brow to hers. Then kissed her—deeply, tender beyond bearing. His fingers wove into her hair, their mouths meeting with a need that had nothing to do with flesh.
When their bodies found each other again, there was no urgency, no wild, raging fire. Only gentleness and ease, a quiet return to one another, like embers coaxed back to warm, golden flame.
His eyes were half-lidded, lips smiling, as she moved over him, straddling him gracefully. His hands framed her hips, guiding her with lazy indulgence as she rode him in a gentle rhythm.
No words passed between them. There was no need.
When release came, it was trembling, a staggering wave that took them together. So deep, so complete, he would have gladly drowned in her.
And when she collapsed over him, her breath warm against his throat, her body was pliant and glowing against his. He wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly to his chest.
Close to him.
Close to his heart.
Always.
Chapter 58
Persephone watched the sun bleed into the horizon, an ember dragged behind a chariot of gold.
He would return soon.
At the heart of Mount Olympus, all was still. Above her, the gleaming twin of the Underworld’s temple rose in white marble and gold, perched atop the summit.
In the east, the moon was rising, silver chasing gold. The sun’s final rays lingered on the mountain’s lower slopes. Wind whispered, carrying salt from the sea spray.
