Page 79 of Where Darkness Bloomed
The fabric sighed as it fell. Cool air kissed her bare skin, and she shivered even as heat rose to her face. His hands settled at her waist, thumbs brushing just beneath her ribs.
His eyes lifted to hers, dark and warm. She had braced for conquest, for hunger that claimed and conquered. But what she found in his gaze was reverence. Wonder.
He looked at her, drinking her in like wine. Like something rare—to be touched gently, worshipped with care.
Slowly, he leaned forward. His lips touched the hollow of her throat, a whisper of warmth that trailed to her collarbone. Then her shoulder. The warm press of his lips was languid, followed by the faint scruff of his beard. As though he meant to memorize her with his lips.
Her hands rose, her fingers slipping into his long, dark hair as heat coiled through her. A pulse of desire, echoing deep with every drag of his mouth along her skin.
When his breath fanned over the swell of her breast, she tensed. Then, so gently she could have wept, his lips closed around her nipple.
She gasped, her back arching. But his mouth was warm, his tongue slow as he tasted her. His hands swept up her back, gathering her close. The steady pull of his mouth drew a sharp sound from her, and he answered with a low, satisfied rumble. His arms held her tighter, as if her unraveling was something he would guide gently to its end.
Her skin burned. She shook in his arms, the warmth in her turning hot and insistent, startling in its force. A moment later, he drew back. His forehead rested against her chest as he drew a slow breath.
Then he stood, broad shoulders rolling. His tunic slid from him, falling beside the bed. She could scarcely draw air.
Bathed in firelight, he looked carved from the eons—his body hewn from centuries of dark power and restrained rule. Not merely beautiful, but commanding. Every line of him formed from strength and dominion.
She barely had time to see him before his hands returned to her. He lifted her effortlessly onto the bed.
Her back met the linen with a sigh. He followed, braced on one forearm, rising above her like a tide.
His breath brushed her cheek. One large palm settled on her stomach, the touch warm and firm. Then, a slow drag downward—over her belly, the soft curve of her hip—
Lower.
His fingers brushed between her thighs. She flinched, but he was unhurried. His fingertips dragged against slick warmth, then brushed an aching place at her core. She cried out, her body rising into his hand.
He swore softly, but she scarcely heard it. His fingers circled, slow and certain, then pressed, gentle but merciless in their touch. Pleasure billowed, slow and deep, rising in waves.
His hand stilled. She nearly cried out at the loss as his touch withdrew. But then—a shift. One muscled thigh slid between hers, nudging them further apart. His hand curved behind her knee, guiding her leg over his hip. And then the hard, aching press of him against her.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he rasped.
She obeyed, thighs tightening around his waist. At the shift of his hips, her breath seized. Above her, his jaw clenched. His head lowered, lips brushing her temple.
A breath. A pause.
“Forgive me,” he murmured.
Then—a deep, controlled thrust.
Her body gave way with a fierce, searing ache. She arched beneath him, a cry escaping as pain lanced through pleasure.
Hades was still, buried deep inside her. His brow pressed to hers, his breath ragged. “Peace, Persephone,” he said, voice strained. “The pain will ease.”
Slowly, it did. The sting dulled, leaving only fullness. Heat. The deep press of him, the ache of being wholly joined. She looked up. His eyes were waiting, dark and open, holding a tenderness that stole her breath.
He held her gaze as he began to move. He took her gently, his hips rocking into hers with smooth, rolling strokes. Once they were joined so deeply she could barely breathe, his hand slid to her nape, guiding her mouth to his. His tongue brushed hers, soft and coaxing. Then he thrust—a deep, mighty stroke.
She gasped, but his mouth caught it, swallowing the sound. Then again—deeper, stronger. And again.
A flame sparked. Small at first but rising swiftly beneath the surge of his body into hers. Her hips tilted on their own, legs tightening, rising to meet his movements.
It burned hotter, brighter. Until there was only this. Skin, breath, and the storm building inside her, growing tighter.
Then—too fast—it changed.
