Page 120 of Where Darkness Bloomed
His body trembled, strung tight as an overburdened bowstring, and his breath grew ragged.
“Aglaia…” He choked her name.
He was going to—
A snarl ripped from his throat as he wrenched himself back, shaking with restraint. Then he dropped to his knees, the brace on his leg striking the floor with a dull clink. His hands caught her waist, hauling her against him.
Aglaia gasped as he turned her, bending her over the edge of the divan. Her forearms sank into the cushions, spine arching, her head tilting as she looked back at him. Her lips were parted in a silent, breathless welcome, eyes alight with need, with knowing.
He was upon her before thought could take root.
His hands found the hem of her chiton, shoving it unceremoniously up past her hips. His knee knocked firmly against hers, spreading them wider as he settled behind her, his body bracketing hers. Calloused hands traced the soft sweep of her thighs, then gripped her hips. His chest pressed flush to her back, breath hot against her neck, a growl rising deep in his throat.
Firelight gilded every difference between them. His tawny skin against hers, pale and luminous—bronze and moonlight. He was forged strength, tempered by pain. She, unguarded light.
They met like flame and air.
His hand braced against the divan, the other on her hip, and then he plunged deep.
They both groaned—one sound, torn from the same breath.
She bowed beneath him, her spine arching into his chest. But he held her firmly in place, already moving with brutal grace, each thrust dragging pleasure through them both.
The divan creaked beneath them, but the sound was swallowed by the rush of breath and groans, the soft slap of skin. The language of need spoken in the hush between souls.
She met him thrust for thrust, pushing back into him with growing urgency, her sounds rising soft and breathless, guiding him deeper. Unrestrained, he gave her everything—his hunger, his strength, his devotion. They burned as one in wild, holy heat.
She shattered first, her body arching tightly. His name broke from her lips, ringing through the chamber. And with that, he was undone.
His grip on her hips tightened, instinct overtaking control. Releasecracked through him like thunder, and he gave a shout as the wave of fire overtook thought, flesh, everything.
He collapsed forward, catching his weight with a shaking arm on the divan, the other still curved around her waist, holding her to him.
They remained tangled together, shuddering and breathless. The heat of their union still clung sharply to the air, the scent of fire and tang of salt on their skin.
His brow came to rest against her shoulder as their breathing slowed, the firelight flickering golden across sweat-slick skin. Her back rose and fell beneath him, steady, real.
Silently, he shifted, withdrawing from her. Gathering her in his arms, he lifted her from where they knelt, drawing them both onto the divan. Without hesitation, she curled into him, her thigh slotting between his, her arm falling across his chest.
His hand rose to her face, thumb brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek as he tilted her face to his.
Aglaia’s cheeks were flushed, her breath still uneven. But her eyes—they burned. Not with hunger, but something quieter.
Trust.
It struck him hard.
He wanted to speak. Wanted to give voice to the storm breaking inside his chest. But the words faltered.
What he felt was older than speech. Deeper than bone. His voice, when it came, was hoarse. Frayed at the edges.
“Aglaia...”
Her name slipped from his lips, unguarded, aching.
A plea unspoken by a god who had been cast out, shaped by solitude and indifference, who now offered himself, stripped of shield and armor, utterly bare before her.
Her eyes lifted to his. And softened. One hand rose to touch his jaw, steady and warm. Then she bowed her head, her brow pressing to his chest.
