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Hades woke alone.
He sat up, heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he feared Persephone had realized her mistake and fled in the night, but once the surprise of waking by himself ebbed, he was able to focus on her and knew she remained in the Underworld, her presence as warm and right as her body against his.
With that realization, he stretched, falling back against his pillows, hands behind his head, and basked in memories from last night.
Persephone wasn’t the only woman he had slept with, but she was the only one he needed. He had never felt this kind of connection before, and he preferred the intimacy. It made sex with her even better, made all the sensations more intense, the gasps of pleasure more rewarding, the aftermath more tender.
It made him even more determined to ensure their Fate wasn’t unraveled, something that was still a possibility with Sisyphus on the run. At the thought of the escaped mortal, Hades sat up, manifesting a piece of cloth to cover himself. He would find that mortal today and end his beating heart. Nothing, not a mortal and not the Fates, would keep him from the euphoria that was Persephone—his lover, his queen, his goddess.
He stepped out onto the balcony and found Persephone wandering the path in the garden. She wore black, and her creamy skin was ablaze against it. He couldn’t help thinking how at home she looked among the flowers of the Underworld despite her disdain for them. He knew she envied his magic, even if what he created was not real and had no true life. His flowers did not need sun or water. They did not breath in or exhale. They simply existed as the souls did, with no purpose save beauty.
But Persephone, she had the ability to create life. Real life. He could sense it within her, the powerful core of her being, caged by disbelief. There would come a day when flowers would bloom in her presence, when her breath would call the wind, when her tears would turn to storms. She would shake the earth and build kingdoms from the rubble.
And he would stand by and watch—a husband, her king.
He headed down the stairs into the garden just in time to see Persephone step off the black stone path, bare feet touching soil, roses and peonies flourishing around her. The colors brought out the warm tones of her skin—pink skin, with red markings from lovemaking, places where his hold had been tight, and faint purple bruising from his mouth. He took in the sight of his woman ravished by his own hand and felt fire build in the bottom of his stomach.
“Are you well?”
He asked because she had not moved since stepping off the path. She twisted toward him when she heard his voice, as if he had startled her. In the early morning of the Underworld, she looked beautiful—eyes wide, wild, sun-kissed hair, parted lips. Her gaze raked down his body, and his blood surged with lust. His fingers curled, a reminder to stay where he was and not close the distance between them. She had yet to answer his question.
“Persephone?”
Her eyes lifted to his, and she smiled. She seemed peaceful, almost languid.
“I’m well,” she assured.
Hades exhaled, as if those words had given him permission. He knew he feared her regret, but nothing had prepared him for the physical toll of that anxiety—the tightening in his chest and stomach, and the dread that thickened the back of his throat. He approached, cupping the underside of her jaw.
“You are not regretting our night together?”
“No!” Her quick reply banished his anxious thoughts, and as if she knew he needed to hear it again, she added quietly.“No.”
His eyes fell to her lips, and he brushed them with his thumb.“I don’t think I could handle your regret.”
He felt strangely raw admitting what he’d been thinking moments before, and yet after what they’d shared last night, being vulnerable felt right.
He threaded his fingers through her silky hair as he pressed his lips to hers, insatiable as the desire he felt for her returned tenfold, surging through his veins, thicker than his blood, urging him to touch her, to take her, to fuck her. He didn’t feel inclined to play or tease, he gipped her thighs and lifted her off the ground and guided his heavy length to her entrance, bending her backward before thrusting into her. They were close, the energy between them intimate.
For a while, they held each other’s gazes, sharing breath and soft moans, but soon they were breathing harder, buried in each other’s neck, and as Hades moved, he felt Persephone come. Her sex clenched around his own, and she bit into his skin, which elicited a harsh growl from deep in his throat. It made him feel feral, like a beast who wished to claim. His arms tightened, and he pumped harder, dug deeper, until he came, emptying into her.
In the aftermath, Hades remained standing, still inside her, holding Persephone close until their breathing returned to normal. When he helped her to the ground, her fingers bit into his arms. He frowned and scooped her up, cradling her against his chest. As he did, she closed her eyes, and he frowned, wondering what she was thinking. Still, he said nothing and asked nothing, returning to his chambers.
Once inside, she opened her eyes.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he made his way to the bathroom.
“To shower,” he said.
He half expected her to protest, but she didn’t. She let him lower her to her feet in the shower, disrobe her, and wash her. As he worked, passing the washcloth over her calves and between her thighs and over her hips, she braced her hands on his shoulders, shivering as his lips gathered moisture from her skin.
“Hades.” She spoke his name, and he stared up at her from the shower floor.“Let me please you.”
Her eyes burned into his, and as she spoke, he rose to his feet. His hand came up and cupped her face, his thumb passing over her lip.
“And how would you please me?” he asked.
Her answer was to wrap her hands around his cock, thumb brushing his sensitive head, and lower to her knees.
