Page 39 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Persephone.

The haze of sleep lifted slowly.

Her dreams had been strange and urgent—soft shadows drifting over her skin, whispering secrets in her ear. Touches that lingered, coaxing her to the edge of pleasure and fear, leaving her breathless in the dark.

Now, she was surrounded by warmth, heavy and solid. It was soothing, beckoning her back into sleep’s oblivion.

Her cheek rested against a sculpted plane of smooth skin. Slowly, drowsily, Persephone opened her eyes.

A thick swell of muscle cradled her head. His bicep.

An arm—corded and heavy—draped low across her bare waist, holding her against the large, naked body wrapped around hers. His forearm rested protectively across her chest, his palm curling with lazy possession against the soft curve of her breast. Claiming, even in sleep.

Awareness struck like a thunderclap.

They had—

A gasp tore from her as she bolted upright, heart pounding.

The shift was instant.

The air crackled, thickening with divine power like a storm about to break. Before she could draw another breath, a streak of glinting black split the dark.

The bident.

It arched through the air, silent in its lethal grace, summoned by instinct—

A hand snapped upward, catching it midflight.

Beside her, Hades had moved, his fist closing around the weapon’s shaft before she realized he was awake. With his other arm, he pulled her hard against his side.

The earth thrummed around them in a low, vibrating hum. His power rolled through the chamber with the force of mountains shifting.

Firelight spilled over him, revealing the full breadth of his form—sculpted muscle wrapped in shadows and strength.A warrior of old. Fierce, terrible, and beautiful.

His dark gaze swept the chamber once, sharp and assessing. The brazier flickered softly. Nothing stirred but shadows dancing along the floor. No threat waited. Only silence and the fading echo of her dreams.

His gaze dropped to her. She was still pressed tightly to his side, her chest rising against his ribs. The line of his jaw eased, the muscle unclenching. But he didn’t let her go.

“Forgive me,” Persephone whispered, her voice small, her face hot. “I woke and… I was frightened.”

A beat of silence.

Then he shifted, releasing the bident. It stood beside the bed with a muted hum, its power quieted by his will. When he turned back to her again, the sharp edge in his gaze had softened.

“What frightened you?”

His voice was still roughened with sleep, and Persephone’s heart stumbled, her mouth suddenly dry.

He was too near—his face inches from her, those russet eyes gazing down on her with warmth, intimacy that threatened her composure. His broad palms rested on her thighs, thumbs stroking along her bare skin, slow and steady. A shiver rippled through her.

A blanket loosely draped his lap. The rest of him was bare—firelight gilding his shoulders, the carved lines of his chest, the curve of strong thighs. The sharp cut of his hips vanished beneath the blanket, daring her gaze to linger.

Heat pooled low, a deep, insistent ache blooming. She shifted.

“Persephone.”

His voice was quiet, but commanding. His thumbs deepened their strokes along her thighs, dragging heat to the surface in a knowing touch.

Her head jerked up.

He was watching her. Watching every breath, every shiver as her gaze lingered over him. His eyes were molten now, simmering with dark hunger, patient and devastatingly aware .

Her face burning, she tried to recall what he had asked. “A dream,” she managed, breathless. “It was... a dream.”

His head tilted slightly. A slow, predatory motion. “What did you dream of?”

The question was a slow, velvet drag down her spine, and she froze.

The memory of her dreams rushed back with searing clarity. His mouth against her skin. His weight above her, pressing down. Their bodies tangled in the fever of want and need.

Shame lit through her like wildfire. She buried her face in her hands, mortified.

A low chuckle rolled from his chest, rich and dark. Then his hands found hers. Firm but gentle, he peeled her hands from her face, cradling her wrists between them. His gaze swept over her, reading every emotion, every thought.

He already knew.

“You dreamed of me. Of us.”

His voice was deep and silken, threaded with certainty. But there was no mockery in it, no teasing—only heat. Desire so unmistakable it threatened to ignite the air between them like flame.

Denial crumbled in her throat. Her pulse betrayed her, hammering wild beneath his touch. The way he looked at her—gilded in warmth, heavy with hunger—intoxicated her, muddling every thought.

“Yes,” she whispered. The confession was fragile.

A sound stirred low in his chest, primal and deep. His hands guided hers to his chest, pressing her palms flat against muscle. An invitation. An encouragement.

Her fingertips lingered over the slow, powerful drum of his heart. Then they wandered downward—tracing the ridges of muscles, over the sculpted curves of his ribs, lower, along the carved lines of his abdomen.

Without haste, his hands slid up her back, drawing her flush against him. The blanket pooled, forgotten, leaving nothing between bare skin. His body pressed to hers, immense and unyielding, and his lips brushed her jaw.

“You needn’t fear desire, Persephone.” Teeth grazed her neck in a gentle, wicked nip. “Not when I am here, only too willing to oblige you.”

His hands curved at her waist. In a breath, he lifted her, settling her between his thighs with effortless command. Her back met the wall of his chest, his arms bracketing her, his thighs caging her in place. Lower, he was hard as stone against her back .

“Shall I show you?”

A sharp thrill licked up her spine. She couldn’t speak, could scarcely draw breath.

But he didn’t wait. His hands drifted lower, brushing the skin of her thighs with featherlight strokes that made her tremble.

Then—almost idly—his heel hooked behind her ankle. With one smooth pull, he parted her legs.

A sharp grasp broke from her.

Laid open against him, cradled between muscular thighs, the tension coiled tight and hot inside her. Anticipation sang in her blood, sweet and sharp, warring with the shyness that suddenly heated her skin.

She turned her face into the curve of his neck, unable to watch what was coming. His fingers traced languid caresses along her inner thighs. Touches that lingered with maddening patience, just shy of where they were most needed.

At last, his fingers slid higher, an indulgent stroke through the center of her wetness, and she nearly wept.

“You tremble,” he murmured.

It was the same thing he had said to her before. But now his voice was impossibly deep, shaped by pleasure, dark with promise.

His lips skimmed her neck, nuzzling the tender hollow beneath her ear. “Tell me, Persephone...” A pause, his breath curling against her skin. “Are you frightened—or simply impatient?”

Another stroke, bold and devastatingly slow, sent her hips arching instinctively into his hand. But his touch withdrew immediately.

“Impatient, then,” he murmured, voice rich with amusement as his mouth trailed along her shoulder, warm and unhurried.

His hands resumed their slow exploration—wandering without urgency, stroking her apart with unbearable slowness. Every brush of his fingers turned the tension tighter, finer, until her whole body quaked.

Just as she thought she would break, he shifted. His forearms braced against her thighs, holding her open, immobile. With slow possession, one finger slid inside her. It curled just as his thumb pressed gently, precisely. Right where she needed.

The breath she’d been holding spilled out in a ragged sound against his neck, her hips rolling into his hand.

Another finger joined, filling her as she buried her face against his throat. His palm pressed low, fingers plunging and a sharp cry broke from her, hips bucking.

Breath hissed between his teeth, and his other hand clamped to her hip, holding her still. The movement pushed him harder against her backside, and she panted, writhing in his arms.

“Be still.” His breath dragged roughly against her skin. “Let me feel you.”

But she was already slipping, tumbling helplessly toward that blinding edge again, every muscle drawn taut, every breath stolen by his touch.

Her hips rolled again as his fingers plunged, curling deep, his thumb circling softly.

The wave broke. It splintered through her, crackling down her spine, through her limbs. Something like a sob came from her throat, raw and shaking.

Behind her, he shuddered, his touch gentling into slow, soothing strokes as the last waves surged. Her head fell back against his shoulder, breath coming in broken gasps.

When she sagged against him, boneless and dazed, he slowly withdrew his hand. His palm slid over her ribs, finding the frantic beat of her heart. His hand rested there, steady and firm, as he eased them both down into the cool hollow of bedding.

When her eyes fluttered open, he was looking down on her with eyes darkened by hunger. But something else, too—warm, soft as silk.

The fear she’d once known was gone, burned away by the glowering heat he had coaxed from her, fanned higher with every touch.

He shifted beside her, one arm looping around her waist, the other cradling her head. They lay wrapped in stillness, eyes locked in the hush that followed.

A question stirred within her, hesitant. “It wasn’t the same… as before.”

His jaw flexed, a faint tic of tension. “No,” he said quietly. “You were untouched. I would not cause you pain again tonight.”

For another moment, his gaze lingered on her, unreadable.

Then he dipped his head and kissed her, slow and deep.

His arm tightened at her waist, pulling her fully into him, the heat of his body forming a wall around her.

Within it, she breathed him in—cedar and smoke and stone.

The scent of deep places, wild and vast.

Her fingers drifted over the solid plane of his chest, tracing the cut of muscle. Down the lines of his abdomen. Then lower—

A deep groan vibrated through his chest. His hand closed firmly around hers, halting her descent. She looked up.

There was no mistaking the heat in his eyes, but he guided her hand back to his chest, splaying her palm over his heart.

“Sleep.”

It was soft command, made gentler by affection as his lips brushed her brow. But it stung all the same.

Flushed, Persephone withdrew her hand, folding it tightly against her own chest. She said nothing. Only tilted her face away, breathing as evenly as she could, hoping he didn’t see the sting in her eyes.

Hades reclined again, slipping into effortless repose. One arm tucked behind his head. The other cradled her low against his side, his hand splayed possessively over her hip, the breadth of him swallowing her.

But even without looking, she felt the heavy press of his gaze as it traced the tremor in her breath, the small retreat of her body. The silent wound.

At once, he stilled. A sharp inhale came just above her head—

In one swift motion, he rolled her beneath him. The whisper of distance between them vanished as he pressed her into the bedding, arms braced on either side, caging her without force.

Shadows draped his shoulders, cast by the brazier’s glow, as he grasped her wrists and drew them above her head. His grip was firmer this time, and a shiver chased down her spine.

Fierce eyes swept over her flushed face, her parted lips.

His gaze dipped to her chest, where her breasts rose and fell with each rapid breath, the hardened peaks betraying her arousal.

His free hand lifted, calloused fingers cupping one breast, weighing it gently in his palm.

His thumb swept slowly over her nipple—once, then again.

A slow drag sparking heat beneath her skin.

When he spoke, his voice was low and rough, thick with arousal. “You think I don’t desire your touch?”

His hips shifted, grinding against her in a slow arc. She felt him then, thick and rigid, pressing against her core. A wild, breathless sound spilled from her throat.

“You think I don’t crave your hands on me?” he murmured, voice like silk over iron.

Another roll of his hips, controlled but languid, dragging himself against her in a slow rhythm that made her arch, her head tipping back.

His mouth hovered above her throat, breath warming her skin. “Do not doubt me, Persephone.” The words fell, heavy and dark. “I desire you. Fiercely. But your body is tender, and if I take you again now”—his jaw clenched—“I will hurt you.”

Heat surged through her, liquid and bright, coiling low.

His head dipped lower. Lips grazed the curve of her breast, his exhale warming the sensitive skin. A soft flick of his tongue over her nipple. Gentle. Torturous.

Then his teeth scraped lightly, just enough to make her gasp. A hint of possession. Followed by his tongue, warm and soothing

Her body was strung so tight beneath him, she was certain she would break into pieces.

“I want you,” he rasped against her skin. “And I will have you again.”

The raw promise sent another wave of blistering heat crashing through her. His hips pressed into her, hard and heavy—so close. Her body pulsed in response, anticipation rising fiercely to the surface.

But instead—

He released her wrists, gathering her into his arms. He shifted them easily, and she was curled against his chest once more. His chin rested atop her head.

“But not tonight.”

The words were final, quiet but unwavering.

She still throbbed, an unfulfilled ache sharp in her center. But cradled against him, wrapped in strength and warmth, calm settled deep.

His hand stroked down her back in long, slow passes. “Sleep now,” he murmured against her hair.

His voice was the last thing she heard before sleep took her swiftly.