Page 60 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

The moment Persephone crossed into his kingdom, he knew.

A ripple of awareness. The roots of the Underworld stirred, whispering her name.

Her reflection appeared in the scrying pool moments before he was there, reaching into Mnemosyne’s waters. Dread locked its jaws around him as he dragged her up from the water like a soul reclaimed.

She gasped for air as she surfaced, blinking water out of her eyes.

Relief struck violently, hollowing out his chest. Then—anger. Reckless. She’d been reckless. Daring powers that could have crushed her mind, carrying her beyond his reach forever.

Before his fury could fully take root, she looked up. She was soaked, shivering. But her expression stopped him cold—relief, raw and radiant. It lit through her like sunlight piercing stormclouds.

His anger collapsed. The sharp words on his tongue died, gone in an instant.

Then she surged forward. Her body met his with a wet slap, her mouth crashing into his, urgent, carnal. For a single breath, Hades stood still, his hands hovering at her sides. The heat of her kiss, the wild ache in it, stunned him.

A pang of concern pierced the haze, and he drew back just enough to see her face.

Upturned to his, it was luminous—rain-drenched, trembling, alive. Emerald eyes burned into him, bared and unguarded: desire, relief, something perilously close to reverence. It blazed in her gaze like flame.

His body roared to life, every sinew alight with the aching recognition of her, the rightness of her—here, in his arms again. Shadows coiled at their feet, rising hungrily to meet the heat between them .

She stumbled slightly as her feet found the cool stone of their bedchamber, shivering against him. The brazier roared awake, flames unfurling in waves of scarlet and gold.

He pulled her flush to him, his hands dragging down her arms. “You are truly here.”

“I am,” she whispered.

His fingertips touched her cheek, tracing the contours of her face, and his voice came ragged. “I feared you would not return to me.”

She covered his hand with her own, holding his palm to her cheek. Green eyes found his.

“I will always come back to you.”

The promise cleaved something open in him.

His mouth found hers again—slower this time, laden with deep, possessive heat.

She matched him, lips parting eagerly, her tongue delving against his in a kiss that burned through the water’s lingering chill.

Her hands dragged over the soaked fabric plastered to his chest, mapping the lines beneath with aching familiarity.

Her hand slipped lower, grazing the rigid length of him through the linen.

His hands were already at her shoulders, wrenching her chiton down in one swift motion. The wet fabric resisted, but he stripped it free. It fell heavily at their feet, and she stood before him gloriously naked.

His tunic came off in one rough motion, fabric splitting as he drew it off. Then her hand was on him again, wrapping around him, stroking him in a slow rhythm that had him fighting for control.

“Persephone.” Her name left him like a prayer said too late.

The bed was forgotten.

He took her to the floor, into the thick furs beside the brazier. His knee slid between her thighs, nudging them open. He settled between them with a low groan, the contact searing.

When her hips rolled up against him, his body went rigid, molten need coursing through him, sharp and staggering.

He found her jaw with soft, biting kisses, tasting salt and water and her. She tilted her head back for him, hips rocking up again, grinding against him. His hand slid to her waist, down the soft slope of her stomach, and lower—slipping into the slick warmth that welcomed him.

Guiding himself to her, he pressed in. One long, slow push, and they were joined. Deep. Whole .

He had meant to go slow. To savor. To worship every inch of her with reverence that eased the ache of absence. But the moment his body sank into hers, silken and welcoming—everything shattered.

“Do you know,” he murmured raggedly, “how deeply I enjoy you?”

Her breath stuttered, lashes fluttering as he moved within her.

He drew his mouth up her throat, his breath rough with wonder. “Made for me,” he rasped. A low exhale followed. “There is nothing in this world, or any other, that could rival the pleasure of this. Of you.”

A gasp slipped her lips, half-moan, half-breathless plea, as her legs curled around his hips, drawing him closer. Urging him to move.

He listened, then obeyed. He set a hard, perfect rhythm, pounding deep and fast. The chamber echoed with their movements, the sound of skin and breath, the raw cadence of voices rising and breaking together.

It had been too long. Too many days without her. Too many nights waking alone, hands reaching for the empty bed beside him.

But now she was here. Under him. And it still wasn’t enough. He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t feel enough of her warm, bare skin against his own. Couldn’t draw her deep enough into him to erase the pain of her absence.

Every muscle in his body pulled taut, hard as forged iron, burning with the effort to keep the pace. But it was already there—

Pleasure coiled hot and fast, snarling through his veins, licking up his spine. Then she moaned, light and breathless.

His movements stuttered. He lifted his head, a curse breaking from his lips, low and guttural.

Persephone’s eyes met his, dark and dazed, heavy with desire. Her hand covered his hammering heart as she asked, “What is it?”

His jaw clenched, his body tightening against his will, hurtling toward the end. “I want you too greatly,” he gritted out, voice rough with strain. “I cannot—”

“Hades.”

Her voice curled against his ear, her cheek brushing his jaw as she breathed his name. Her hips rolled once more, dragging against him in one perfect, devastating stroke. It was the end of him.

A rough sound ripped from his chest as he plunged into her, hard and shaking. She rose to meet him, again and again. His name left her lips in a whisper—then again, louder, until it was the only word he knew .

The tension snapped. Release barreled through him with the force of lightning. He buried his face into her, his shout muted against her breast.

She held him, her fingers stroking through his still-damp hair, slow and soothing.

He didn’t move again. Not until the last tremors passed, not until his breathing evened out. Then he shifted, rolling to his side and gathering her against him, chest to chest.

Clarity slowly seeped back into his thoughts. And with it—awareness.

His gaze dropped to her, cradled naked against him, her skin still damp and glowing in the brazier’s light. But her breath was too shallow. A ripple moved through her, subtle but sharp. Tension not yet loosed.

A need left unmet, he realized with a slow exhale.

Rising to one elbow, he leaned over her, his mouth brushing the elegant sweep of her collarbone. “Forgive me,” he purred against her skin. “I’ve neglected you.”

She shivered as his head dipped, trailing kisses between the soft swell of her breasts. She arched into him, a silent plea, her eyes dark and half-lidded, glittering with heat.

His fingers dragged against the soft curves of her hips, his rough palms mapping soft flesh as though reacquainting himself with the worship of it. When his teeth grazed the sensitive skin just below her navel, she jerked—a soft, wrecked sound rising from her throat.

A quiet laugh left him, lips curving against her skin. He moved lower, watching the warmth bloom beneath her skin, slow and radiant.

Instinctively, her thighs pressed together. Futile.

His hands slid between them, guiding her open to him, gentle but firm. “Open for me,” he said, dark and intimate.

“I—” she started.

He hushed her with a kiss to the tender place where thigh met hip. Her breath caught, and his pulse mirrored it, pounding harshly.

“I will not leave you wanting,” he murmured roughly. “Not now. Not ever.”

Then he lowered his mouth to her.

One long, slow stroke of his tongue, and her breath shattered. Fingers tangled in his hair, her body arching against his mouth.

One arm locked around her thigh, his hand splayed firm across her stomach, holding her still as she writhed. He licked her gently—one slow pass at a time. His mouth moved over her like she was sacred ground, worshipping with each soft flick of his tongue.

He felt it when she started to break. Her muscles locked down, fingers curling hard in his hair as she hovered at the edge. Then it took her. A raw, breathless shout came from her, her thighs tightening against him as the wave crested.

His lips moved against her more softly now, coaxing, teasing the last pulses of pleasure from her until she softened beneath him. Only then did he press a final kiss to her thigh, lowering her legs from his shoulders.

When he lay beside her again, she shifted to face him, her skin dewy and glowing in the firelight, her chest still heaving.

Quiet reigned, thick and unbroken. They watched each other, and he knew with unspoken certainty that he could remain in this stillness forever, so long as she was in it.

He tugged her closer, burying his face in her hair. She rested against him, her weight folding into his arms as he held her like something precious.

Something holy.