When he came to her stomach, he sat back on his heels to lift her shirt, but Persephone took over, remaining on her back as she wiggled the fabric up and over her head. When she was still once more, he pressed his lips to her stomach, moving down her body in a slow, predatory climb.
He could smell her arousal. The air around her center was almost damp with it, and he was eager to touch his tongue to her clit, to circle her flesh until she came against his mouth. He was also eager to praise and to worship, so he sat back once more and kissed from the inside of her knee to the apex of her thigh, repeating the process down her other leg before pressing a kiss to her center. Persephone’s hands clamped down on his head, and as she held him there, he offered a soft laugh, looking up at her from where he hovered.
“Do you want something, my darling?” he asked.
She stared down at him, eyes gleaming. “You said you would make love to me,” she answered.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Then do it,” she said. “Now.”
A smile curled his lips as she spread her flesh, and he let his tongue slide along her silken skin and circle her clit. Above him, Persephone sighed, and her fingers tightened in his hair to the point that his scalp stung, but he didn’t care because she had begun to press harder against his mouth, seeking depth that he could only offer with his fingers, so he curled those inside her too and moved in rhythm, her cries growing in intensity.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”
Her hands slipped from his hair and her body tensed.
“Do you want to come?” he asked.
She gave a guttural cry, and her answer was her release, a gush of warmth and wet that coated his fingers, and as he let them slide from inside her, he took them into his mouth to taste her.
Beneath him, she was limp, but he climbed up her body and placed his weight against hers while he kissed her, his cock cradled between her thighs. Her hand drifted down his body, and she reached between them, closing her hand around him as she jerked him up and down. He groaned into her mouth.
“Fuck. Fuck.”
He would have let her continue if he had not intended for this to only be about her, so he took her hand and pinned it by her head, rising to spread her legs apart with his knees. With his cock poised at her center, he slipped inside. Once more, he settled close, holding his weight on his forearms, and kissed her deeply, and while his lips were locked with hers, he began to move.
Persephone lifted her legs, wrapping them firmly around him, her heels pressing into his ass. With each thrust, they dug in harder, as if she wanted to absorb him.
He moved his arm beneath her head and looked into her eyes.
“There are few truths in this world,” he said, “but the one you must always remember is that I love you.”
“I love you too,” she whispered and brought his mouth to hers.
His words came with a shift in the way they moved, and suddenly there was an urgency to their pace that had their bed rocking and their bodies dripping with slick sweat. Their breaths grew ragged and rough, and they prayed to each other to let the other come. When they finally did, it shattered through their bodies, rocking them deep to their cores until they were both boneless.
After, Hades rose with her and bathed before returning to bed, where he curled himself around her and fell into a deep sleep.
*
Later, he awoke suddenly to find he was alone. He sat up and looked around the room, but Persephone was gone. For a brief moment, he thought she had left the Underworld entirely, but he could feel her here, so he rose and went in search of her. As he stepped into the dim halls of his palace, he smelled warm cocoa and knew he would find her in the kitchen. She had a habit of baking when she was stressed, and it was only now that he realized she had not done so since she’d taught him how to make sugar cookies at her apartment.
He moved through the dining room, where he found Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus resting near the door to the kitchen. They looked up as he passed, and he entered, finding Persephone on the floor of the kitchen, sitting with her knees pressed to her chest, staring into the oven, its yellow light illuminating her somber face.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, and she turned toward him looking very much exhausted and sad. He knew she was thinking of Lexa.
“No,” she said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t wake me. Your absence did,” he answered truthfully.
“I’m sorry,” she said, frowning.
“Don’t be—especially if it means you are baking.”