There was only this.
Only him.
Only us colliding under the sky’s fury.
When we finally pulled apart, just enough to breathe, I pressed my forehead against his and whispered, “I don’t want to fight this anymore.”
His eyes burned into mine—dark and wild, full of something sharp and bottomless.
“I never wanted you to,” he murmured, voice low, rough like stone dragged across silk. And the way he said it—it didn’t sound like a plea.
It sounded like a promise.
His hands slid lower, anchoring me against him, firm and possessive. Like if he let go, I’d drift off into the storm and never come back. And maybe I would’ve.
But not now.
Not with the way he held me. Not with the way something deep inside me cracked open and whispered, finally.
The rain beat down harder, but I barely felt it anymore.
Because this kiss—it wasn’t just heat.
It was surrender.
And for the first time, giving in didn’t feel like losing.
It felt like freedom.
Still soaked, Hades scooped me into his arms.
My fingers curled into his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only steady thing left in the world. Rainwater streamed off us, pooling at our feet, but I didn’t care. My pulse raced in time with the storm, but my world had narrowed to the strength of his grip and the quiet heat radiating from his body—even in the cold.
We didn’t laugh.
We didn’t speak.
Because this wasn’t a game.
This was inevitable.
He stepped inside, the door falling shut behind us with a quiet click, and I buried my face against his neck. The scent of him wrapped around me—rain, smoke, and cedar. Familiar. Unshakeable. His.
His heart beat steady beneath my cheek, but mine pounded loud and fast, a frantic rhythm that refused to calm.
As he carried me through the hall, I didn’t look up.
I didn’t need to.
I felt everything in the way he held me—the way his arms never faltered, the way his hands gripped me like I wasn’t just a woman, but something fragile he hadn’t expected to need this badly.
It was like we were cut off from the world. Like the rain had washed it all away—doubt, fear, logic—and left only this.
He kicked open the bathroom door.
Soft light spilled across polished tiles. Steam curled upward from a bath already drawn, the surface of the water rippling in the quiet. It looked like something from a dream—intimate and unexpected and undeniably deliberate.
My breath caught.
