I waited. I learned his patterns. I watched for his guard to lower. When he finally trusted me enough to grant me freedom within his realm, when his vigilance eased?—
I set his palace ablaze, burned his throne room, and reduced his halls to ash and rubble.
Then I escaped through the gap I had carved in his wards, and I didn’t stop until I reached the surface.
For weeks, I waited for him to drag me back. He never came.
Weeks became months. Spring turned to autumn.
And I could not bear it.
I missed him. I missed the sound of his voice—rough, demanding, yet tender when it was for me alone. I missed the constant, powerful, dark awareness of his presence.
I was just as obsessed with him as he had ever been with me. All my complaints about his suffocating devotion—they were lies. I needed it. I craved its intensity like air, only I’d realized it too late.
Life without him was dull. Empty. And endless ache.
A new fear took root: that he had finally given up. That he had found another to fill the void I left—someone more willing, more responsive, and more beautiful.
So I went back to him.
No threats compelled me. No trick with seeds. I sought him out.
I returned to the Underworld of my own volition.
I arched over him, my pussy milking his cock hard as the past crashed through me, and I slammed back down to his hilt.
He growled, a primal, possessive sound. Yet he remained oblivious to the history of love and hate replaying in my mind.
“Fuck, Bloom,” he groaned. “So tight. So perfect. You’re taking me so well.”
I rode him harder, faster, my movements a blur. I was no longer the weak Bloom. Persephone’s strength surged through every dormant cell.
My rhythm turned maddening as I fucked him desperately. Then I slowed down, rising until only the tip of his cock remained inside me before crashing down with brutal force. He breathed hard, his eyes rolling back at the pleasure, at my control. Over and over, I shifted the pace and fucked him however I wanted, giving him what he needed.
“Fuck me just like that, baby,” he panted. His newly healed hands gripped my hips despite the pain it must have caused him. “Use me. Take everything you need.”
I braced my hands on his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath my palms. His skin was hot. Slick with sweat. Every muscle flexed as he drove into me.
I moved up and down his gorgeous length.
“You feel so fucking good,” he praised me. “Better than anything. Better than breathing. I need you more than I need my next heartbeat. Always.”
His words cut through me, sharp and sweet and unbearable.
I remembered him saying the same things to me before, in different bodies, across time. His devotion never changed.
My pace quickened, my need for him vast and consuming. He met every movement, his thrusts vehement. Pleasure built, stroke by relentless stroke. My pussy gloved him so tightly.
“Every day without you was agony,” he said. His voice broke on the words. “Every breath without you felt wrong.”
Tears pricked behind the curtain of my eyes even as pleasure coiled tighter in my core.
He shifted me, changing the angle, and hit the perfect spot inside me. He pounded into me with the strength of a god.
I cried out, moaning his name as the sensation overwhelmed me.
“You like that,” he growled, lust burning in his eyes as if I were the only thing that mattered. As if he would have no one else. “Your greedy cunt clenches around me so hard. You’re close, aren’t you?”
