Aroused, she thought.

“I feel…warm,” she said instead.

She knew Hades was amused by the tone of his voice.

“Focus on it.” he said. “Where does it start?”

“Low,” she answered and shivered despite the heat. “In my stomach.”

“Feed it,” he breathed.

She did—with thoughts of pushing him into the flowers and pleasuring him. He would be surprised at first, but his eyes would take on that dark smolder and he would attempt to take control.

Except that she wouldn’t let him. She would take him into her mouth until he bucked against her and then lick the come from his cock. When he kissed her, he would taste himself.

Those thoughts filled her with fire, and Hades demanded, “Now, where are you warm?”

“Everywhere,” she answered.

“Imagine all that warmth in your hands,” he spoke faster. “Imagine it glowing, imagine it so bright you can barely look at it.”

She did as he instructed, focusing intently on the heat rushing to her hands. It was easier because she could feel the weight of Hades’ on hers. They grounded her.

“Now imagine the light has dimmed, and in the shadow, you see the life you have created.” Hades lips touched her ear as he whispered, “Open your eyes, Persephone.”

When she did, a shimmering white image of the periwinkle and phlox she had envisioned manifested between her hands.

It was beautiful.

Hades guided her hands to the barren earth, and as the magic touched the ground, it transformed into flowers.

Persephone touched one of the silky petals, just to be sure it was real.

“Magic is balance—a little control, a little passion. It is the way of the world.”

She tilted her head toward him but could not see him fully. His beard scraped her cheek. The silence stretched between them, and every bit of her skin felt like an exposed nerve. Finally, she twisted, coming to her knees. His eyes were fierce, and his nostrils flared.

“I love you—I should have reminded you when I brought you here and each day since,” Hades said. “Please forgive me.”

Tears burned the back of her eyes. “I forgive you—but only if you’ll forgive me. I was angry about Leuce, but angrier that you left me that evening to go to her,” she said, the words hurt, like she couldn’t take in enough air to speak them. “And I feel so…ridiculous. I know your reasons and I know you didn’t want to leave me that evening, but I can’t help how I feel about it. When I think about it, I feel…hurt.”

Maybe it had something to do with all the emotion she had invested in that moment in the dining room. It was all so…intense, and the aftermath left her feeling unfulfilled, neglected.

“It pains me to know I hurt you. What can I do?”