Epilogue #2
When it happened, I would soothe him—slide into his arms and let him hold me, then take me sweetly, then roughly. Sometimes I’d wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze until he could barely breathe, just to prove I was real and safe in his arms.
And he would smile through the tears in his eyes and finally sleep.
So yes, I was more than fine with rough, dirty sex. Anything my mate needed and craved. His next thrust drove me to the edge, and I rode the highs. My pussy gloved him tightly.
“Fuck, so tight. So wet,” he groaned. “You’re perfect and made just for me.”
“Whatever you say,” I gasped.
“Tell me this hot pussy belongs to me. Only me. And it’s my right to fuck it however I want.”
“Sure,” I moaned.
I let him talk dirty as long as I got the benefit.
He lifted my ass higher, changing the angle. His deep thrusts hit my G-spot over and over with devastating strength.
I could only mewl, breathless and incoherent, reduced to sounds of pure sensation.
“Look at you,” he growled. “Taking your king’s cock so well. Made to be fucked by me.”
“Fuck me just like this,” I moaned. “You make me feel fucking good, my husband.”
No one else could make me feel this way. Only him. Only ever him.
Encouraged, he drove into me harder, faster. So brutal I was afraid the sofa beneath me would fall apart. The crystal table rattled. Books on nearby shelves shook.
“I’ll never let you fall, my queen,” he promised, his arms locking around my waist, holding me secure even as he pounded into me relentlessly.
Each thrust grew more powerful. More possessive. More dominant.
I whimpered, moaned, writhed. My body was on fire for him, burning from the inside out.
He had ruined me long ago. I was just living it again, and still, I couldn’t get enough.
“This lovely cunt is mine to enjoy,” he rumbled, smug and certain. “Mine to ruin. Mine to use as I please.”
“Are you mine to ruin?” I breathed.
“Every inch, my queen.”
The sound of him taking me echoed through the library—the slap of skin, the wet rhythm of our joining, my cries, his groans, the sofa creaking beneath us.
“This is still part of Umbra Grimoire,” I managed to form a complete sentence. “Maybe tone it down?”
“This is my private study,” he corrected, driving deeper into me, and pleasure bloomed in me. “I can fuck you as loud as I want in my own space.”
“Maybe we should open this part of the library to the public.”
“And let them see what I do to my mate?” He thrust hard, punctuating the words. “Let everyone watch how I fuck my queen, playing with her tight cunt?”
“You’re too filthy.”
He chuckled darkly. “Did that make you hornier? I can feel you clenching around me. Soaking my cock. You love it when I talk dirty.”
“Shut up and fuck me properly.”
“My queen complained I didn’t fuck her to her satisfaction, so here goes.”
He took me brutally, like the God of Death he was. His cock grew even thicker, granite-hard. His mighty thrusts sent me to the edge over and over. His hand slid beneath me, finding my clit and rubbing its peak just right. My eyes rolled back at the dual sensation. It was too much yet I wanted more.
The pressure coiled tighter and tighter, a spring wound to its limit deep in my core.
“Hades,” I moaned.
My mate knew my body better than me.
“Come for me, baby,” he coaxed. “Show me how much you love being fucked by your king.”
The incredible pleasure was undoing me—his cock driving deep, his fingers circling my clit, the sheer sensation of being fucked so thoroughly. I exploded on his cock, my body convulsing, my pussy clenching around his massive hard length in relentless waves.
He chased his own release, thrusting harder, then roared.
The entire underground structure trembled. Books tumbled from shelves. The constellations flickered overhead.
It was too late to silence him—I’d been screaming just as loudly.
His warm seed filled me, spilled down my thighs, marked me from within.
I was a trembling mess. Yet I was so content. So perfectly satisfied.
He drew me back against his chest, settling me onto his lap. We stayed joined, my back to his front, my head on his shoulder. A smile curled up my lips.
His large hand spread protectively over my stomach. His lips traced the column of my neck—soft kisses now, gentle after the storm.
Then he froze. Every muscle behind me tightened like a drawn bow.
He remained utterly still. Barely breathing.
A tiny foot kicked where his hand rested against my belly.
Shit. So much for my plans.
I’d meant to tell him on our next movie night—wrapped in his arms, watching Supernatural reruns with popcorn and wine. I had the whole moment imagined.
But our son, it seemed, had other ideas.
As Queen of the Underworld, my pregnancy wasn’t like a mortal’s. It wasn’t even like other goddesses’. I wouldn’t carry to term in nine months. Our biology was different.
The baby had been conceived only a week ago. Already, he grew swift and strong. Already, he made himself known.
“Persephone.” Hades’s voice broke on my name. “Is that…are you—”
“We’re going to have a baby,” I said softly.
He sat frozen behind me.
I began to worry. “Hades? Are you all right? Talk to me.”
Another kick pressed against his palm, stronger this time, as if willing his father to respond.
Death wasn’t meant to create life. But I was the Goddess of Spring long before my power leveled up. It was another reason the Fates had feared our union. I could give the God of Death an heir who would rule both death and life—a third-generation god superior to any ever born.
We’d dealt with the Fates and crippled the gods. Any enemy, old or new, would have to come through us to get to our child.
I would burn every realm before I let anyone touch my son.
Another strong, insistent kick. Then fierce, joyful tears fell hot against my shoulder. My mate’s body shook against mine.
He had never believed this possible. The God of Death, the monster in the dark—to have a family. A child. A future beyond the shadows.
“Your heir already has an opinion,” I said softly, “my king.”
THE END