My Maddie (Hades Hangmen #8)(12)

I pulled the shirt over Flame’s head and it joined the cut on the floor. “You are beautiful,” I whispered and pressed a kiss to his chest, on the spot his fragile heart lay beneath. Flame hissed at my touch and his eyes flickered closed, black lashes kissing smooth olive skin. I traced the orange flames with my finger. I smiled, knowing this really was where I belonged. With whom I belonged. “You could never hurt me, baby. You are my salvation, my remedy, my salve. You were a dream fulfilled and a hope granted.”

“Maddie …” Flame’s voice trailed off into silence as his eyes rolled open. Stepping backward, I unzipped my dress and let the loose material fall to the floor. With Flame’s eyes on me, I unclasped my bra, removed my undergarments, and let them drop to the floor. Flame’s chest rose and fell as he watched me. He made me feel beautiful, always beautiful. He made me feel worthy after years of worthlessness and self-hatred.

For a moment, I wondered if he would see the change in my stomach. But Flame rarely looked at my body. He would not notice if it changed. He always looked deeply into my eyes.

Flame scarcely met people’s eyes—he found the connection too much to bear. That he could focus on me this way showed the trust we had found in each other.

“Touch me,” I commanded quietly, my voice echoing around the room. “Please, baby. I…” My breathing hitched. “I need you too.”

Flame’s many piercings glimmered in the fading light spearing in through the window. I was not sure he would move, let alone follow me to our bed. But with measured steps forward, he ran the backs of his fingers along my cheek. It was a gossamer touch, a feather gently settling on the surface of a still winter’s lake. Yet I felt it as though I were walking on the surface of the sun. Heaven’s gates themselves adorning me with their light and warmth. And I basked in the love that poured from his touch.

His hands traveled south, down my neck and to my chest. Goosebumps accosted my skin when Flame’s fingertips drifted over my breasts. I shuddered, chills skirting down my spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. Meeting his gaze, I felt full of such peace, the sensation akin to floating.

“Come,” I invited and, entwining his fingers with mine, led him to our bed. I sat on the edge of the mattress. Flame stood before me, his affection for me burning like pyres in his eyes. People did not see what I saw when they looked at him. They believed him to be emotionless and cold. But I saw the secrets he withheld, as though they were written on his skin for only me to see. I saw his hopes and his fears, as if I had been made by God to be the interpreter for this man. The holder of the key that unlocked Flame’s troubled soul. Best of all, I read how much he loved me, even though his body language did not overtly express it. The telling glint that shone in his eyes was for me, only me.

Flame snapped the button on his leather pants and slid them down his legs. I lay back on the bed, and my heart fluttered as Flame delicately crawled above me. I never felt as safe as when he was above me, shielding me from the world, keeping us cocooned. Flame kissed me softly, as if he feared I would break if he pushed too far. “I need you,” I whispered and ran my hand through his black hair.

Flame took a deep breath and placed himself between my legs. He locked his eyes with mine as he pushed all the way inside. I gasped at the feeling, the one I could never describe as anything but perfection. Healing perfection. Loving perfection. Convalescing souls colliding into an impossible bliss. It healed us both from the ghosts of our tormentors, ridding them of any power remaining over us. It was a communion in its purest form. Flame and me and love.

Our personal holy trinity.

Flame’s breathing became labored as he rocked back and forth inside me, out of rhythm at first as he fought the voice in his head. But he triumphed over the degrading words it spoke and gradually found a steady tempo.

He ran his hands through my hair, caressing and loving me. I did not need the words to be spoken. I love you. He did tell me on occasion, but even if he never could, I would have known instinctively it was true. I was cherished. I had found my soul’s other half. “Flame,” I moaned as butterflies began to build inside me.

Flame did not speak. He simply absorbed our connection, this moment purely for us two. As he framed my head with his arms, Flame’s eyes began to close. I was enraptured by his delicate protective hold, by the flush on his cheeks. Pleasure built and built at my core. Just as Flame stilled, his lips parting in silent ecstasy, I was wrapped in sensation too. Broken apart into fragments of light, only to be placed together again by the feel of Flame’s forehead against my own—we were magnets, pulling together even when shattered apart. Silence stretched as we caught our lost breaths. Flame slipped to the side, and I curled to look at his flushed face. I took his hand that was lying in the space between us.

“You’re not sick?” Flame asked again, still breathless. Even now, he was worried. He needed conformation that I was okay. I saw the worry on his face, in the way his cheeks twitched.

I swallowed. I had to tell him the truth.

The warmth I felt from our joining quickly dissipated as I became racked with trepidation.

“Maddie?”

Taking a deep breath, I guided his hand to my stomach. A thick lump of emotion grew in my throat as I placed his palm on my abdomen. I could see by his blank stare that Flame did not understand the significance, did not even feel the small, telling bump. I cleared my tight throat. “I am not sick.” Flame watched me so closely, so affectionately, it gave me the confidence to add, “I… I am pregnant.”