Destroyer of Light by Rachel Alexander Page A

Ululated trills arose from the voices; the celebratory cries of women, echoing through all of Asphodel, millions of voices in a rising tide.
    Aidoneus glanced to the open door, out to the balcony. He heard them too, and turned to his wife, spurred on by the joyful noises outside. Persephone didn’t spare him her voice either, each plunge eliciting a sweet cry from deep in her throat.
    Do you hear them? He kissed her roughly. It’s the old way… the ancient way, he said. When they wanted the priestesses’ mating to bless the fields. Their collective ancestral memories… This is for us. For this… he said, clasping her left hand.
    The thought drove her wild, a primal heat gripping her as he rose within her, pushing, thrusting, her legs winding around his back. She leaned away, watching sweat bead on his skin. She needed him to touch her. Unprompted, Aidon traced the sheen between her breasts, down her stomach and over her navel, ending in the thatch of hair that hid the center of her desire. She rode him, the voices pushing her on. She was immersed in the sensations of fingers and lips, tongue and phallus, working together on her and within her.
    His hands… oh Gods, his hands … moving all over her in concert with hers on him, sliding over slick skin, holding each other, their movements echoed, reverberating. Every part of her that she wanted him to touch, he touched. It was as though he could sense her every desire— no , he could , she realized, completely . He gripped her waist tighter, knowing what she needed, and pushed her against him. Her head was thrown back, and she grew lightheaded from the pressure of him against that spot deep within. She shook. The fingers of his other hand circled, strumming at her front in perfectly balanced gentleness and roughness, manipulating, teasing and caressing just as her own hands would move and respond. Her sensations were his. His were hers.
    She felt something building within him, powerfully singular, focused and strong. His peak is approaching , she thought briefly. Oh gods, I can feel it… She could feel her own climax growing closer. His was so similar to hers but lacked the anticipatory strain, the contracting waves she felt rolling inside. Persephone knew from his untempered voice that Aidon could feel her spasms starting in earnest. She felt her pleasure sharpen powerfully, tinged for the first time by his approach, burning white hot. Fire rose from their joined cores, through their hearts, their throats, their minds overtaken by the sensation building higher and higher. She wondered, they wondered together, if this was what it always felt like for their mate.
    And then everything shattered— gone in a radiant burst as brilliant as the birth of the cosmos. Mingled with the rapturous song torn in unison from their throats, they could hear the women’s voices ululating as though it were a wedding, a death, a rebirth, an anointing—
    The coronation of a Queen.
    Persephone collapsed against his shoulder, almost sliding off of him against frictionless perspiration, his skin burning, his muscles taut and holding her to him. Aidon’s fingertips had left a radial of quickly fading bruises on her hips. His arms came up and glided over her back to support her. They heard the joyful noises of their kingdom die down and fade back into whispers.
    Thea… Metra… Pater… Anax… Annessa… Theos…
    She wondered if he had heard that strange celebratory cry every time he was with her. If, in their occasional haste, when he hadn’t time to remove his rings…
    “No,” Aidoneus finally breathed, hoarsely answering her very thoughts. “That’s never happened before. Just the usual whispers, if that. At least, I’m almost certain. I’m usually… distracted,” he chortled.
    “The rite you and Hecate speak of…” she struggled to speak, still overwhelmed, her tongue thick in her mouth. “Was that it?”
    “I don’t think so,” he said between labored breaths. Aidon