29. Tempi

CHAPTER 29

TEMPI

H is words are like an ice bath. Suddenly, my mind starts running through every scenario of what he could possibly say to me. His tone tells me it's bad, that he's ashamed of whatever words he's going to bring up. I knew this moment was too good to be true. I knew I should never have trusted him.

And I do trust him. Somewhere along the way of being flung from world to world, I started to trust him, to care for him. Everything from his stubborn decisions to his arrogant attitude apparently grabbed me. I'd stupidly started to think of him as more than just an asshole. I'd started to. . . I don't even want to think it. I can't bear to.

"What—" I try but my throat clogs up and I have to try again. "What do you have to tell me?" I finally get out.

He won't look at me. We're in this tiny tent barely big enough for the both of us and he's staring up at the ceiling of it as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen.

"I wasn't always a god of Under. I don't know how to measure time in a way that will make sense to you for me to explain the blip of time I've been in Under. Time moves differently between my world and yours but know that it's only been a small moment of my life," he says. His hands are folded across his stomach. He'd removed his leather jacket and his boots to lay down and it leaves him looking far more normal. His golden crown hangs on a small hook inside the tent, catching the low light of still burning fires outside every now and then.

"Okay," I nod. "So you're old?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure old is the word. Timeless, perhaps? Every world has a different passage of time."

"Is that why I'd completely miss days when I was taken from my world and put back? I thought I was going insane," I muse.

"Yes that's the way it is, and no you're not insane," he shakes his head. "It's just the way it is. Days move differently in every world."

I nod. "Okay. So if being in Under is only a small part of your life, where did you come from before that?"

He sighs. "I'm originally from the Enchanted Forest, though I'm from an exceptionally long time ago. So long, I doubt any of its inhabitants even remember my rule. The castle I once called home is dust, not even stones left to remind anyone I was ever there. It used to be golden, so much gold, it was a mockery. It served as a warning for others not to fall into the same trap I did. Now, no one could even tell you the legends."

I try not to think about how old Midas must be for even legends of his existence to not exist. That's such a profound statement. Legends and myths live on for hundreds of years, sometimes thousands. What does it mean that Midas' world no longer remembers he was ever there?

"So. . . you're geriatric. That's not so bad," I carefully tease, not sure where this conversation is going. I'm not sure I need to know how old he is. Something tells me that something worse is coming.

"Would you like to know how I got my power, Tempest?" he whispers.

I open my mouth, close it, and open it again. "Only if you want to tell me."

He nods and for the first time since he started talking, he turns his head and looks at me. Anguish dances in his eyes, and something else that feels like fear. What is a man like Midas afraid of? What haunts him so deeply that he carries that in his soul?

"I was a king," he begins, his eyes flickering with the firelight outside. "I was a king, but I was not a good king. I understand that now, but at the time, I knew no such thing. I rose to power easily, overthrowing a weaker, elderly king and stealing his kingdom. The power immediately went to my head, and I began to conquer any land I could. War was easy when it wasn't my own blood being spilled." He looks away again, staring off into space as if trying to find the memories. "I was greedy and cruel, and it showed within my kingdom. When rumors of a djinn offering wishes began to spread across the Enchanted Forest, I eagerly searched him out."

"And did you find him?" I ask softly, watching him. I don't dare sit up and draw his attention. I want him to keep talking. I'm both intrigued and also afraid of what he might tell me.

"Of course, I found him. Back then, I had every asset at my disposal. I had whole armies looking for him. And when I came upon him in a cave, sequestered away like a plagued creature, I thought it was because he was hiding from me. I realize now, the djinn was probably hiding from himself." He sighs. "I made a deal, of course. I asked for endless riches without thinking. I wasn't specific." He holds up his gloved hand. "And so my fingers became a weapon. At the first touch to a soldier, he turned to gold. He died, and I watched gleefully despite the life I'd taken and celebrated my new power. The djinn only asked for one thing in return." He frowns. "I remember he was folded in on himself. He barely looked at me, but he had the most beautiful golden yellow shaggy hair. I caught barely a glimpse of him, but I heard his words clearly. He asked to be left alone, to allow no one else to come near him, and I obliged. After all, I didn't want anyone else to get the same gift as me. So for the rest of my reign, I protected the area he resided in."

"What happened to him?" I ask, listening eagerly. This all sounds like a fairytale, and if I'm being honest, this makes me feel like a child listening to my papá's bedtime stories again. Somehow, I know this one won't have a happy ending. Some of Papá's didn't have them either.

"I don't know," he murmurs. "When I. . . when I was no longer king, I didn't think of him. I was selfish in all my endeavors, and the djinn could fight for himself."

"Okay," I say. "So you rubbed a magic lamp and got fancy golden fingers. That doesn't seem so bad."

"It's not," he replies. "It's what I did with the power after that."

I try my hardest not to tense, to keep my expression and tone neutral as I ask. "And what did you do?"

"Power is a drug. Once you get a taste of it, you begin to want more and more. I was already a feared king in my time. My kingdom was extensive, and no one dared question my rule. When I received my powers, I did not deviate from my path and continued to search for more power as expected. I turned everything into gold I could. My castle, my bed, the armor my soldier's wore. What a statement it made for golden soldiers to come conquering. I was unstoppable." He takes a deep breath. "And then I discovered I could also turn my enemies golden on purpose."

I can hear the pain in his voice as he speaks, as if he hates to relive this, but clearly he feels it's necessary to tell me. So I listen closely, giving him my full attention.

"One of the kings I overtook had a daughter. She was beautiful, renowned for it actually. No man had ever won her heart, but when she saw me, she changed her mind. She loved me for the gold I could provide, just as greedy as I was. She eagerly came to my kingdom and without protest became my. . . I cannot say queen because I never married her. At the time, I thought of her as a concubine, but that feels like a terrible term for someone who gave me something so amazing." He turns to look at me again. "A baby, a daughter."

Oh no, I think. He'd mentioned he had a daughter and lost her. Something tells me that her ending wasn't pleasant, that whatever he's about to say may be horrifying.

I quickly look away, this time choosing to look up at the blank ceiling. "You said her name was Marigold, right?"

"I did. My Marigold." His rattling breath nearly breaks my heart. "Her mother died shortly after childbirth. An infection, the doctors assumed, but little Marigold was perfect in every way. I raised her, and I never knew love until I looked upon her face. I raised her. I spoiled her beyond compare, but even with my interference, she was the sweetest, kindest person you'd ever meet. Despite my cruelty to my people, she was often down in the village helping those in need. When she was eighteen, men came from around the kingdom to ask her hand in marriage, and despite my cruelty, I let her choose who she would love. She never said yes, so she remained my little girl, and I remained her father." He covers his face with his arm. "She often spent her days trying to convince me to be less cruel. When she began to sit with me in my meetings, it wore on her. She saw my horrible actions and pleaded with me to stop them. I never listened, so caught up in my power-hungry mission, I could not hear her words. Not truly."

"Your daughter sounds wonderful," I murmur. "My own daughter, she was the same. Always helping. Always caring. It seems to me daughters are always blessings."

"Yes," he nods. "My people loved her despite who her father was. They couldn't not love her." He glances over at me. "She was sitting with me in a meeting when. . . I don't even remember the man now. I don't remember what he came there to ask for, what ailment his family was suffering. I just know I made some cruel decision and Marigold couldn't bear it. I gave the man a choice. I was fond of choices that forced self-sacrifice, and so I believe the man chose to sacrifice himself to save something. I remember planning to not do it, to just scare him a little so he'd be more willing to give to the crown, to grow my wealth. There were other options I could have gone with, and I didn't exactly have time to tell Marigold my plan. I know I could have offered anything else, but I was a terrible person. I still am." When I remain silent, he clears his throat and continues. "When the man came forward to accept his fate, after I pulled off my glove, Marigold, she. . . she stepped in the way."

"No," I whisper.

"My fingers brushed her shoulder," he chokes out. "Her screams. . . they will always haunt me."

I turn toward him just in time to see the tear run from the corner of his eyes. Without thinking about it, I reach over and wipe it away. He looks at me sharply, his eyes tracing my face, the expression on it.

"When it happened, my kingdom rioted," he adds. "They loved her, and when I took her from them, their sunshine, they came after me. I should have stayed and faced my punishment." More tears I wipe away. "But I ran. I ran right to the Underworld, where all terrible miscreants run, and I hid there like the coward I am."

Rolling onto my side, I turn his face to mine more fully. "It sounds like an accident, Midas."

"One caused by my greed and cruelty," he admits. "It could have been avoided, and I lost my daughter because of it."

"I understand wanting to take the blame," I reason. "When I lost my own daughter, I considered it my fault. They wouldn't have been on the road at that particular time if I hadn't been late myself, if I hadn't accidently spilled coffee on my husband's shirt. He had to change and took a few extra minutes. I was late, so I couldn't take my daughter to school. His job was more forgiving of lateness, and so he took her. Because of all my actions that morning, they were at the wrong place at the wrong time." I grit my teeth. "We were the rig closest to the wreck, our first call of the day, and so I was on site first. I realized it was my husband's car almost immediately." I meet his eyes. "So I understand, but sometimes, we're cursed. You sought out a gift and found a curse. I had a gift and created the curse. We are not so different."

"Wrong," he whispers. "My greed and cruelty created my curse. Your curse was bad luck and horrible events. We are not the same."

I study him, his expression, his regret. "And are you still those things?"

"Greedy?" he sighs. "No. I'm tired of seeing gold. Am I still cruel?" He pauses. "I suppose that depends on who you ask."

"I don't think you're cruel," I point out. "You've been protecting me."

"Because I need you," he counters.

"Mmhmm," I answer. Silence. His eyes focus on mine and the tension between us amplifies. The tent feels too small and yet not small enough at the same moment. The sudden urge to move closer fills me, but I don't dare not when there's still this haunted look in his eyes.

"I may. . . also. . . just want to protect you," he admits softly, so quiet, it's almost impossible to hear him. Somehow, I do.

"Because of my weird portal powers?" I ask, my heart thundering loudly in my chest. I'm certain he can hear it.

"Because I. . . like you," he corrects.

I snort. "Right. That I doubt."

He tenses. "Why do you doubt that?"

"Look at you! You're a fairytale king from the fucking Underworld, Midas. I'm just a lonely paramedic from the Bronx. There's no way?—"

"I like you. I care for you," he growls. "And you doubt my affections?"

"You were right," I growl, preparing to roll away. "You're still cruel to tease me like this."

Before I can roll backward, his hand grabs my hip and holds me fast, forcing me to remain looking at him. "I'm telling the truth, Tempest," he growls, his eyes alight in a way I've never seen. Usually, he's all ice, but right now, his eyes are like molten gold. "This is not cruelty. This is no lie. I want you. Fuck, I've never wanted someone as much as I want you. Just because I have a tough time admitting it to myself doesn't make it any less true."

"Why?" I ask.

"Why?" he repeats. "What do you mean why?"

"Why do you think you like me? What exactly is it you think you like?" I gesture to myself. "I'm not exactly some young concubine. I'm not the type a king would covet."

"Bullshit!" he snarls, but when he sees me flinch at his aggression, he forces his words to soften. "I don't care about other kings or concubines. You're the type I covet. You're what I want."

"But why?" I growl again. "It doesn't make sense!"

"It makes perfect sense," he snarls. "You're fucking beautiful." I scoff at his words, and he grabs my chin. "No. No! " he growls. "You don't get to be dismissive. You want to know why? It's because you're a fucking inferno, burning brighter than the fires of Under, and you destroy me with it. You glitter like gold all on your own, and it's just your fucking soul. You're so desperate to see yourself as less than, but you need to see you how I see you. You might as well be carrying a sword. That's the kind of warrior I see inside you. I've wanted you since the moment I saw you, and when I learned who you are, it made me more desperate for you. I yearn for you at every moment. I've thought of nothing but our kiss since our lips touched. I want more. I need more. And I'm determined to have it. That is why." He jerks me closer. "Does that satisfy your question?"

He's panting hard now, his eyes bright with fire. His words slam into me, take hold, and sink into my skin. I don't know how to respond. How do you even respond to such beautiful words? I don't think I've ever been spoken to so. . . so. . .

"I don't understand," I whisper, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Perhaps this will make you understand," he growls, and then his lips are on mine.

The kiss is violent and angry. He calls me the fire, but Midas has never felt like such a raging inferno as he does right now. His gloved hand holds my chin in position as he consumes me, as he feeds his fire down my throat. It goes straight to my core, and I understand his desperation, because I feel it, too. I want him. I do. But I never planned to act on it.

He hooks my knee and drags my leg over his hip, pressing his hard length against my pelvic bone, and I give in. I stop questioning it. I want him. He wants me. That should be enough. Things like this don't have to come with a pamphlet of explanation. There's no need for a manual. Es lo que es . It can just be.

I reach up and stroke my hand through his beard before circling the back of his neck and holding him to me. He growls against my lips and presses tighter against me. His tongue dances along mine, teasing me, and when he breaks the kiss to trail his lips along my jawline and neck, I can barely breathe. I might be hyperventilating. I can't get enough air.

"Say you want me," he commands against my throat.

" Te deseo ," I rasp. "I want you so much."

"Very good," he groans, and trails his hand beneath my shirt. His fingers trace along my breast, stroking my nipple before trailing over to the other and pinching it. I arch into his hand. "So good," he croaks. "Fuck."

He jerks my shirt off and stares down at me. I'm not perfect. I'm covered in little white scars and stretch marks, but he looks at me as if I'm the most perfect thing he's ever seen. It's the hottest expression I've ever seen a man make. When he dips his head to capture one of my nipples in his mouth, I moan at the feeling of it.

"Make as much noise as you'd like," he warns. "But know that we're not the only ones here in these tents."

I clamp my mouth shut, suddenly remembering we're in a tent and there's no sound barrier at all. Fuck. How am I supposed to be quiet when he's being so fucking sexy?

He chuckles against my skin and looks up at me. "Think you can remain so quiet the whole time?"

There's a challenge in his eyes and I realize he doesn't care if anyone else hears us. Bastard. He's going to get us kicked out of camp.

I tug at his shirt, and he lets me pull it over his head, leaving him bare before me. His broad shoulders are perfect for holding on to. The smattering of hair across his chest makes me want to run my fingers through it. The hard planes of his body make me desperate to run my tongue along them. Where I have scars, Midas has none, as if he's as perfect as the gold he creates. It's not fair. For a moment, I feel myself getting self-conscious again, but his large, gloved hand spans across my stomach and sinks in, holding me to him.

"You're so soft," he groans. "So perfect."

I forget why I should be worried when he begins to shove my pants down. His fingers stroke along my body reverently, leather against skin, as he traces my shape all the way down to my ankles as he strips me of my last bits of armor. Every part of me opens up when he looks down at me like that, when he gently grips my knees and spreads me wide. He traces the one tattoo I have along my rib, the date of the crash, and seems to understand it's profoundness. He kisses it and then moves lower, tracing his lips everywhere he can reach. When he dips down to taste me, I nearly come undone. He hums in pleasure before sinking in more fully to consume me in a different way.

My fingers spear into his hair and grip. "Midas," I breathe, desperate, eager.

"What is it you want, little crucible?" he asks against my core. He swirls his tongue and makes me forget how to speak. It takes everything in me to remember I have a tongue at all.

"You. I want you," I pant. " Por favor ."

He chuckles. "I never thought I'd hear the great Tempest beg."

"I'm not begging," I croak. "I'm demanding."

He laughs again and it's such a warm chuckle, I wonder how he could have ever felt like ice. He lifts up on his knees and reaches for the crown he'd hung on top of the tent before leaning over me. Gently, he presses it around my head, careful not pull my hair. It's too large for me, but since I'm lying down, it's okay.

He inspects his handiwork and smiles, his eyes twinkling. "And what would you have me do, my queen?" he asks.

I stop breathing. I think I forget how to. I stare up at him with wide eyes, my fingers reaching up to touch the crown he'd placed on me, his. Call me silly, but this little gesture feels like something heavier, like something more meaningful than anyone else would take it. That realization stills my heart and my hand, not sure how to proceed.

"Would you prefer me worship at your alter?" he asks, his fingers stroking my knees. "Or would you prefer me to test your silence?"

"I. . ." No words will come. Fuck.

"I can taste you some more, make you cry out in pleasure, make you come over and over again with just my tongue," he murmurs. "If you'd like." He leans over me. "I could play with you until you're a writhing mess of nectar, until you can't speak anything but my name." He grinds against my core through his pants, pressing against me in ways that have me squirming. "I could sink deep inside you and paint you with my seed, until you milk my cock for all it's worth, until you steal my very soul."

"The last one," I croak. "Give me everything."

He grins. "As my queen commands."

Midas unbuckles his pants and shoves them down, but he doesn't bother kicking them off. He frees his length and immediately strokes it along my seam, testing the wetness there. His breath rattles from his chest, as if he can't contain it. He's large, but not so large that I worry he'll break me. His girth certainly seems larger than I've had before, and when he presses against my core with a groan, I know I'm going to stretch more than I've ever stretched. I claw at his shoulders as he presses my knees back, bettering the angle as he sinks inside me slowly. He works inside me with gentle strokes, giving me time to adjust. When he groans loudly, I clamp my hand over his mouth.

"Shh," I croak, my voice shaky with the feeling of him stretching me.

"I never promised to be quiet," he grunts. "In fact, I'm going to enjoy this."

He jerks my hips up off the bed roll, supporting me higher, and sinks fully inside me. I jerk in his hold, my chest rising and falling with panicked breaths.

"Everyone will hear," I hiss.

"Let them hear," he moans as he grinds his pelvis against mine. "Let them."

"Midas—"

He pulls out and presses back in hard, and my words cut off. I think my eyes roll back in my head as pleasure renders me speechless. It's been a while since I've had sex, but I never remember it feeling like this. The leather of his gloves stroking over my skin does something to me, the roughness amplifying his touch as he begins to stroke in and out in deep thrusts. I claw at him, and when I can't seem to get a good hold of him, I instead claw at the blankets beneath me. His hands sink into my hips and squeeze.

I moan, too loudly, and remember to clamp my lips shut.

He chuckles. "Looks like you're losing your battle, Your Majesty."

"You're an asshole," I grit out between my teeth.

Another laugh. "Then let me live up to your expectations." He pulls out of me, but before I can complain, he flips me and jerks my hips up into the air. The movement is so effortless for him despite my weight, I question everything I've ever known about myself. When he sinks back deep inside me, I writhe beneath him, and another moan comes out.

"Midas," I croak. "I don't want them to hear."

"Maybe I do," he moans as he presses on the small of my back, forcing my chest down as he rides me. He lengthens his strokes, slamming against my ass with enough force to shake it. "Maybe I want them to hear how much I pleasure you."

I shove my face into the blanket, trying to muffle my moans as he claims me, thinking maybe I can stay quiet that way. His fingers thread into my hair and tighten before he jerks me up. He's careful not to knock the crown from my head.

"That's cheating," he grunts.

"You bastard," I gasp before moaning. " Tenías razón . You're still cruel."

He lets go of my hair to wrap around my throat. His lips trace the shell of my ear. "Maybe I just want to hear how pretty you sound moaning my name," he rasps. "So say it."

"I'm the one wearing the crown," I point out breathlessly as he strokes inside me and grinds.

"Would you like me to say your name instead?" he groans. "Because Tempest, I'll scream it so loud, no one will sleep."

"Midas," I groan, and his fingers squeeze my throat gently. "I can't. . ."

"You can," he encourages. "You're so perfect like this, speared on my cock, writhing with the pleasure I can give you. I can give you more if you say my name."

I keep my lips stubbornly shut and he stops moving. "Say my name, Tempest," he growls.

"No."

His lips press against my shoulder before he bites hard enough to make me gasp. "Say it. Or else I'll be as cruel as you call me."

"I don't care," I rasp, trying to press back against him.

He presses his other hand against my stomach, keeping me still. "You're playing with fire, Tempest."

"Silly me," I grunt. "I thought I was playing with gold."

He pulls out and slams inside me. I cry out before I know I've done it. I clamp my hand over my mouth, but he jerks it away. He uses his forearm to hold me up and trap my hands against my stomach.

"Fine," he growls. "If you won't do it willingly, I'll make you do it."

He begins to power inside me in long, powerful strokes, each one of them touching a spot inside me that makes me start to melt around him. I can't cover my mouth. I can't stop the sounds no matter how hard I try. When I attempt to clamp my lips shut, he fucks me harder, and the sounds slip out. My thighs start to shake, my body winding so tight, it's almost painful.

"Midas!" I cry and he practically purrs as I shatter against him, as my body convulses with my release.

"There it is," he moans. "Such a good queen, blessing me with her juices." He nibbles at my shoulder. "I can feel you dripping around me, marking me. How badly I want to taste you. But first. . ." He starts to move inside me again. "I expect you to do that at least three more times."

He starts to stroke inside me again and I lose all control, my body tight so fast, I don't know how to handle it. I come undone. I unravel. The words that come tumbling from my lips don't sound like English or Spanish, so run together, it's like I'm speaking in tongues.

"Midas," I cry as another orgasm ricochets through me, before rolling into another one. I lose all control of my body. I lose all function. All I can focus on is the pleasure he creates as he fucks me so thoroughly, I know no man will ever compare again. I'm almost surprised when he flips me again and comes over me, his eyes bright and beautiful. He cups my breast and squeezes as he hooks my knees over his hips and presses inside me again.

"You burn so bright," he whispers as he touches me like I'm something meant to be worshipped. "I can't look away."

My eyes water and I quickly blink them away, refusing to cry in front of this man. He can't see how much he affects me. I don't want him to know.

But as he strokes against me with gentle thrusts now, it's a battle I start to lose. When the first tear falls, he captures it with his lips, his hips still thrusting against mine.

"I'm going to protect you," he whispers against my skin. "I'm going to cherish you, for as long as you'll have me. Tempest."

I wrap my arms around him, holding on for dear life as my heart throbs painfully in my chest. It feels so strange. Part of me feels guilty that it's reacting this way, but I know Gilroy would have never wanted me to turn away a chance at second love. I know he would be disappointed if I did. Still my instincts scream at me to do so. It takes everything in me to fight it, but I embrace all that Midas is giving me. I absorb it, and in doing so, I shatter again around him.

He moans against my skin, his own rhythm suddenly a little hurried. I feel his length jump inside me, a spurt of warmth filling me before he jerks out and finishes the rest on my stomach. I glance down just in time to see the sparkles in his release, like tiny gold flakes, before he rubs along my seam and presses inside again, still ready. I moan alongside him as he continues to pleasure me, as we both writhe inside our small tent. I lose track of time. I lose track of where I begin and end. Was there ever a time I didn't fall head over heels in love with Midas? Did it ever exist before now?

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.