Chapter 26: Tension and Trust

The night had deepened around Starling City, a heavy silence blanketing the mansion. Henry sat in his bedroom, still processing the conversation with Helena. There was something about her, something raw and untamed, that both intrigued and unsettled him. She was like him in ways that no one else could understand—driven by revenge, shaped by the darkness, yet still holding onto the fragments of humanity that made her who she was. And there was a part of him that admired her for it.

He had always been good at reading people, at recognizing their weaknesses and their desires. But Helena? She was a mystery, one he had yet to fully unravel. Her vulnerability was buried beneath layers of strength and defiance, but he could see it—he could feel it. And it was that vulnerability that pulled him in, despite all his instincts to keep her at arm's length.

It was a dangerous game, and Henry wasn't known for making safe choices.

His mind raced with the possibilities of what this alliance with Helena could mean. The enemy they were about to face—Merlyn—was dangerous, but Henry had never been one to shy away from a challenge. What he hadn't expected, however, was the surge of attraction that had crept up on him during their conversation.

The way her eyes had lingered on his tattoos and scars, the unspoken questions behind her gaze, had sent a flicker of heat through him. It wasn't just the physical pull—though that was certainly present—it was something more, something deeper. A connection that was hard to ignore.

Just as he stood up, deciding to clear his mind for the moment, a shadow appeared at the edge of his vision.

Helena.

She had slipped in through the window again, her presence as natural as before, but this time, there was something different. A charged silence hung between them as she crossed the room, her eyes never leaving his. She was wearing a dark, fitted leather jacket that accentuated the curves of her body, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. The intensity in her gaze was palpable, and Henry could feel the weight of it pressing down on him.

"Do you ever let yourself breathe, Henry?" she asked, her voice low and raw, laced with something he couldn't quite place.

He turned slowly to face her, his eyes lingering on her lips before meeting her gaze. "I breathe when I need to," he replied, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of something deeper. "But I don't waste time on things that don't matter."

Helena's lips curled into a faint smile, but it wasn't playful—it was charged with an intensity that made the air between them thicken. She stepped closer, her movements slow, deliberate, as though she was testing the boundaries between them. "What about this?" she whispered, the question hanging in the air like a challenge.

Henry didn't answer immediately. He could feel the tension between them, the pull that neither of them could deny. Without another word, Helena reached out, her fingers brushing against his chest, tracing the lines of his scars. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but there was something unmistakably possessive about it. She was marking territory, testing the waters, and Henry couldn't help but feel a thrill run through him.

His heart rate quickened, but he held his ground. He didn't flinch when her fingers grazed the edge of his tattoos, didn't move when she stepped even closer, their bodies nearly touching. He wasn't sure what was happening, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away. Instead, he found himself leaning into the moment, his body reacting in ways he couldn't control.

"Helena," he murmured, his voice husky. "What do you want?"

Her eyes flickered with something dangerous, something undeniable, as she tilted her head slightly. "I want what you're not letting yourself have," she replied, her voice a whisper of heat. "I want you."

The words hung in the air like a spark waiting to ignite, and Henry felt a rush of desire flood through him. He didn't have to think twice. He wasn't the kind of man who hesitated when he knew what he wanted.

In one swift movement, he closed the distance between them, his hands gripping her hips and pulling her flush against him. Her breath hitched, her body tense for a moment, but then she gave in, her hands threading through his hair as she kissed him with a hunger that matched his own.

The kiss was fierce, raw, as though both of them were trying to claim something they had long denied. Henry's hands moved to her back, tracing the outline of her jacket as his lips captured hers in a way that left no room for hesitation. It was as if they were both trying to fill a void, to find something that had been missing for too long.

Helena responded in kind, her body pressing against his as she deepened the kiss. She wasn't shy, wasn't hesitant—she took what she wanted with an intensity that matched his own, pushing him back against the bed. Henry didn't protest. He let her, his hands roaming over her body as he pulled her jacket off, his fingers skimming over the curves of her waist.

She followed his lead, her hands sliding up his chest and pulling his shirt off with a swift motion. The action was almost too fast, but neither of them cared. They were caught in a moment of pure, unrelenting desire.

As their bodies met, skin against skin, the world outside seemed to disappear. All that mattered in that moment was the heat, the urgency, the undeniable chemistry that had been building between them since their first meeting. It was as if their pasts had collided in this one, intense moment, each of them using the other to fill the void they both carried inside.

Helena's lips traced the line of his jaw, her breath hot against his skin as she kissed him again. "I've wanted this for a long time, Henry," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. "I don't know if you realize how much."

Henry's breath hitched as she kissed down his neck, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through him. "I've known," he replied, his voice low and rough. "I've felt it."

Their kisses grew more frantic, more desperate, as they lost themselves in each other, in the heat of the moment. Every touch, every kiss, was a promise—an unspoken agreement that neither of them was going to back down, that neither of them would ever let go.

As their bodies moved together, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, locked in a passion that neither of them could control. And for the first time in a long time, Henry allowed himself to let go. To feel, to surrender to the moment. There were no strategies, no plans—just the raw, unbridled connection between him and Helena, as their bodies and hearts collided in a blaze of heat and longing.

When it was over, they lay together, breathless, their bodies tangled in the aftermath. Helena's head rested on Henry's chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin as they both tried to catch their breath.

Henry looked down at her, his heart still racing. "Is this what you wanted?" he asked quietly, his fingers threading through her hair.

Helena didn't answer right away. Instead, she simply looked up at him, her eyes filled with something more than just passion—something deeper, something vulnerable.

"Yeah," she whispered. "This is what I wanted."

And for once, in that moment, Henry allowed himself to believe it, too.