Chapter 34: After the Storm

The heavy silence of Starling City seemed to suffocate the air around Queen Manor. The faint hum of the city outside was a distant echo, barely noticeable over the raging storm of emotions that flooded the room.

Henry stood in the center of the living room, shirtless, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of his adrenaline from the mission. The battle with Merlyn had been brutal, but it was over now. The adrenaline had faded, but something much stronger lingered in the air between him and Helena. It was a pulsing tension that neither could ignore. Something darker. Something real.

Helena appeared in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. Her eyes locked onto his with an intensity that mirrored his own. Her movements were graceful, but there was a fire within her, a recklessness that matched his.

"Henry…" she said, her voice a low growl, barely above a whisper. There was something dangerous in her tone, like a predator about to claim her prey. Her gaze never left his as she slowly walked into the room, each step deliberate, her eyes flicking to the scars on his chest—marks from the battles he'd fought, the wars he'd won.

Henry's gaze flickered to her lips, and something primal sparked within him. Without a word, he moved toward her, closing the distance between them. His hands reached out, grabbing her waist and pulling her flush against him. He was done with hesitation. Done with control. This had been building too long.

Their lips crashed together in a searing kiss. It was raw, urgent, hungry—no soft exploration, just the need to claim and be claimed. Helena's fingers gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him. The heat between them was overwhelming, and Henry's hands moved to her back, pressing her tighter against him as if there was no space left to breathe.

The kiss deepened, more fierce, more desperate. Helena gasped when Henry's hands slid down her body, gripping her hips, pulling her against him with a force that made her shudder. His mouth trailed to her neck, biting at the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing her pulse. She moaned, tilting her head back, her hands threading into his hair, tugging him closer, urging him to never stop.

Henry was a man of control—always in control. But with Helena, all of that melted away. She brought out something in him that couldn't be contained. Every touch, every kiss, pushed him further into madness. His lips returned to hers, hard and insistent, as his body pressed against hers, pinning her to the nearest wall.

"God, you drive me insane," he muttered, his voice a deep growl. His hands moved faster, tugging at the fabric of her clothes, determined to feel her skin under his touch. He wasn't going to hold back anymore.

Helena grinned against his lips, sensing his wild need, and she responded in kind. Her fingers worked quickly, unbuckling his belt, pushing his pants down with a fire that matched his own. They were both too far gone to care about anything but the raw, uncontrollable passion that was consuming them.

She pushed him against the wall, her body pressing against his in a way that left no room for doubt. "I don't need control, Henry," she murmured, her breath hot against his ear. "I need you. Right now."

Her words were all the invitation Henry needed. With a growl of hunger, he spun her around, pinning her to the wall with a force that made her gasp. He kissed her fiercely again, his hands roaming over her body, tasting every inch of her skin. His mouth found her neck, biting down just hard enough to make her moan in pleasure.

She arched against him, her legs wrapping around his waist as she pulled him in closer, harder. The urgency between them was palpable, every touch electric. Helena was lost in him, her body and mind consumed by the heat he brought out in her. She could feel the power in his hands, the intensity in his kiss, and she craved it—craved him—more than anything she had ever known.

Their movements were frantic, wild. Nothing about this was gentle. It was all passion, all heat, all the things they had held back for so long. Their lips met again, a fierce clash that left both of them breathless. But neither of them was ready to stop.

Henry's hands were everywhere, touching, pulling, claiming. He needed to feel her, to know she was his, just as much as he was hers. His hands moved to the back of her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as he carried her toward the couch. They were tangled in each other, desperate, unrelenting.

When they finally broke apart, their bodies still pressed together, both of them panting, their faces flushed with the intensity of what had just transpired, Henry looked down at Helena, his eyes wild, his lips still trembling from the heat of their kiss.

"You're unbelievable," he breathed out, his hands tracing the curve of her jaw.

Helena's lips curved into a smirk, but there was no humor in her eyes, only the same hunger he saw reflected in his own. "I could say the same about you," she replied, her voice thick with satisfaction.

She kissed him again, slow this time, savoring the taste of him, her hands trailing down his chest as if committing every inch of him to memory. Henry responded with equal intensity, his hands threading into her hair as he kissed her deeper, their bodies pressed together in a tangle of need and desire.

And for that moment, nothing else existed. No Merlyn. No danger. No past. Only the two of them, wrapped in the wild, unrelenting fire of their passion.