Chapter 115 Lost To It
(Apollo & Adelaide)
The chamber blurred at the edges.
Her world narrowed to heat and shadow and the massive, scaled body in front of her, to the rough press of his palm at the back of her head, to the hiss of his breath when she did something right—or when he decided it was right.
Her senses drowned in him—his scent, his taste, his voice. Hell itself seemed to pulse with the rhythm of her movements, the stones warming under her knees as if the realm approved of her submission.
Shame burned in her chest, mingled with a helpless rush of dizzying sensation. She hated the way her body responded, hated the way the bond transmitted every flicker of her reactions straight back into him like a cruel feedback loop.
She liked it. And she hated herself for it.
She liked the way the scales felt along her tongue. She liked the way his hips jerked when he couldn’t stop it. She liked the feel of him hitting the back of her throat. She liked the salty taste of his arousal seeping out of him.
Her fingers twitched against the bindings, desperate to touch him, to anchor herself, to pull him deeper. Heat throbbed and built between her thighs, a pulse she couldn’t ignore—hers, his, both.
She tried to focus on anything else.
On the taste of smoke in the air. On the way, the braziers crackled, sparks occasionally jumping high enough to cast wild, fleeting shapes across the walls. On the faint rumble of Hell far below, the shifting of its bones.
But every time she tried to pull her mind away, his fingers tightened in her hair, guiding, commanding, dragging her back to the moment.
If this were worship, she may very well convert.
And the terrifying part—the exhilarating part—was that she didn’t know if she wanted to stop. Not now. Not ever.
Apollo watched her like a man in a trance.
Every tremor of her hands. Every stutter of her breath. Every flick of her eyes when she dared to glance up through her lashes, cheeks flaming, mouth swollen.
His jealousy was still a live coal in his gut, but now it had been wrapped in something darker, heavier. Pride. Possession. The savage satisfaction of seeing her on her knees for him and knowing that whoever had crept into his chamber could never have this.
The idea of Cael, or the ward weaver—or any Emberborn rat—imagining they could save her made him want to laugh.
Look at her now. Look at what she did when he told her to.
He felt the bond singing —a wild, discordant song of conflict: her shame, her anger, her reluctant hunger. It fed him. Soothed something raw and jagged inside his ribs even as it kept scraping it open.
“You were made for this,” he murmured, unable to stop the words, “Made to take these cocks.” The praise spilled from him, even if he wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to convince.
Her shoulders shook, a broken sound escaped her, one that was not quite a sob and not quite anything else.
His chest tightened. He almost loosened his grip. He did not.
Time stretched, became strange. There was no measure here but the staccato of her panting breaths and the low, involuntary sounds he dragged out of himself in answer.
She wasn’t delicate anymore. She was sloppy. Hungry. Her eager mouth moved between cocks, taking them deep into the back of her throat each time. Sucking them like they held her freedom. Worshipping them like they were her heavenly gods.
The song of his pleasure, his bliss, echoed in the bed chamber.
The palace listened. The wards hummed. The runes beneath her knees flared faintly, drawing in the excess magic spilling off both of them.
And under it all, something else stirred. At first, he thought it was just the bond. Another flare, another spike of shared sensation. Then he felt it again—deeper, older. A heat that wasn’t his licking at the edges of the restraints.
Adelaide didn’t notice.
Her world had narrowed to obedience and hunger. And the fragile thread of her own pride, fraying with each passing heartbeat. She barely registered the pain in her shoulders, the ache in her knees. The dull sting in her joints felt distant, like it belonged to someone else, someone far away from the molten pull inside her. Everything inside her was stretched thin, vibrating with her need.
Just this wasn’t enough anymore. She needed another mouth. She needed hands. She needed to touch and to feel and to take the pleasure she craved. Her skin prickled with desperation, each breath trembling on the edge of a whimper. The bond hummed like a live wire against her bones, urging her—more, closer, now.
Something in her chest snapped. Fire uncoiled.
It wasn’t the violent, explosive blaze from the cross. This was smaller, tighter, a controlled detonation that bypassed thought and went straight to instinct. A molten bloom low in her ribs, sweet and terrifying, like the moment before lightning hits.
The ropes around her wrists flared gold.
She gasped, jerking as a sudden heat seared her skin. For a panicked second, she thought Apollo had burned her—then realised the magic wasn’t coming from him.
It was coming from her.
The bindings hissed. Smoke curled. Emberlight raced along the coils like a fuse.
They burned. They didn’t shatter dramatically. They didn’t explode. They simply… gave. The tension snapped. The glowing smoke dissipated in a rush of warmth and glittering ash.
Her arms fell. Blood surged down into her numb fingers in a rush that almost made her dizzy. Relief hit like a drug, sharp and bright, loosening something in her chest.
She almost didn’t notice. Her wish had been granted.
She trailed her hands up his thick, scaled thighs, around his hips, and to his backside. She squeezed the muscles. Obsidian rocks in their own right. Heat bled through the scales, far hotter than human skin, enough to warm her palms and send a pulse of answering heat through her belly. His body felt enormous under her hands—dangerous, powerful, undeniably alive.
One of her hands reached for his tail, finding it swaying back and forth behind him.
A groan spilled from her as she remembered all the wonderful things that tail could do to her. Could make her feel. The places inside her it could reach.
Memory hit her like a tremor—her legs shaking around him, her voice breaking open, the unbearable fullness he created inside her. Her thighs pressed together on reflex, a futile attempt at grounding herself.
She curled it around her hand and tugged, forcing Apollo's hips back and an inch at the same time. He groaned and thrust back hard, filling her throat with the thick length.
The sound of his groan rolled over her like thunder, vibrating through her palms, through her bones, through every part of her still trying to make sense of this madness.
Adelaide sighed, the sound vibrating through him. She let his tail go and quickly took hold of his second cock. It thrummed and throbbed in response. The weight of it shocked her—heavy, hot, pulsing with power she could feel through her fingertips. It was like holding a living ember, dangerous and hypnotic.
She bobbed her head and slid her hands in perfect synchronised rhythm. Working both his magical cocks at the same time. Her breath came in small, desperate puffs around him. Saliva slicked her lips, her chin, her trembling fingers. Her throat burned, but in a way that fed the urgency instead of stopping it.
She was completely lost to it. To the burning desire blooming within her. To the taste of him on her tongue. To the stretch and pull of
She was lost in him.
Lost to the fire she’d unleashed. Lost to the possessive growls rumbling above her. Lost to the dizzying truth that she wanted this—wanted him—more than she had ever wanted anything.