Chapter 51 The Voyeur
(Adeliade & Apollo)
She dipped her fingers, burying two of them into her wetness. She clenched around herself on instinct. Using the palm of her hand while her fingers curled inside her, she rubbed her clit and thrust her fingers at the same time.
Her toes curled. Her whole body tightened. Her thighs trembled. The orgasm hit her hard and fast. She came like fire from a volcano. Exploding pleasure over the silk sheets. She pressed her face into the pillow to muffle her cries, but they came too fast, only the end of her cry was diminished.
She was still too hot to care about noise. The orgasm wasn’t done. Not yet.
She plunged her fingers deeper, pulling her orgasm longer, as another wave tore through her.
It felt like drowning and burning at the same time.
Like her body was betraying her in ways she couldn’t stop or understand, or endure.
Her breath shook violently.
This wasn’t Liam. This wasn’t gentle. This wasn’t safe.
It was raw, searing, uncontrollable.
It was him.
It was Apollo’s hunger bleeding through the mark, wrapping around her, twisting with her own desire until she couldn’t tell where his ended and hers began. Her thoughts blurred at the edges, washed out by pulses of pleasure that carried the faint echo of him—his laugh, his growl, the feel of his hands pinning her to stone.
“Stop,” she begged, though she didn’t know if she meant herself or the bond or the Devil himself. “Please—stop—” Her body didn’t obey.
She flipped herself over, lifting her ass into the air and forcing her face into the pillow. She pushed in two more fingers and worked them fast and hard. The squelching sound of her hot desire echoed off the heated stone walls. It wasn’t enough. Never enough.
She moved her other hand to her perked nipple and pulled hard. A deep groan from the back of her throat tore free from her. She pulled again and thrust her hips forward, burring her fingers so deep she thought her whole hand could just slide right inside herself.
She grunted and thrust her hips while pushing her fingers. She pulled and twisted and squeezed her nipples until pain bled into deep pleasure.
“Fuck, Apollo” she hissed into the pillow. The words were out before she could stop them. But she’d gone too far to pull herself back now.
Her body shook and shivered as the tension in her muscles tightened. It was coming. A big one.
Adelaide bit down hard on her lip to stop herself from screaming. Four of her fingers hit the depth of her pussy she’d never reached before, all while her thumb pressed hard against her throbbing clit.
Her whole body ached with need. Her breast swelled, and she tugged hard on her nipple. Her stomach tightened, then released, and tightened again.
She inhaled deeply, and the smoky scent hit her hard. His scent.
Another broken gasp tore from her lips as her body constricted and shook.
Then release.
Her whole body collapsed in on itself as an orgasm to end all orgasms exploded out of her.
She pressed her forehead into the pillow, fighting the sob that climbed up her throat.
Her whole body shook violently. Stars sparkled behind her lids. Oxygen couldn’t find her. Either her orgasm had stolen her air, or she had forgotten how to breathe completely.
Her whole world narrowed to heat and need and the cruel, terrifying truth: She wasn’t ready to give in to him yet.
But she was close. So close she hated herself for it.
Her voice cracked on a whisper: “Why does it feel like this?”
Silence answered her. Not silence. Breathing.
Not hers. Not distant. Not through the walls.
Behind her.
Her heart stopped. She froze mid-breath.
Terror and desire collided in her chest so violently she nearly choked.
She didn’t dare turn her head. Didn’t dare look. Didn’t dare move. Because she already knew.
She felt him through the bond. Burning. Watching. Awake.
Apollo was in the room.
And he had been there long enough to hear every shuddering breath, every gasp, every whisper, every plea.
Every sound she couldn’t hold back.
⸸
Apollo stood outside her door, body braced against the stone wall, every muscle locked and trembling.
He hadn’t meant to stop here. He hadn’t meant to listen. He hadn’t meant to let the bond drag him like a chained beast back to the place he feared most: Her.
But when the first sound slipped through the iron— a strangled gasp, choked and desperate— slammed into him like a weapon.
His breath vanished.
The second sound— a broken whimper. His claws punched into the wall.
The third— the “Oh Gods” cried out like a plea.
He pressed his forehead to the stone, teeth bared, eyes shut. “Don’t,” he growled at himself.
But the bond surged again—hot, wild, demanding.
Her pleasure vibrated through it like lightning striking the centre of his chest.
Then—the unmistakable rise of her breaths, the way they climbed, the way they fell, the way they broke.
Her first climax hit him like a blow.
He bit down on a curse as the wave slammed through the bond. It wasn’t just her pleasure—it was her need, her fire, the raw, molten pulse of her body surrendering to sensation.
Every part of him snapped taut. His wings threatened to break through his back. His horns ached to grow. His beast clawed upward, starving.
He should have walked away. He should have fled. He should have locked himself in the lowest pit of Hell.
Instead, his hand slid across the wall. Found the hidden seam. And pressed.
A silent panel of obsidian swung inward. A secret door. He stepped inside. Darkness swallowed him like a cloak.
The chamber was lit only by the faint flicker of firelight, casting her bed in molten gold and shadow. The flames along the walls burned lower here, as if bowing to the intimacy of the moment, letting the dark do most of the work.
She was on her knees on the bed— body arched, shaking, skin flushed, hair wild— her back to him, her breath ragged and uneven as she hunted another release.
Apollo stopped breathing entirely.
The room smelled of her. Pure, unfiltered arousal. Sweet. Hot. Mortal. The scent he was never meant to experience from her, not like this. It hit him harder than any battlefield, more intoxicating than any offering—this was not ritual scent, not fear-sweat or blood, but want. Her want.
His fingers trembled. He could feel her through the bond, feel every shiver, every spike of tension, every drop of pleasure sliding through her veins.
He stepped deeper into the shadows. She couldn’t see him. But gods— he could see everything.
Her ass was pointed in the air, her hand buried deep between her thighs. Her arousal coated her hand, her thighs, the sheets beneath her. The sway it glistened in the dull glow of the light had his cock aching. The pain of his hardened length pressed against his pants. He ran his hand over it and bit back a hiss.
With a wave of his hand, his clothing disappeared into a tuft of smoke.
He dragged a hand down his chest, over the mark, over the burning skin of his abdomen—and lower.
He let his head fall back against the wall, eyes locked on her writhing body, his breath breaking in short, violent bursts. There was no more time to waste. Adeliade was well on her way to orgasm number two. And he wasn’t letting her go alone.