Chapter 265 Marble Bench 🌶️

Chapter 265 Marble Bench 🌶️
I reached up. I pulled the Black Crown from my dark hair. I set the jagged iron ring on a smooth marble bench. The crushing pressure in my skull faded. I let out a long, ragged breath. The four sparks settled into a quiet hum.

Isidore stepped into my space. He did not possess the feral aggression of the wolf. He did not possess the calculating dominance of the tactician. He possessed an unyielding, holy devotion. He looked at me like I held the stars in my hands.

He leaned down and kissed me.

The kiss was a vow. He tasted like rain and cool night air. He parted my lips, demanding nothing and offering everything. I tangled my fingers in his ash-blonde hair. I pressed my chest against his torso. I felt the steady, heavy beat of his mortal heart. He surrendered his eternity to pull me out of the mud.

He broke the kiss. He reached for the laces of my dark gray gown.

He unfastened the ties. The heavy fabric pooled at my feet.

I stood bare in the moonlight. The silver glow washed over my pale skin. The magic inside my veins pulsed with a faint, quiet light.

Isidore pulled his white tunic over his head. He tossed it onto the grass. He unfastened his dark trousers and kicked them aside.

He stood bare before me. The thick silver scars on his chest caught the moonlight. The brutal marks on his shoulder blades highlighted his massive sacrifice. He was a flawless, lethal warrior, marked by his choice to fall.

He dropped to his knees on the grass.

He did not bow to the Queen. He knelt for the woman.

He grabbed my hips. He pressed his face against my stomach. He kissed the skin right above my navel.

A sharp gasp left my throat. My fingers tightened in his hair.

He trailed open-mouthed kisses down my stomach. He parted my thighs.

He used his mouth.

He offered a holy worship. His tongue traced the sensitive flesh. He set a slow, agonizing rhythm. The heat pooled in my core. I arched my back. I gripped his broad shoulders to keep my balance.

"Isidore," I breathed. The word shattered in the quiet garden.

He did not stop. He consumed the taste. He drove me toward the edge with flawless precision. He understood the exact pressure required to break my control. He mapped every nerve, every reaction, demanding my total surrender to the sensation.

My knees buckled.

He caught my weight. He stood up, lifting my body in his arms. He carried me to the smooth marble bench. He laid my back against the cool stone.

He settled between my legs. He gripped my hips.

He drove forward.

He entered me with a smooth, deep strike. The stretch filled every inch of my body. The connection felt infinite.

I wrapped my legs around his waist. I pulled his chest flush against mine.

He moved with a steady, rhythmic grace. He made every thrust a deliberate, sweeping claim. The friction built a blinding coil of heat in my lower stomach. He did not fight a war in the dark. He forged a spiritual bond in the silver light.

He leaned down. He kissed my jaw. He kissed my neck.

"You are my heaven," Isidore rasped against my ear. "I do not miss the sky. I hold the sky."

"Mon ange," I whispered. My nails traced the thick scars on his back.

He increased the pace. The slow reverence shifted into a desperate, driving need. His mortal breathing grew harsh and ragged. He chased the climax with a raw, human hunger. The holy warrior gave way to the man.

The tension snapped.

A wave of pure, white heat crashed through my veins. I cried out. My inner muscles clenched tight. The pleasure blinded me. I saw nothing but the silver moonlight behind my closed eyelids. The celestial grace recognized its former master, humming a brilliant tune in my blood.

Isidore hit his peak. He let out a deep, shaking groan. He buried his face in my neck. He drove his hips forward with a final, crushing surge. He released his hot seed deep inside me.

He collapsed against my chest. His heavy weight grounded me. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

We rested on the marble bench. The cool night air dried the sweat on our skin. The garden offered a rare, perfect peace.

Heavy boots crunched on the gravel path.

Isidore lifted his head. His silver eyes narrowed. He stood up, shielding my bare body from the path. He grabbed his white tunic from the grass and tossed it to me. I pulled the fabric over my chest, covering my skin.

Orson sprinted into the moonlight.

The demon prince did not wear his usual arrogant smirk. His face was pale. His chest heaved with exhaustion. He carried a jagged, rusted sword in his hand. The weapon dripped with fresh, dark blood.

"Orson?" I asked. I grabbed the Black Crown from the bench.

"The dead," Orson gasped. He stopped ten feet away, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. "The attack in the baths was a distraction."

Isidore grabbed his dull celestial sword from the grass. "Where did they breach?"

"They did not breach the walls," Orson answered. His gray eyes locked onto mine. A cold dread filled his gaze. "They breached the eastern dungeon. They broke the iron cells."

I stepped out from behind the bench. I jammed the iron crown onto my head. The four sparks roared to life. "What did they take?"

"They did not take an object," Orson stated. He dropped the rusted sword onto the gravel. The metal clanged against the stones. "Nymeria Duskbane dragged Cassara Moonveil into the deep tunnels. The werewolf priestess is gone."