Chapter 109 To Wake Beautifully
(Apollo)
He moved on. His hand slid down across her stomach, tracing the edges of fading bruises—each one a memory of his hands, his mouth, her body twisting under his. Even asleep, she tensed beneath the path of his fingers, muscles trained to respond to him.
He dragged his hand along her hips, over her thigh, down to her knee. Then back up again—slower, firmer, deliberate. Her skin warmed under his touch, heat blooming in slow ripples like a creature waking beneath water.
Her pulse fluttered beneath the surface — a fragile, frantic beat. Her breathing deepened.
He let his fingers drift between her legs, brushing against her heat. Her soft lips parted under the faintest pressure, her body instinctively yielding even in sleep.
Her head tipped back, throat arching in a long, helpless line. A soft, dreamy moan—utterly unguarded, utterly unaware—slipped from her mouth.
A sound that went straight through him.
Magic trembled through the bond — instinctive, liquid. It tasted like surrender.
His breath caught sharply in his throat. She had no right to sound like that unless she was awake and watching him.
He pressed the pad of one finger against her clit, sliding slowly, deliberately.
Her hips jerked. A breathless moan slipped out, soft, needy, utterly unguarded.
Apollo’s hunger snapped. That sound. That response. That instinctive, unconscious surrender.
Mine.
The word was not a declaration. It was an instinct. The kind that had existed long before crowns or thrones—before Hell had needed a king at all.
He dropped to his knees before her without hesitation. The ground beneath him steamed — stone softening under the heat pouring off his body.
Heat coiled through him in a vicious, possessive rush. Her legs were open only as far as the bindings allowed — not nearly enough — so he shoved his shoulders between them, forcing her thighs over his armoured shoulders.
Her scent hit him like a blow—sweet, rich, faintly spiced with her Emberblood, and unmistakably aroused even through sleep. Her dreams, the remnants of her last climax, the bond—all of it fed into that scent.
His eyes half-closed in a shudder of pleasure that felt dangerously close to worship.
No. Not worship. Consumption.
He gripped her thighs and dragged her hips forward, lifting her weight in his palms until she hung directly above his mouth.
She glistened already. Whether from dreaming, her unconscious awareness of him, or from the echo of their last time, he didn’t care. The sight of her wet, quivering, and ready for him pleased him.
He inhaled deeply, taking in her sweet scent, the spark of flame deep in her blood. He groaned, the last string of control snapping.
He dove his face into her. Covering her completely with his hungry mouth, sucking and teasing with his tongue. He pushed his tongue between her delicate lips, letting her taste fill his senses.
A growl rumbled in the back of his throat as an unwelcome thought hit him.
This is as close to heaven as I will ever come.
A satisfied and greedy sound echoed from Adelaide’s still partially unconscious mouth. It worked only to egg him on. He pushed his long, forked, serpentine tongue inside her, remembering how much she liked that the last time.
Another groan tore from her as her hips ground forward, pushing herself hard against his face. Apollo growled, or laughed, even in sleep; she is greedy. He accepted, sucking her clit into his mouth and sucking on it hard. All the while, pumping and swirling his tongue through her tunnel.
Her body quivered and shook. Her legs tightened around his head, her knees pressing against his temples.
She pulled at the restraints, unable to find purchase anywhere else.
When Apollo slid one of his hands from her thigh to her backside, moulding and rounding his hand on the pump swell of flesh, she gave another happy little groan.
He traced his finger between her crack and circled the tight nub at her back entrance. He brought his fingers forward and dragged a mixture of her arousal and his saliva back to that little button.
His tongue worked her from the inside, his mouth teased and devoured her clit, and his fingers rubbed and prodded her rear.
Her body reacted before her mind could. A broken sound — pleasure-shocked and raw — tore from her throat. Her back arched, her bound wrists straining instinctively. The ropes pulsed with magic, tightening in response, but she didn’t feel them. Not really. Because all she felt was him. His mouth. His tongue. His Fingers.
Her legs trembled against his shoulders. Her head thrashed weakly. Her breath hitching, collapsing, rising again.
Apollo growled into her, the vibration rolling through her body like thunder. Hell itself seemed to answer — torches flaring, shadows rippling outward in concentric waves.
He devoured, consumed, licked like both a starving creature and a king.
She spiralled.
He felt it — the tremor in her muscles, the heat blooming through her core, the frantic way her magic clawed through the bond searching for something to cling to.
“Wake,” he murmured against her, his voice vibrating through her bones.
She was already close — sleep-softened, overwhelmed, dragged helplessly toward the edge by the mouth she thought she was dreaming.
Her thighs tightened around his head. Her breath stuttered. Her walls contracted around his tongue. Her stomach muscles quaked.
Apollo pushed his thick finger deep into her tight ring. All the way to the base. He curled it forward and twisted it back. Spreading her, testing her, preparing her.
A shudder rolled up her spine. A climax ripped through her — sudden, violent, shocking her awake.
Her eyes flew open.
For a heartbeat, she didn’t understand what she was seeing — just a blur of horns, heat, black hair, molten gold eyes staring up at her with feral hunger.
Then the reality hit.
“A-Apollo—” she gasped, voice shredded, trembling.
Yes. Not a dream.
His growl rolled up her thighs like fire made sound. “Good morning, Little Flame,” he purred, lifting his head slightly — his mouth wet with her arousal, his expression dark and triumphant.
“You wake beautifully.”
Her breath broke. Her body trembled violently in the bonds, still quaking from the aftershocks. Her magic pulsed wildly in her chest — confused, terrified, wanting — and he drank the chaos of it in like air.
Apollo rose slowly, dragging heat with him, eyes fixed on her trembling form.
“Now,” he said softly, dangerously, “let’s begin.”