Chapter 120 Wait to Kill
(Apollo & Adelaide)
"Now take what I give you.”
The chains tightened at her wrists. Her hands splayed wider. Her breath caught.
The next thrust was deliberate. Possessive. World-ending.
Her cry fractured into a breathless sob, her whole body bowing under the force of it. Magic flared under her palms like burning stars.
The restraint was gone. He’d been patient. He’d been kind, as she liked to call it. That time was past. Now he was going to take. And she was going to give.
He trusted her again, and again, and again. The tightness of her cunt gripping him. The tightness of her asshole strangling him. He was going to explode like a dying star.
Adelaide moaned and groaned and started to push back against him with each thrust.
There was no more pain in her voice. Only pleasure. Pleasure unlike anything else she had ever endured.
Pleasure that flooded her veins. Pleasure that rewrote her bones. Pleasure that made her forget her name, her past, the world outside his body and the heat consuming hers.
Her body tightened—sharp, sudden, violent. Not against him… around him.
A trembling shockwave rolled through her limbs, a full-body shudder that started low in her belly and tore its way outward, stealing her breath, her thoughts, her sanity.
She choked on a gasp. Then it hit.
Her climax detonated. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t something her body eased into. It was a violent, catastrophic unravelling, as if every nerve in her core snapped into blinding, molten-white pleasure.
Her scream ripped free—raw, unrestrained, dragged from the deepest place pleasure could reach.
The sound ricocheted off the stone walls, echoed through the glowing runes beneath her palms, and flared down the bond like a lightning strike.
Apollo froze. Not because he wanted to. Because he had to. Her body clenched around both of him so hard his vision obliterated.
The chamber went white—no edges, no shadows, no air. Just her. Just this. Just the unbearable, punishing ecstasy of feeling her break open around him.
His hands braced on either side of her instinctively, claws gouging into the bench until wood splintered and groaned beneath his grip.
“Adelaide,” he rasped—barely a voice, barely human. “Little Flame—”
Her body pulsed again.
And that was it.
A roar ripped out of him so deep the palace walls trembled. His wings snapped wide, smashing against the air with a thunderclap. His tail lashed violently, sparks scattering across the floor. He thrust forward once—reflex, instinct, possession—and her scream met his roar in a shattering collision of sound.
\[author addition — Apollo’s release overtaking him\]
Heat surged through him like molten metal forced through narrow channels. His spine arched. His head snapped back.
The bond flared so bright it was blinding—gold and black, fire and shadow, two flames colliding and entwining until the edges burned away.
He spilled into her with a force that felt like a curse and a blessing intertwined.
Pleasure pummelled him, dragged him under, devoured him whole.
He hardly felt the bench crack beneath his knees. He hardly felt her nails claw at the stone. He hardly felt the world around him.
He only felt her.
Her body jolted under his. Her magic flare wild with the climax. Her voice whispered his name like a broken prayer.
And then—beneath the drowning tide of bliss— he felt something else.
A pressure. A presence. A flicker of awareness just beyond the chamber’s veil.
It slithered across the edges of his senses like a shadow turning its head. Not hostile. Not bold. Watching.
Someone was watching.
His instincts snarled— fangs lengthening, flame surging through his ribcage— But the pleasure crashing through him was too consuming, too blinding.
He tried to track it, to pinpoint the intruder, to cast his flame outward—but his climax swallowed the thought whole.
Her body fluttered again, and his growl turned feral, his hips jerking once more reflexively.
He collapsed over her—not with weakness, but with the impossible weight of satisfaction. His chest pressed against her back. His horns cast shadows over her trembling form. His breath hit her ear in ragged, molten bursts.
The presence vanished. Gone. Evaporated like smoke.
He hissed in frustration—but even that bled into another groan as aftershocks ripped through the bond.
Adelaide slumped against the bench, cheek pressed to the padded surface, eyes unfocused and lips parted around shaky, hitched breaths.
Her thighs trembled uncontrollably. Her wrists strained uselessly against the floor-anchored binds.
He slid a hand up her spine—slow, reverent, savouring every tremor.
“Perfect,” he whispered into her sweat-damp hair.
Her breath stuttered.
“Did you… Did you feel that?” she rasped.
He went still behind her.
He wasn’t alone in her head in that moment—she felt it, a third presence slipping briefly between their breaths before vanishing.
For a single heartbeat, the air changed. The heat shifted. The shadows recoiled as if they, too, sensed the wrongness pulsing through the chamber. His hand froze mid-stroke, claws hovering just above her skin, every muscle in his massive body coiling with a sudden, predatory alertness.
Adelaide felt the change before she understood it — the bond tightened like a snare around her ribs, something sharp and foreign brushing its edge, gone as quickly as it came. It had not been Apollo. It had not been her. It had been… something else. Watching. Listening. Pressing against the seams of their magic like a fingertip against glass.
“Later,” he growled, leaning fully over her, staking his body like a claim.
But the growl wasn’t just lust-drunk this time. It was layered. Darker. Coiled tight with a fury he didn’t want her to see yet. He pressed his chest to her back as if trying to physically shield her from the memory of that intrusion — a primitive, possessive instinct older than Hell itself.
“You’re not done shaking yet.”
And she wasn’t.
Her legs trembled uncontrollably. Her breath came in hitched, broken bursts. Pleasure still rolled through her in dizzying waves — but beneath it, beneath the heat and the aching fullness, she felt the echo of that third presence lurking like a ghost at the edge of her skull. It made her skin crawl. Made her clutch the bench harder. Made her press herself back into Apollo’s weight without thinking, seeking the only solid thing in the world.
The bond throbbed—overheated, raw, overwhelmed.
And beneath the swell of their bond, something paced at the edges of the chamber—measured, curious—like a predator circling just outside the torchlight. A controlled drag of magic slid back through the walls, leaving only the faint scent of watching behind—and somewhere in the palace, Caelum withdrew from the crack in the stone without haste, his footsteps unhurried, his posture relaxed—leaving not in fear, but in quiet, dangerous contemplation.
Apollo’s nostrils flared. His claws dug into the bench. For a split second, he wanted to chase — to hunt, to kill, to rip the intruder apart for daring to witness what belonged to him. But Adelaide shuddered beneath him again, the aftershocks wracking her body, and the sound wrenched his attention back to her like a hook through the spine.
He chose her.
The kill could wait. But not for long.
There was a cool thread of foreign magic lingering in the chamber—measured, steady, gold-tinged—nothing like his fire.