Chapter 130 Shared Connection
(Caelum Ashborne)
Caelum watched the way her body shook and shivered, every tremor a clear answer to the Devil’s rhythm. The way her knees tried to brace, failed, then tried again. How her back arched when Apollo’s hand slid along her spine, fingers curling into her hair, forcing her head up so he could murmur something against her ear.
He couldn’t hear every word. The distance and the roar of power blurred them. But he heard enough.
Good girl.
Caelum’s fingers curled into the stone so hard a fleck of mortar crumbled beneath his nails. The grit ground into his fingertips, anchoring him to this hiding place, to his body, to the choice he was not making to leave.
Praise should not have hurt this much. Jealousy wasn’t a sharp spike, not exactly. It was a low, grinding ache. A thread of envy that pulled tight every time the Devil’s hands mapped the mortal’s body like a territory, every time those claws dragged over soft skin Caelum had only seen in flashes—hanging from the cross, drenched in sweat and pain, eyes too bright and stubborn for someone who should have broken.
Now that same soft skin flushed under a different kind of heat. Under a different kind of strain.
He watched the Devil’s hands settle on her hips, fingers spanning her so easily. He watched them slide up, over her ribs, around her waist, down again. Greedy. Possessive. Intimate. Every touch a claim.
Caelum’s throat felt dry as bone dust.
He wanted to know what her skin felt like under his hands. Not just the rope-burned wrists and bruised shoulders he had checked on the cross, quick and clinical, in between sips of water and bitter tonic. He wanted to know the warmth along her thighs where they shook. The fragile tension at the back of her knee where it nearly buckled. The soft dip in her lower back that trembled each time she cried out.
He wanted to know the sound she would make with his hands on her, not the Devil’s.
The thought startled him—hit him like a spark against dry tinder. It should have repulsed him, should have sent disgust clawing up his throat. Instead, heat pooled low in his gut, heavy and insistent, dragging a pulse of molten want through every vein.
The Devil moved harder behind her—hips snapping forward in a brutal, merciless rhythm that made the stone under Caelum’s boots tremble. Apollo shifted his stance, dragging Adelaide’s trembling body into a different angle, positioning her with a precision that made Caelum’s teeth clench.
Then he saw it.
Their connection.
Her glistening, trembling core—slick, stretched, pulsing as she tried to take the force of him—and the Devil’s monstrous body driving into her without restraint. The long, black, scaled, beastly dick disappearing into her in powerful, rhythmic thrusts.
Caelum’s breath hitched. His hand braced hard against the stone wall to keep himself steady when his knees threatened to loosen. Heat pounded behind his eyes, turning the edges of his vision too bright.
But it got worse. Not one. Two.
His pupils dilated, heat rushing up his spine like a living thing.
The Devil was fucking her with two cocks. The image branded itself into his mind like a sigil he would never scrape away.
One thick, monstrous length stretching her tight back ring, her body gripping him helplessly, trembling around the obscene intrusion.
And the other—sliding into her perfect pussy, burying itself to the hilt with every hungry thrust.
Caelum swallowed hard, throat tightening. His jaw locked as he forced himself not to move—not to groan—not to reach for himself even though lust tore through him like a violent storm.
He should have turned away. He should have dropped to the shadows and given her privacy—given her dignity.
But he couldn’t. He was transfixed. Hypnotized. Pinned in place by the sight of her body trembling between two brutal thrusts, by the sounds she made, by the way her skin glistened with sweat and pleasure.
His breath came shallow and fast. Two cocks. Her body taking both. And wanting more.
A vision slammed into him—uninvited, unwanted, completely devouring.
He could see her on his lap.
Knees bracketing his thighs, soft skin pressed to his, her weight settling onto his cock inch by agonizing inch. His hands gripping her waist, guiding her down onto him. Her breath hitching. Her body tightening around him.
And behind her— Hands on her shoulders. Claws biting into her delicate flesh. The Devil anchoring her in place as he slammed into her from behind.
The two of them— Taking her together. Sharing her sounds. Sharing her pleasure. Sharing her body like they owned it together. Like they were made for this— for her.
The thought felt heretical. The ember in his chest didn’t care. It craved it.
Caelum’s pulse thrashed. The vision was so vivid his hips jerked before he caught himself. He tore it apart in his mind, shredding it with force, blaming it on lust—on proximity—on the unbearable heat building inside him.
A mewling scream tore through the room, recapturing Caelum’s attention with violent force. His head snapped up. Adelaide. Her cries climbed—higher, sharper, thinner—fraying at the edges like unravelling silk. Her body rocked with each impact, chains at her wrists going taut, rattling, pulling with each thrust. Her thighs visibly shook, her legs quivering so hard Caelum could see her calves spasming.
Every time she arched, her back glistened with sweat—tiny droplets catching the firelight as she trembled.
Her pleasure hit Caelum like a blow.
Every shudder of hers sent a corresponding shudder along Caelum’s frayed nerves. He felt it coil deep in his spine, felt it tug at something ancient inside him—something half-dead, flickering, struggling to reignite.
He could feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck, beneath his cloak, sliding in slow, distracting trails between his shoulder blades. Heat burned under his skin—too much, too sharp—and his Emberflame pulsed weakly, aching, as though trying to reach her through the space between worlds.
He gripped the stone harder.
Because watching her like this— he wasn’t sure he could survive it.
He knew what this was.
He’d seen demons rut and ruin and tear their toys apart. He’d seen pain dressed up as pleasure for centuries. He had prepared himself to see that here—had braced for it when he first sensed the Devil’s heat flare bright and violent in this wing of the palace.
But that wasn’t what he was seeing. Or hearing.
He’d been wrong.
His lips pressed into a bloodless line as the truth settled, unwanted but undeniable.
She wasn’t just enduring this.
She was meeting it.
Even from here, even through stone, he could feel the rhythm in her. The way her magic sparked, thin but stubborn, trying to rise and match his. The way her sounds changed—less protest, more broken fragments of pleasure she couldn’t swallow fast enough.
This wasn’t the one-sided torment he had assumed when he first saw her strung up like a warning flag.
She wanted this.
Not the cross. Not the cruelty. Not the hours of hanging at the edge of collapse.
But this—this moment, this delirious, devouring joining—she wanted that as much as the Devil did. Maybe more.