Chapter 139 Catch The Fire
(Apollo)
The bond between them flared—just slightly, a warm pulse of magic under her skin, matching his heartbeat. It throbbed like a second pulse inside her, a foreign rhythm syncing with her own, the heat of him sliding through her like liquid gold. She could feel him — not just his body moving inside her, but his magic brushing hers, tasting her, answering her. It made her breath stutter, her fingers curl harder into his back, nails dragging lightly over skin that trembled beneath her touch.
Her breath caught. “Apollo… I—” Her body tightened beneath him. Her thighs quivered against his hips, the muscles in her abdomen tightening, her breath breaking into jagged pieces as the heat inside her coiled tighter and tighter, begging for release.
He felt the fire spark — her fire — rising suddenly, instinctively, uncontrollably. It climbed through her like a living thing, licking along her ribs, blooming behind her sternum, rushing toward the surface of her skin with a force that made her arch into him. The air around them thickened, humming with power that tasted sweet and bright on his tongue.
He lifted his head, eyes widening. “Adelaide—”
Too late. The flame burst from her skin. Not violently like before — not an explosion — but a bloom. A halo of molten gold and red wrapped her body in shimmering heat. Not burning, not wild. Beautiful.
The glow illuminated her face, her throat, the curves of her breasts, casting her in light that made her look unreal — a creature sculpted from fire and breath and trembling need. The heat washed over him in waves, warm instead of scorching, tasting like sunlight instead of destruction.
She gasped, clutching him, as the fire arced outward — and then inward — curling around his body like a ribbon pulled tight. Her fingers clung to his shoulders, dragging him closer as the flames wrapped his torso, kissing every inch of him with heat that made his breath seize in his throat. The sensation was intimate, deliberate — like her fire knew exactly where to touch him. Like it wanted him to.
He choked on a breath. The fire embraced him like a lover. Like a promise. Like a vow he hadn’t yet spoken.
A low groan tore from his chest, his hips faltering for a split second as the sensation overwhelmed him — her magic stroking down his spine, circling his ribs, settling low in his abdomen until he felt branded from the inside out.
His own Devilfire surged in answer — not in dominance, not in instinct, but in recognition. It rolled out of him in a deep, rumbling wave, darker and heavier than hers, like volcanic heat rising from stone. It didn’t lash. It didn’t consume. It simply reached for her flame as if it had been waiting its whole existence to be met in that deep kind of tender embrace.
It enveloped her gently, merging with her flames, shaping around her body without burning her.
Their magic melded to one another with the tenderness of hands cupping a face — pressure and heat, equal and answering. The contact sent a full-body shiver through him, his muscles tightening as the two fires intertwined in a slow, breathtaking dance.
A soft cry left her lips. “Apollo—” Her voice cracked on his name, her nails digging into his skin as her back arched, her breasts lifting to his chest, her fire pulsing with each frantic beat of her heart. Each new pulse of her looming orgasm.
He held her face in his hand, his forehead pressed to hers, their breaths mixing as their fires intertwined. He felt her climax like a sun igniting in his palms. Her magic pulsed, fire sweeping through both their bodies — heat, light, pleasure — overwhelming, blinding.
Her cry vibrated against his mouth, her thighs tightening around him as her body clenched, pulling him deeper with every trembling pulse of pleasure. The flames brightened in a blinding flare, washing the room in molten gold. Apollo’s breath hitched hard, his body seizing as the sensation slammed into him, her release echoing through their connection like a bell struck too sharply.
His thrusts became uneven. As if the effort to stay in that slow, torturous rhythm was not feasible any longer. He pulled back faster. Hit forward harder. Rutting himself inside her over and over.
The bed creaked beneath them, the sheets twisting around her legs as he drove into her with desperate, shaking need. His breath came in ragged bursts, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, pulled by the heat of her release still fluttering around him. His hair fell loose over his forehead, sweat trailing down his spine as he lost the last threads of his composure.
The groan tore out of him without permission. She pulled it out of him. His thighs trembled from the ache. The tingling burn at his lower back demanded more. And so, he gave more.
Each sound he made vibrated against her skin, deep and guttural, shaking with restraint that was shattering by the second. His hips snapped forward again, the pressure building at the base of his spine like molten iron demanding release.
His hand moved from Adelaide’s cheek to her breast. He rounded the flesh and pulled at her beautiful pink nipple. Her answering moan worked to push him forward.
Her back arched beautifully, offering herself to his touch, her breath breaking in a sharp gasp. The soft weight of her breast filled his palm, warm and perfect, her nipple tightening between his fingers as her head fell back against the pillow. The sound she made — breathless, pleading — shot straight to his core.
Apollo’s breath broke in a ragged whisper as her fire wrapped him tighter — not pushing him away, but pulling him in. His Devilfire erupted in answer, merging with hers in a wave of heat that shook the bed beneath them. The room hummed. The air rippled. The runes along the walls glowed faintly in recognition.
Heat coursed through the chamber, turning every surface warm, every breath thick with magic. His fire lashed around her waist, her thighs, her chest — never burning, only holding, answering. Their flames tangled at their hips, swirling in spirals that cast shadows dancing across the ceiling.
Her body arched into him, trembling. She met every thrust with shaky abandon, her hands gripping his back, her lips brushing his shoulder, her breath coming in desperate, uneven gasps. Her skin glowed under him, flushed with heat and pleasure.
He held her through every shudder, every gasp, every wave, his lips brushing her cheek, her temple, her mouth, whispering words he had never spoken to anyone:
“That's it Adelaide.”
“I’ll catch you.”
“Stay with me.”
“Little Flame… Gods… you feel like magic.”
Each whisper cracked something inside him open, his voice trembling with sincerity he didn’t know he possessed. His lips found her throat, tasting salt and fire. His hand slid to her waist, steadying her as her body bucked beneath the onslaught of magic and touch.
Her fire curled around his spine — and at last, at long, long last — Apollo surrendered.
His climax tore through him, but not with the violence of a collapsing star like before. This was slow. Deep. Consuming in a different way. A release born from connection, not domination.
He buried his face in her neck, a broken sound escaping him as his body locked tight around the pleasure. It rolled through him in waves — heavy, molten, unravelling him with every pulse. His arms tightened desperately, his hips grinding deep as the fire around them pulsed in rhythm with his release.
Her flames gripped him as he trembled against her, breath shuddering, arms tightening around her as though she were the only anchor he had left in any realm.
The heat softened, settling into a warm glow that stroked over his shoulders and chest, soothing him even as he shook. He could feel her heartbeat under his palm — wild, alive — syncing with his own until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
When the fires finally dimmed — when their magic settled, soft and glowing — when their breaths slowed into the same rhythm — Apollo did not pull away. He did not retreat. He did not arm himself. He lay his head against her chest, breathing her in. The silence that followed was not emptiness. It was the aftermath. The kind that reshaped legends. He lay there letting the quiet of the moment sink into his bones.
Her fingers drifted into his hair, gentle, tentative, stroking through the damp strands. He closed his eyes, inhaling the faint scent of her skin — warm, sweet, touched with smoke and something he was beginning to crave like air.
He felt alive. He felt terrified. He felt changed.
The weight of it pressed against his ribs, unfamiliar and immense — a shift in the very centre of him, a softening he couldn’t stop. A need he couldn’t cage. A want he didn’t understand, but feared losing already.
And for the first time in centuries, he let himself hold someone in the dark without thinking of what it would cost him.