Chapter 199 Unworthy
(Apollo & Adelaide)
Apollo stepped closer, heat rolling off him in steady waves, his hand tracing the shape of her ribs, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip. His palm slid over her stomach in a slow sweep, up her sternum, down her arm. No force. No display. Just possession, so quiet it felt more invasive than being bent over a bench and fucked with animalistic brutality. But ever so intimate. More intimate than anything she had ever felt before.
He was mapping her. Memorising her. Claiming her without claiming her. His touch felt like a language she didn’t yet speak, a series of questions her body answered before she could think. Each glide of his hand left a ribbon of molten awareness in its wake.
“Perfect,” he said softly. “Every line of you.”
He nudged her shoulder gently, turning her. Her breath hitched; even this simple movement felt choreographed, guided, as if she were being positioned in the hands of something ancient and inevitable.
Apollo moved behind her, letting his knuckles trail down her spine. A shiver rippled through her entire body; she felt her stomach dip, her thighs tense, her breath come shorter.
“Sensitive,” he murmured against her neck. “Good.”
Her flame fluttered, confused and needy.
His hands settled on her hips again — warm, anchoring — and he kissed the small of her back. The heat of his mouth sank into her skin, her breath catching with a sharp, traitorous sound.
Her mind fractured around it. A quiet moan slipped before she could stop it.
Apollo’s chuckle curled low in his throat. “There you are,” he murmured. “The part of you that doesn’t lie.”
He continued downward — kissing the back of each thigh, the dip behind her knee, the outer curve of her calf — his touch reverent, his breath warm, his lips soft and lingering. Her skin came alive in every place he touched.
Then he rose again, this time kissing the side of her torso, the line beneath her ribs, the hollow just above her hip. Her breath trembled. Each kiss felt like a question she didn’t know how to answer.
He kissed her shoulders again — one, then the other — his hands smoothing along her upper arms, drawing the heat of her skin into his palms. When he nuzzled the crook of her arm, breathing her in like he was drunk on her scent, she trembled so hard her knees almost buckled.
Apollo noticed. His grip strengthened possessively around her waist.
“You give yourself away in the smallest ways,” he whispered, his lips brushing the soft skin of her underarm. “I feel every lie you tell your body. Every one of them. Even here.” His tongue traced the hollow of her armpit once — slow, deliberate, claiming — before he withdrew.
Embarrassment flared — hot, bright, unexpected.
But his mouth was gentle, almost worshipful, and the heat it left behind made her spine curve involuntarily.
His hands then cupped the round of her buttocks, thumbs brushing the curve with a heat that made her knees wobble. He squeezed once — a test, a tease — before letting go, sliding lower, tracing the back of her thighs with broad, reverent strokes. Each pass of his hands left sparks under her skin; her thighs trembled, her breath stuttered, her flame fluttered like a bird trapped in her ribs.
“Turn,” he ordered softly.
She did.
He caught her chin, tilted her face up, and kissed her once — slow, possessive, melting. Her lips parted on instinct; the taste of him was warm metal and smoke, coaxing a soft exhale she couldn’t hold back. His lips travelled to her cheekbone, then down her jaw, then even lower, tracing the slender column of her throat.
Then came the rest of her. Her shoulders, slow, savouring. Her breath trembled with each press. Her upper arms, murmuring praise against her skin. His breath warmed her flesh, sending shivers cascading down her sides. Her forearms, warm, open-mouthed affection. Her fingers curled helplessly. Her ribs, his hands gliding along her waist as if sculpting the shape of her. She felt rebuilt under his touch, redefined. Her stomach, soft kisses that made her breath hitch. Heat coiled low, tight and insistent. Her hips, his thumbs sweeping the bones like cherished points of reference. She swayed into each touch without meaning to. Her thighs, his mouth brushing where muscle met softness, lingering just enough to make her body tighten. Her knees nearly buckled. Her lower back, a trail of praise whispered against her skin. Her buttocks, a gentle kiss to each cheek, dark and appreciative.
Her breath came sharp, unsteady. Each path he mapped sent her heart racing faster. She could feel wetness pooling between her thighs. He hadn’t even touched her erogenous areas, and she was dripping for him anyway.
He kissed the line of her ribs. Her stomach. The sensitive dip above her navel. Then he descended slowly, sliding down her body until he knelt before her.
Not dropped. Not folded. Knelt — deliberate, controlled, a movement filled with intent.
His hands skimmed the outside of her thighs, rising and falling in slow, measured paths. Each pass burned with a reverence that made her breath stutter. Adelaide felt the heat of him radiating upward, a living furnace pressed close enough for her skin to prickle with awareness.
Her heartbeat throbbed behind her ribs, heavy and uneven. The chamber pulsed with warmth, the air thickening around them. She felt unsteady, molten, undone by the weight of his focus — by the way he touched her as though she were something rare and sacred, something he intended to worship slowly, fully, entirely.
Apollo’s hands tightened lightly at the curve of her thighs before he looked up at her through dark, heavy lashes. Heat smouldered there — hunger, yes, but something else too. Something older. Something dangerous.
Apollo looked up at her from his knees, eyes molten, expression dark with intent.
“Do you like this?” he murmured. “Do you like seeing your Devil on his knees for you?”
Her breath caught — not from the kneeling, but from the question. It coiled through her like smoke.
“I shouldn’t,” she whispered, her heart thudding.
“You kneel for no one,” she breathed. “Not kings, not gods.”
“You are neither a king nor a god”, Apollo said lowly, his hands still roaming across her skin.
“Then I am unworthy,” Adelaide answered softly.
“No,” Apollo growled, “You are worth more than gods.”
“Then heaven help me… yes. I like it.”
Apollo’s eyes darkened to molten gold. He leaned forward and pressed a long, deliberate kiss just above her navel.
Heat shivered outward in ripples. His lips parted. And he lowered his mouth to her belly button, kissing there, slow and lingering, before his tongue brushed lightly across the centre.
A tremor lanced through her, sharp and helpless. Her hands fluttered at her sides before landing lightly in his hair. Her breath stuttered, her flame pulsing once—hard—against her ribcage.
She felt undone. Not stripped. Unravelled. Piece by piece. Held together only by the hands worshipping her like a map meant for his mouth.