Chapter 204 To Earn The Sound
(Adelaide & Apollo)
He kissed her temple without opening his eyes, the touch absentminded and intimate, as if she were a familiar constant rather than a conquest. When his eyes finally opened, gold softened by sleep, he shifted — smoothly, deliberately — rolling them so she was beneath him now, his weight braced on his arms.
The bed creaked softly beneath the shift. Her breath caught as heat settled over her again, heavier now, more deliberate.
Her breath caught. For a heartbeat, she thought he would take her again. Her body responded instantly, heat coiling low and eager, anticipation flickering bright and sharp. The bond stirred, restless as a waking animal.
Her pulse jumped. Her thighs tensed. Her flame lifted in quiet recognition.
Apollo seemed to sense it. A slow smile tugged at his mouth.
Instead of claiming her, he lowered himself and kissed her. Once. Then again. Slowly.
His mouth moved with patience, not urgency, pressing warmth into her skin where once there would have been fire.
His mouth travelled without urgency, without hunger honed into command. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her throat—the place beneath her ear that made her shiver when he breathed there.
Her shoulders loosened beneath his hands. Her spine softened into the mattress.
Each kiss was a ward against the world beyond these walls. Each touch a reassurance. A promise to stay.
Like building a shelter from breath and skin.
She relaxed beneath him, letting herself be kissed into wakefulness, her hands sliding into his hair, fingers threading through dark curls she had traced the night before.
His hair was still warm from sleep, slightly damp with heat, curling around her fingers like something alive.
She remembered exploring him—the scars, the marks etched into his skin, the swirling tattoo that curled from his wrist up and across his chest, alive beneath her touch, as if it remembered its own history.
She had followed those lines slowly, reverently, learning where they thickened, where they thinned, where his breath shifted beneath her fingers.
Apollo had let her.
Now, as his lips lingered along her jaw, her stomach betrayed her with a low, unmistakable growl.
Apollo stilled. For a heartbeat, she thought he might pretend not to hear it, might kiss her again, drown it out, keep them suspended in that soft, breathless nowhere they’d been living in since waking.
Instead, he went very still. Then he laughed.
The sound was low and unguarded, a rumble born in the furnace of his chest and carried into hers, where their bodies pressed together. It was not the Devil’s laughter, not the infernal king’s command, it was a man’s. Startled by the simplicity of joy, undone by the fragile miracle of something so achingly human.
“Well,” he murmured, forehead resting briefly against her temple, “that answers that.”
Heat crept up her neck. “I didn’t ask for commentary,” she muttered, pushing lightly at his chest, not to escape, just enough to pretend she could.
His hand slid down her side, thumb brushing her hip in an absent, intimate stroke that said he had no intention of letting go yet. “And yet,” he replied, amusement lingering in his voice, “you summoned it.”
She groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I hate you.”
Apollo caught her wrists gently, pulling her hands away, his grip warm and sure. He kissed her knuckles one by one, slower than necessary, eyes never leaving her face. A gesture too small to be a spell, too tender to be a threat.
“No,” he said quietly, softer now. “You’re just hungry.”
She opened her mouth to argue—and then her stomach growled again, louder this time, decisive and humiliating.
Apollo’s mouth curved. He sighed, not in irritation, but with the faint regret of someone forced to step out of a dream.
With a casual flick of his fingers, heat rippled through the air like a sigh. Plates appeared nearby, steam curling upward, rich and grounding, carrying the scent of bread, fruit, something warm and sustaining.
Her body responded immediately. The haze in her limbs sharpened; she realised, distantly, how close she had come to fading out if he had not broken the moment himself.
Still, neither of them moved.
Apollo remained over her, his weight carefully held, forearms braced on either side of her head as if pinning her there was the most natural thing in the world. His warmth pressed her into the mattress, heavy and familiar, his presence a shelter she had not known she craved. One of her legs still hooked around his hip, reluctant to let him go. His body did not retreat an inch.
The food waited nearby, steaming quietly, ignored. Like an offering left at an altar.
For a moment, she thought he might say it.
Stay.
She felt the thought in him before he spoke, felt the tension in the way his fingers tightened, just slightly, against her skin. The way his wings shifted once behind him and then settled again, restrained.
He didn’t want to leave.
The knowledge settled in her chest, warm and dangerous.
Apollo exhaled slowly, the sound more resignation than command. “If I don’t stand up now,” he said, voice low, almost wry, “I will not.”
She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. Gold met hers, unguarded, conflicted.
“And if you do not eat,” he added, brushing his thumb beneath her eye, “you will pass out on my floor, and I will have to listen to Hell tell me about it for weeks.”
A soft, involuntary giggle escaped her before she could stop it, light and breathy, entirely unguarded.
Apollo stilled.
The sound seemed to strike him harder than any protest or defiance she had ever given him. His gaze sharpened, then softened, something dark and pleased flickering behind his eyes as if he had just heard a secret meant only for him. He dipped his head briefly, as though storing the sound away, the way one might memorise a rare note of music. As if laughter were a relic worth preserving.
“There it is,” he murmured, almost to himself. “That sound.” His thumb brushed lightly beneath her chin, lifting her face just enough that he could look at her properly. “You hide it. You guard it. But when it slips out…” His mouth curved. “It changes the room.”
She huffed, half-embarrassed, half-defiant. “Hard to laugh around someone who looks like he might burn the world down before breakfast.”
His eyes gleamed. “And yet, you did.”
“By accident,” she said quickly. “You’re terrifying. You know that, right?”
Apollo chuckled low in his chest. “I am aware.” Then, quieter, more intent, “Which makes that sound all the more valuable. I would hear it again.”
Her brows lifted. “What, you’re collecting laughs now?”
“Yours,” he said simply. “Yes.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Good luck with that.”
A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth. “Then I will earn it.”
He leaned in just long enough to brush a quick, deliberate kiss to the corner of her mouth — not claiming, not lingering, just enough to steal warmth and leave it behind.