Chapter 49 Don't Deny
(Adelaide & Apollo)
The fur around her shoulders slipped further, revealing an inch of bare skin at the top of her breast.
He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. A flicker of heat surged through the bond. Her lips parted on a sharp inhale.
Apollo’s gaze dropped to her mouth. He didn’t kiss her. Gods, he wanted to.
But the air between them tightened until she felt every ghost of every place he could put his hands.
“Let me help you,” he whispered.
“No.”
“You’re trembling.”
“Because I’m terrified.”
He tilted his head. “Try again.”
Her face went hot. Her chest rose and fell too fast. Her pupils stayed blown wide.
He smiled again—slow, wicked, patient.
A Devil’s smile.
“You don’t know what to do with this, do you?” he murmured, his voice brushing over her skin like warm smoke. “Your body begging for one thing while your mind screams for another.”
“Stop,” she whispered. “Stop talking like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know me.”
He leaned in until his lips almost grazed the corner of her mouth. “I know exactly what you are right now.”
“Wrong,” she bit out.
“Do you want the list?” he asked softly. “Or should I show you?”
Her breath caught.
He still didn’t touch her.
But his words painted the air between them with heat.
“I could make you forget this place exists,” he murmured.
“I could make you gasp the way you tried to hide from me.”
“I could make you arch into my hands until you begged for more.”
“Apollo—”
He smiled, hearing the tremor in his name. “You want me to stop?”
His breath brushed her neck. “Or you want me to keep talking?”
Her whole body shook. She hated that she didn’t know the answer.
He lowered his voice until it was almost nothing. “I can show you how gentle I can be.”
A beat. “Or how thorough.”
Her knees nearly buckled. She grabbed the bedframe for support.
Apollo’s eyes followed the movement, hungry and hooded.
“You’re shaking so hard, Little Flame,” he said, his voice touched with something that wasn’t amusement or cruelty. “Say the word, and I’ll help you.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“Then why are you breathing like that?”
She tried to form a reply. She couldn’t.
The bond pulsed once — hot and unsteady. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily.
Apollo noticed instantly. His expression darkened. He reached toward her — slowly — lifting one hand to the fur draped across her chest.
He didn’t remove it. Didn’t touch her skin. He just curled a single extended claw beneath the edge of the fur, lifting it an inch away from her body.
Her breath broke.
He whispered: “Do you want me to stop?”
Her voice came out strangled. “Yes.”
His eyes dropped to her mouth again. “Liar.”
Her pulse stuttered violently. She was losing.
Not to him, but to herself.
Heat unfurled low in her stomach, rolling through her in waves so powerful her knees nearly buckled. Her lungs dragged in air like she’d been running. Her skin felt too tight, too hot, too aware of every inch of space between their bodies.
She was one breath, one heartbeat, one whisper away from letting the fur slip from her shoulders, from exposing herself to him entirely, from stepping into his hands instead of away from them.
She could see it — the horrifying clarity of it: Her fingers loosening on the fur. Her arm dropping. Her chin tilting up. Her body leaning forward into the heat of him like she already belonged there.
Her shame tangled with the desire until she could barely tell which was which. Her mouth parted. Her legs trembled. A single thought slashed through her, sharp and treacherous:
If he touched me again, I don’t know if I’d stop him.
The realisation made her dizzy. Her breath cracked. Her thighs pressed tighter together, the wetness seeping down her leg.
Her entire body throbbed with an ache she didn’t understand, didn’t want, didn’t know how to fight.
“Don’t,” she whispered to herself, but her body didn’t listen. Not when every nerve was screaming for him. Not when the bond was feeding her every flicker of his hunger. Not when his presence was overwhelming her senses.
She was dangerously close to surrendering. To giving in. To letting go. To letting him take exactly what he wanted because a terrible, selfish part of her wanted it too.
Then—He stepped back.
Not far. Just one slow, measured step. Enough to break the spell of heat that had wrapped around her like a slow-burning fuse. But not enough to ease the tension clawing through the room.
He dragged in a breath that trembled with restraint. “You’re not ready,” he said softly.
She almost sagged with relief.
Then he added, with that same wicked calm: “But you will be.”
Her stomach flipped.
He turned halfway toward the door. Paused. Looked back at her over his shoulder.
“And when you are…” His voice dropped to a growl.
“I’ll make you beg for what you’re denying.”
Her breath caught, sharp and silent.
He held her gaze for one long, devastating second, then left the room.
The door shut behind him with a soft, echoing click.
And Adelaide collapsed onto the bed, shaking uncontrollably. The fur swallowed her as she fell, the mattress dipping beneath her slight weight, the ceiling above her swimming in and out of focus as the mark at her neck throbbed in time with footsteps fading down the hall. For the first time since crossing the veil, she understood with horrible clarity: whatever bound them now was not finished with her.