Chapter 52 My Palace. My Bed.
(Adelaide & Apollo)
Apollo watched her hips roll. Her breath catch. Her thighs tremble.
He gripped his dick hard and stroked upward. He could imagine it being her hand, her mouth, her cunt.
A sound tore out of her—raw, strangled, helpless.
Apollo stroked faster, staying with the pace her fingers set. Her worked his precum over his dick, then silently spat onto his hand. It wasn’t Adelaide's juice lubricating him, but he had a great imagination. And when he could see her slick wetness dripping down her thighs, it wasn’t hard to picture.
He jerked himself hard as Adelaide started pulling and twisting her nipples. She wasn’t gentle either. So, she liked pain with her pleasure. Apollo locked that piece of information away for later.
She tilted her hips, and his view got better. She had her whole hand buried deep inside her cunt. He could picture the way she could stretch around his beast's cock. The thick length would push her to the point of tearing. But it looked like she stretched well.
Apollo’s knees nearly buckled. His jaw clenched so tight it creaked. His breath hitched, sharp and feral.
He wanted her. He wanted her wrapped around him. He wanted her writhing beneath him. Gasping his name. Screaming his name. Pleading his name when she needed more.
The air between them felt charged enough to ignite. The mark along his arm burned like a comet trail, threads of red light crawling under his skin as if the magic itself were clawing its way toward her.
She moaned again—ruined, breathless, pleading with the sheets.
Then, his name. Whispered like a secret sin. Called from her open and panting mouth in the throes of pleasure.
His vision blurred, the mark on his arm blazing like a brand fresh from the forge. He’d never heard a more delicious sound.
His control snapped like a bone under a hammer. He pumped himself hard and fast. Pleasure burned down his spine and up his legs. His balls tightened. He was teetering, right on the edge.
Her climax detonated a second time, and it crushed him. Her entire body vibrated with her release. Her skin looked like it glowed with fire from deep within her skin.
His hand stuttered. His breath broke.
Pleasure ripped through him in a white-hot shock as he spilled into his palm, chest heaving, eyes burning.
He bit his own lip until it bled, fighting the urge to go to her, to take her, to claim her body while it still trembled from release.
He barely won. Barely.
Her body collapsed onto the bed, spent and sated. Her breathing was harsh, and her whole chest heaved with the effort to take in air.
He pressed himself back into the shadows, shaking, panting, swallowing back the growl climbing up his throat. The darkness there wrapped around him like a cloak, but it did nothing to hide the raw edge of need scraping along his bones.
Then, she froze.
Her breath hitched. Her body stiffened. Her head tilted just enough.
She felt him there. Clever girl.
Her voice came out in a whisper. “…Apollo?”
The sound of his name in that wrecked, breathless tone almost undid him all over again.
He forced himself to step forward. Just enough for her to see the silhouette. Just enough for his voice to reach her.
His breath rolled out in a low, dangerous exhale.
“That was quite the show.”
She jerked, yanking the black fur up to her chest in a frantic scramble, limbs tangling as she tried to cover herself. Her face burned so violently she thought her skin might split open. Shame roared through her like a fresh wave of heat, hotter than the orgasms, hotter than the room—this was the kind of burning that came from being seen.
“D–Don’t look at me!” she choked, pulling the fur tighter, curling her knees inward, turning her face away.
Apollo stepped out of the shadows slowly, deliberately, firelight licking across his bare chest as if worshipping him.
He laughed. Not gently. Not kindly. A low, wicked rumble that scraped along her spine like a claw.
“Little flame,” he drawled, “I have already seen all your best bits.”
Her stomach dropped.
He tilted his head, eyes dragging over her with dark amusement. “There’s no point hiding now.”
“Get out,” she snapped, voice trembling with humiliation and rage. “Get out and give me—give me privacy.”
His smile sharpened. “Privacy? In my room?”
She froze. Her breath stalled. The fur tightened in her fists. “…your room?” she whispered.
He arched a brow. “You didn’t know?”
Her throat bobbed. “N-no.”
He stepped closer—one slow step that sent every instinct in her screaming—until he stood at the edge of the bed, close enough that she could feel the heat rolling off his skin.
“This is my palace,” he said softly. “My home. My halls. My chambers.” His voice dropped even lower, dangerous and intimate. “And my bed.”
She stared at him, horror and fury twisting inside her chest. The mattress beneath her suddenly felt like a mouth, like a place that knew too much—his weight, his scent, his history, and now hers tangled in the sheets with his.
“You—violated—” she began, but the words broke apart under the weight of too many emotions crashing at once.
He moved faster than thought.
One hand shot out—cum covered fingers gripping her jaw, thumb pressing beneath her chin, tilting her face up toward his. Her breath hitched, trapped between fear and something she refused to name.
His eyes were molten. Not angry. Not pleased. Something far worse.
“Don’t ever use that word with me,” he murmured, voice a low, sinful snarl. “You think I need to violate anything? You think I have to take what isn’t already mine?”
Her pulse thundered wildly in her throat. His thumb pressed just enough to remind her how easily he could bruise that spot, how easily he could make the next swallow hurt.
She tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to command.
“Let me go,” she breathed.
“No.”
The word vibrated against her lips.
Then he kissed her. Hard. Possessive. A claiming.
His mouth crushed against hers for just one heartbeat—hot, fierce, devastating—before he tore himself back with a sound that was almost pain.
Smoke curled off his skin. Dark shadows coiled around his feet.
“Sleep, Little Flame,” he murmured, voice thick, ragged. “You’ll need your strength.”
He wiped his cum over her mouth and smiled at the sight of it. The smear shone faintly in the firelight like a twisted, gleaming mark—his satisfaction branded across her lips.
Before she could speak—before she could breathe—before she could even whisper his name—He evaporated into smoke.
Leaving her trembling, breathless, and far too aware of the taste he’d just left on her lips. The room felt emptier for his absence and yet crammed full of him—his magic in the walls, his scent in the air, his claim on her mouth—while her own shame and unwanted hunger curled together, hot and poisonous, in the hollow of her chest.