Chapter 89 To Be Broken
(Apollo & Adelaide)
Adelaide's breath stalled the second she felt the shift.
Apollo’s clothing vanished in a rush of heat—like embers inhaling and exhaling across her skin. The sudden, unfiltered warmth of him pressed against her inner thighs, startling a gasp from her throat. His skin—burning, taut, thrumming with restrained violence—slid against her own slick heat as he lifted her effortlessly higher.
“Apollo… wait,” she pleaded, but it came out thin and breathless, her voice swallowed by the thrum of power radiating off him.
He couldn’t hear her anymore. Or maybe he simply didn’t care to. A murmur rose in the stones—heat shifting through the cracks, an old magic stirring at the edges of sensation, tasting the tension in the air as if evaluating the worth of this moment. The runes flickered once in warning, then brightened, surrendering to the inevitability of the Devil’s will.
He was driven. Consumed. His hunger pressed against her through the bond—thick, wild, volcanic—as if every second of restraint these last days had condensed into this one moment.
His hands—huge, clawed, scorching—closed around her thighs. Not tenderly. Possessively. The pads of his fingers dug into her soft flesh, holding her exactly where he wanted her. Her legs parted further without her permission, ankles trembling against the glowing ropes that held her wide.
He shifted his stance, stepping closer into her spread body, and lifted—angling her hips with brutal precision, positioning her directly above the rigid promise of what he meant to take.
His breathing turned animal, hot and ragged against her throat.
Her heart hammered so violently she thought it might break the restraints. Time folded around them—heavy, shuddering, breathless. Her body tightened, every muscle bracing as if some primal instinct understood the magnitude of what he was about to do. Even the flames in the cracks of the walls leaned inward, trembling like witnesses at an execution.
“Apollo—” Her voice shook. “I’m not—just—please—”
Her words dissolved into the air. There was no gentleness in him now. No carefulness. No hesitation. No easing her onto the size of him slowly.
What he gave her was not a human thing. Not a loving thing. Not anything mortal at all.
It was the Devil’s Dick.
It was long and thick. The skin like silk. Her oversensitive cunt let her feel every ridge, every dip and every curve of his impressive cock.
The world went white. Everything else just fell away. Light swelled. Her awareness scattered like ash caught in an updraft, pulled into the violent centre of sensation he drove into her. Somewhere very far away, the bond screamed with her, a blazing chord struck hard enough to fracture silence into pieces.
Sound ripped out of her throat before she knew she’d made it—a scream, raw and choked, the kind only torn from a body pushed far beyond its threshold. Her back arched violently, bowing her off the cross as the shock detonated through her.
Her legs clamped around his hips instinctively, desperately, frantically, the ropes digging into her ankles as the cross shuddered under the force of her release.
Pleasure ripped through her like a wildfire given breath. Fire. Heat. Light. An explosion that shattered the days—hours—of torment he’d held her on the brink of.
Her vision blurred at the edges. Sparks burst behind her eyes. Her fingers curled helplessly above her head, nails biting into air as the restraints held her immobile.
She felt him everywhere—his heat, his breath, the unyielding strength of his body pinning her to the cross, the bond screaming with her climax like it was being torn open.
Her cry dissolved into a broken, hiccupped moan. Her whole body trembled. Her thighs quivered against his grasp. Her heart thundered so hard the cross vibrated with it.
And Apollo— He groaned—low, guttural, devastating—a sound torn from deep in his chest, like her reaction had just carved into something ancient and starving inside him.
He bent his head, pressing his mouth to her chest, inhaling the scent of her pleasure like it was the first clean breath he’d taken in a century. A low, hungry hum rumbled against her skin—less a sound and more a vibration of pure want. Heat radiated from him in oppressive waves, as if proximity alone might melt her into the cross. His breath tasted of fire and inevitability.
Her mind fizzed with static. Her body still convulsed around the hard throbbing member embedded deep inside her swollen pussy. The contractions were still squeezing around him, like she was trying to suck him dry.
Her breath caught on a sob of pleasure she couldn't stop.
She didn’t know how many days he’d denied her release. Didn’t know how many hours he’d kept her teetering on the edge of oblivion. Didn’t know how much of this was her body… and how much was the bond.
All she knew was that she shattered the moment he took her—instantly, helplessly, violently—and she couldn’t stop shaking.
He wasn’t finished.
She felt it in the way his fingers tightened. In the way his breath hitched against her skin. In the way his hips rolled back—slow, deliberate, devastating—setting her entire body alight again.
Her eyes snapped open in shock.
“No—Apollo—please—I can’t—” Her vision blurred, edges rimmed in gold, like fire creeping across an old tapestry. Somewhere inside her chest, her spark writhed—half agony, half awakening—its power crackling against the confines of flesh that was too human to hold it.
But he dragged his lips along her throat, voice dark and reverent and hungry as sin:
“Little Flame,” he growled, “you haven’t even begun to break.”