Page 56 of Burned to Obey

I guide her onto a low wooden bench near the old coals, carefully checking for splinters or debris. She laughs breathlessly, nerves colliding with excitement. I kneel again, kissing along her neck, tasting salt and the hint of smoke from the air. She arches, moaning softly, and the sound vibrates through my chest. We’re not gentle, not entirely, but our touches remain tender around her bruises. She grips my mane, urging me closer.

My mouth travels across her collarbone, down to the curve of her breasts, each ragged breath a testament to how alive we feel at this moment. She murmurs my name, voice catching, stoking a wild surge of desire. Our brand has turned from a forced link into a vow of something deeper. I let my hands roam, memorizing each scar, each muscle. She’s strong, a flame tempered by cruelty but never extinguished.

When I enter her, it’s with a desperate hunger that nearly buckles my knees. She gasps, legs wrapping around my waist. Our eyes meet, mutual awe flickering. I thrust slowly at first, each motion a reassurance that we exist here, no Senate orThakur can steal this. She clings to me, nails biting into my fur, urging more. The bench creaks under our combined weight. I grip her waist for balance, horns angled to avoid hitting anything, heart pounding in my ears.

Her moans rise, echoing in the old stone chamber. I bury my face in her neck, her hair clinging to my horns as I drive deeper, each motion a vow that I won’t abandon her or her secrets. She cries out, lips brushing my ear, voice trembling with emotion that transcends simple lust. This is re-commitment—an urgent reaffirmation after all the near-loss and confessions.

I lose track of time, consumed by the heat of our union. She arches, tears glistening in her eyes, a mix of relief and raw passion. Our hearts pound in sync, the brand on her arm pressing against my side. For a moment, the entire fortress fades, leaving just us, forging each other anew in the crucible of longing and trust.

The pace builds, tension coiling, culminating in a shared cascade of sensation that rips a guttural groan from me and a near-sob from her. I hold her tight, horns vibrating with the onslaught of pleasure, each wave marking us as one in a realm beyond Senate politics. Finally, we collapse in a tangle of limbs, panting, sweat-drenched, hearts still racing.

She clings to me, face buried in my chest. The bench squeaks under our shifting weight, but I cradle her carefully. She’s trembling with aftershocks, tears slipping down her cheeks. I kiss them away gently, mindful that she’s been terrified of her power, of me, of everything. “Easy,” I murmur, voice ragged.

She exhales, pressing her forehead to mine. “I thought… I almost lost you. Then I believed you’d reject me. Now I’m here, and I’m—” She trails off, voice breaking.

I cup her cheek, brushing back damp strands of hair. “I don’t reject you. I want you here. Always. Even if Thakur brandishes every threat.”

Her chest hitches. She lifts her branded arm, palm sliding against my fur. “This brand was forced,” she whispers. “But now… it feels like a choice.”

A wave of tenderness surges in my chest. I press a kiss to her brow, letting silence speak for a moment. Then I manage, “Yes. A choice we reinforce ourselves.”

She sags, relief shining in her eyes. We share a few more hushed kisses, each gentler, acknowledging the raw vulnerability we’ve laid bare. My mind flickers to the Senate’s next move, the possibility that Thakur still conspires. But in this forge, with her body against mine, I sense we’ve stepped onto a path that can’t be reversed.

Eventually, we ease apart, gathering scattered clothes from the dusty floor. The faint torchlight from outside reveals the flush across her cheeks and the lingering tears on her lashes. My own body aches, both from the lingering poison’s effect and the intensity of our lovemaking. Yet the ache is overshadowed by a fierce resolve to stand by her.

She slides into her tunic, hair messy, brand half-exposed. I adjust my armor, chest still tight. We exchange glances, a silent question: Do we remain hidden or face the fortress united? The answer is unspoken but clear. No more running.

Once dressed, I reach for her hand. She hesitates, then curls her fingers around mine. That small gesture spikes warmth in my chest. I gather the remnants of my breath and push open the forge door, stepping into the corridor with her at my side. We pause, looking at each other in the dim corridor. She exudes a quiet determination, and I match it with a solemn nod.

We walk the corridors, arms occasionally brushing. I sense the Bastion’s hush is heavier now. Maybe it’s just the late hour, or maybe rumors swirl about the Nullborn trait. But I recall our vow: We face it together. My horns hum with residual adrenaline, or maybe the memory of how she felt.

When we reach a small crossway, her guard stands watch, eyes flicking to our entwined hands. He says nothing, but the shift in his expression suggests he understands. She flushes, letting go of my hand, but I gently reclaim it. The guard averts his gaze, returning to stoic silence.

We continue deeper into the Bastion. My mind churns with strategies for dealing with Thakur, the Senate, and any infiltration that might exploit her Nullborn ability. She clutches my arm, still uneasy, but calmer than before. We step into a side passage leading to a storeroom we often use as a private planning area.

Inside, the smell of old parchment lingers, crates stacked along walls. The single lantern flickers. She takes a seat on a crate, exhaling. I lean against the adjacent wall, arms folded, scanning her face. This moment feels pivotal—after everything, we stand on new ground, hearts open.

I break the hush first. “If Thakur learns you’re Nullborn, he’ll attempt to twist the Senate’s fear. But I have enough influence to stall him. My sister is a senator with her own allies. We’ll craft a story that you merely studied chaos toxins in the dark elf forges, no mention of innate power.”

She nods slowly. “You think that’ll hold?”

“Long enough,” I say. “We must be cautious. Meanwhile, we strengthen our defenses. No more hidden vials or sabotage creeping in.” My gaze drops to her bruises. “And you keep me informed if your ability acts up or feels strained.”

She tenses, maybe recalling how she tore the poison from me. “It did drain me, but I’ll manage. I’ve kept it hidden for years.”

I nod, stepping close to rest a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not alone now.”

She looks up, a flicker of gratitude shining in her eyes. “I know.” Her voice softens, as if acknowledging the vow we made in the forge.

We linger in each other’s presence, tension replaced by a hush of re-commitment. My chest still burns with the memory of her lips, the urgent melding of our bodies. Her brand glints in the lantern’s glow, a physical reminder of what we share. She lifts her free hand, brushing her fingertips against the scab.

“This brand… used to feel like chains,” she murmurs. “Now, it’s like a shield we built together.”

My heart swells. I crouch, pressing my palm over hers, covering the brand. “It is. We may have enemies, but we also have each other.”

She squeezes my hand, voice catching. “I’m terrified, Saru. But for once, I don’t want to run.”

I gather her into my arms, swallowing the pain that flares across my chest. She melts against me, arms sliding around my waist. For a moment, the Bastion’s gloom lifts, replaced by a sense of belonging. We’re forging a new path, joined by choice.

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