Page 72 of Chained to the Horned God
We stay like that for a moment, our foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, hearts pounding. Then he moves.
Slow at first. Deep. Every thrust sends sparks through me. I clutch at his back, at his horns, atanythingto keep myself grounded. The world dissolves. There’s only us. Only this.
“You feel like heaven,” he whispers against my ear. “Like you were made for me.”
I bite his shoulder, moaning as he drives into me harder, faster. The wet sound of our bodies fills the night, mixed with gasps, cries, broken whispers.
“Don’t stop,” I beg. “Please, Barsok, don’t ever stop.”
He flips me over, pulls my ass up, and slams back in. I scream—pleasure clawing up my spine. His hand tangles in my hair, the other gripping my hip, guiding his thrusts.
“You’re mine,” he growls, deep and primal. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I sob, pressing back against him. “I’vealwaysbeen yours.”
My orgasm crashes through me like a wave breaking stone. I convulse around his cock, muscles clenching, body shaking. Barsok roars, thrusting deep one last time as he spills inside me, heat flooding me in thick, pulsing bursts.
We collapse together, bodies slick with sweat and love and everything in between. His arms wrap around me, holding me like I’m the last truth in a world full of lies.
The fire crackles. The stars blink. I believe that this—we—might just last.
The salt air hits me first. It wraps around my shoulders like a shroud and pulls me back in time. My lungs fill with the memory of it—brine and kelp and the faint metallic edge of old ships. The sea is endless in front of me, blue stretched out to kiss the sky. Wind howls through the cliff grasses, whistling like old ghosts.
Barsok doesn’t say a word.
He just leads me by the hand, our footsteps sinking into damp sand, waves lapping at our heels. His grip is steady, calloused, warm. The same hand that once held a blade now only holds mine.
“This is the place,” I say.
I don’t have to explain.
He knows.
It’s where they unloaded us. Where chains bit into my wrists and collarbones. Where the guards shouted and shoved, and I dared to dream of rebellion between mouthfuls of sea-soaked bread.
Now it’s just water and sky and peace.
Barsok drops his pack behind a dune. He kicks off his boots, rolls up his trousers, and steps into the surf. The cold makes him shiver, but he doesn’t stop. He turns to face me, water cresting around his calves.
“Come here,” he says.
I follow.
The tide pulls at my ankles. The sand shifts beneath me. But I walk into that water like it owes me something.
When I reach him, he cups my face in both hands, fingers rough and reverent.
“You saved me,” he says.
The words are heavy with truth. No flourish. No poetry. Just fact.
I smile, throat thick. “We saved each other.”
He kisses me.
Not like it’s the end of the world. Not like it’s the last time.
He kisses me like it’s the first breath after drowning.
