Page 71 of Chained to the Horned God
Kharza breathes.
So do I.
In. Out.
Beside him.
Always.
The stars blaze above us like they’ve been set on fire just for this night. I lie back on the thick wool blanket, still warm from Barsok’s body. The fire’s dying down, but its embers glow red-gold like old blood. I watch the sparks drift into the night like memories fleeing a war-torn past.
Barsok shifts beside me, and I feel the weight of him in the earth. He’s enormous. Every inch of him speaks of power—of battles won, of chains broken, of blood spilled and survived. But when he touches me now, there’s a gentleness to him that breaks me open more than any blade could.
“You keep looking at me like that,” I murmur, “you’re going to have to do something about it.”
He doesn’t answer at first. Just breathes, slow and deep. His nostrils flare slightly. His golden eyes, bright as molten metal, scan my face like he’s memorizing it again for the hundredth time.
“I want to,” he says finally, voice gravel and thunder. “But I still don’t know if I deserve to.”
I reach up, fingers threading into the silver line of fur that trails down the center of his forehead, tracing it like it’s a road leading home.
“You do,” I whisper. “You’ve earned every piece of this peace.”
Barsok lowers himself onto his side, one massive arm curling around my waist. His touch makes me feel small—fragile in the best way. Not weak. Just… held.
“You smell like fire and lavender,” he rumbles against my neck, his breath warm as a summer breeze. “It drives me mad.”
“Good,” I say, slipping a thigh over his hip, pulling him closer. “Go mad.”
He kisses me—slow and deep, like he’s drinking from the last spring in a dead land. His tongue tangles with mine, thick and warm, tasting like smoke and pine. I moan into him, hips rolling against the hard ridge growing beneath his loincloth.
When his hand moves down, rough and deliberate, I gasp. His fingers—thick and calloused from years of war—slide under my tunic, finding the bare skin of my stomach. I arch into his touch.
“Take it off,” I say, already tugging at the leather straps of his chest harness. “I want to feel you.”
Clothes scatter. Fur and skin, leather and linen. I’m naked beneath him in seconds, his eyes roaming my body like it’s sacred ground. His cock hangs heavy between his legs—thick, dark, inhuman. My breath catches. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, the sight of it sends heat rushing between my legs.
“You’re so fucking big,” I whisper.
His lip twitches. “You like that.”
“I love it,” I breathe, reaching down to wrap my fingers around the base of his cock. It’s hot, pulsing, impossibly hard. “I loveyou.”
Barsok groans, hips jerking into my hand. His voice is ragged. “Valoa…”
He pushes me gently onto my back, kissing a trail down my throat, between my breasts, across my stomach. When his tongue finds my pussy, I cry out—sharp and loud and broken. He licks me slow, savoring every moan, every twitch. His muzzle fitsperfectly between my thighs, his tongue long and thick, curling inside me until I’m shaking.
“Please,” I gasp, grabbing at his horns, rocking my hips against his mouth. “Please, Barsok, I need youinsideme.”
He rises above me like a mountain, his shadow blotting out the stars. He strokes his cock, watching my face as he aligns himself with my entrance. I spread my legs wider, aching, wet,ready.
“Say it,” he growls, the tip of him pressing into my pussy, stretching me wide. “Say you want me.”
“I want you,” I pant. “Ineedyou. Fuck me, Barsok. Fuck me until I forget everything but your name.”
With a low snarl, he pushes in—inch by impossible inch. My breath comes in stutters. He’s too big. He’sperfect.I stretch around him, my walls clenching, pulsing, taking him deeper than I thought I could.
“Gods, you’re tight,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me down onto his cock until he’s buried to the hilt.
