Page 56 of Mated to the Monster God
His wings, ghost impressions beneath his scales, flutter gently—thrumming, uncontrolled sensation that wraps around my heart.
We break and I lean into the crook of his neck—the faintly mechanical hum of his spine grounding me. My voice is a shudder: “Not because I need comfort… but because I choose you.”
He presses his lips to the curve of my forehead—soft, belonging, a promise carved into bone. “And I choose you,” he replies, voice hot and earnest.
I slide forward, sliding into his arms again—not fragility, but ease, trust. Every tremor in my body is a testament. Our rhythms align. The world is distant—smoke and rain echoing on the metal cathedral above—but here, we exist in the present, melting the ruins of fear into foundation.
Rain drips off the dish's edge, and we feel it on our faces, tongues, eyelashes. It’s baptism and reclamation. I taste salt and rain and relief.
I part my lips, voice low: “Again?”
He pauses—those golden eyes darken and widen. Then he presses his mouth to mine, answering not with words, but with the press of lips, the rising arc of breath.
I melt into the moment, riding the pulse of desire and safety and the promise of what comes next.
Inside the stone womb of that broken dish, we reignite—fire tempered by rain, bound in blood and vows—and our souls rise.
I’m hyper-aware of every breath between us, he and I, as he lowers me onto the rough, rain-cold stones beneath the collapsed satellite dish’s metallic ribcage. The fractured moonlight illuminates curves of moss and rust, casting us in a halo of shadow and silver. Sagax’s body presses against mine, heat radiating through soaked clothes. Between us is the ache of redemption, of fear turned torchlight.
I breathe in the tang of his sweat—earth and spine—and my heart reverberates against the cage of my chest, echoing over what we’ve survived. My pulse isn’t trembling; it’s roaring loud, incandescent with fierce, fragile trust.
We don’t rush. Not this time.
He kisses me—slow, deliberate as sculpting—like wishes carved from bone and blood. His lips taste of mineral and rain, tempered by months of hunger turned devotion. I wrap my arms around his neck, fingers threading through damp gold and shadow, and I can’t stop the spark that leaps between us.
His hands are careful at first— featherlight on sorrow-slick skin. He traces the ridges of my collarbone as though charting constellations in my flesh. Every contact illuminates firing galaxies beneath my ribs.
A thunderclap breaks the hush, but our storm centers in each other. My nails ache as he dips them into my thighs, claws pressing into muscle with pressure that’s agony and ecstasy in one electric curve. I gasp: pain, but happier than I’ve ever felt.
Stars blossom behind my eyelids—supernovae twisting behind the wet glaze of vision. Each brush of his hand is a planet born anew, orbiting my center.
He speaks—voice low and made of gold-and-shadow thunder. “You are mine.”
The phrase shatters something buried inside me. I’m trembling, breath shallow with need and disbelief.
I reach up, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. His scales glitter in the moonlight, cold and holy. “I always was,” I whisper, voice the ground breaking open.
He surges again, calm violence in purpose. His hands mold me, perfect contours, creatures settling into familiar shapes. Every part of me inflames—my skin, my nerve-endings, my bones—until I feel unmade and reshaped into something more honest, more vulnerable than I’ve ever dared.
The pressure of his body sliding into mine ignites that ancient recognition: home is not place—it’s him. I cradle him from inside, arms like stone, breath tethered to his. Moonlight flickers in the empty dish above, painting us in silver.
My heartbeat throttles. I taste fear—real, justified—but also overwhelming rapture. Trust, thought to be fragile, is now carved into me with every pound of breath, every slick brush of skin against skin.
I bite my lip at the fervor of possession—not rough, but sacred. He doesn’t seize me—he chooses me, ravages me with reverence.
The stars ricochet behind my eyelids again. I feel the wetness in my hair, in the ground beneath me, and the insistent friction of skin. It’s thunder and glass shards, cocoon and flame, all swirled into the same pain-pleasure paradox.
He groans my name like a vow. I feel him cradle me tighter. My reply is breathless: “Sagax…”
He holds fast, closing circles around me. “I’m not letting go.”
“I never left—even when I thought I had to.”
He nibbles along the nape of my neck, his claws firm on my thighs. It’s reverent violence. I’m alight with euphoria. Every cell is singing.
A hush blooms in my bones. Then I rise until we’re pressed face to face—rain-slick, heart naked. Our lips part breaths wide. “You’re everything,” I mumble, trembling on lips and walls.
He murmurs against mine, voice thick: “And you—are mine.”
