Page 82 of Mated to the Monster God
The jungle parts for us now, like it knows where we’re going—like itwantsus there. Every leaf brushes against my skin likea benediction. Every stone step we take feels like a heartbeat toward something holy.
There’s no war at our backs this time. No fire licking at our heels. No blood clinging to our boots. Just him. Just me. Just...this.
When we get there, the cave is quiet, the moss still glowing soft blue, blanketing the stone like a dream that never ends. Water spills down from the ledge above, a silver thread catching starlight and making everything shimmer. The air smells like wet stone and night jasmine.
Sagax looks at me like he’s trying to memorize this moment. Like he’s trying to etch it into his bones.
We say nothing.
We don’thaveto.
He steps forward and brushes a damp strand of hair from my face, fingers trailing over my cheek like I’m fragile. Like I’m priceless.
I reach for his tunic, fingers trembling—not from fear. From the weight of this moment. From wanting to remember, too.
We undress each other slowly, reverently. No fumbling. No frenzy. Just the quiet awe of two people who know what it means to lose everything and still choose love.
His skin is warm under my hands, humming with life. His scars catch the light, but he doesn’t flinch when I trace them. Doesn’t hide. He just watches me, breathing slow, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
I whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”
His lips twitch into the smallest smile. “Good.”
I tilt my head up, and he meets me there. The kiss is soft, warm, endless. His lips part just enough for me to taste the breath he shares. His hands settle at my hips, pulling me in like gravity. Like I belong.
It’s not hunger this time.
It’s home.
When he lays me down on the moss, it’s with the kind of care that makes my chest ache. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t devour. He touches me like I’m made of art. Like I’m worth every second.
And I feel it.
I feel it in the way his hands trail down my ribs, feather-light. In the way his mouth finds the curve of my neck and lingers there, breathing me in like incense. In the way he says my name—not like a need, but like a vow.
“Esme,” he murmurs, between kisses. “Esme.”
My hands shake when I pull him closer. “Sagax, please…”
But I’m not begging.
I’m asking.
For more of this. For all of him. For everything.
He slips inside me with a sigh so tender, so human, I nearly break. My eyes sting, and I blink fast, but the tears come anyway. I don’t even know why. Maybe because this is the first time I’ve felt truly seen. Not lusted after. Not needed. Cherished.
He moves slowly, holding me like I’m the most precious thing in the galaxy. His rhythm isn’t perfect—it’s raw, uneven, but real. And it’s enough. More than enough.
I clutch at his back, nails dragging down familiar ridges of muscle and scale. He moans, low and broken, into my shoulder. The sound sends fire through my belly.
“I love you,” I whisper, over and over. Like it’s a spell. Like it’ll keep this moment from ever ending.
His breath hitches, and he lifts his head to look at me. “I am yours,” he says again. “Always.”
We find a rhythm that feels like flying. That feels like gravity never mattered. That feels like stars could fall around us and we wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t care.
The tension builds between us like a slow-burn flame. Every thrust, every whisper, every sigh—we rise together, climb together.
