Page 35 of Mated to the Monster God
His breath brushes over my skin—warm, steady, grounding. And then, without a word, Sagax lifts my hand in both of his. It feels small in his grasp, delicate, though I know damn well I’m not a delicate girl. But under his touch, something in me trembles.
He turns my palm over, his thumbs brushing slow circles into the skin. The pad of one fingertip traces the faint calluses at the base of my fingers. Then he lowers his head.
My breath catches when his lips graze the top of my hand.
Slow. Reverent. Like I’m some sacred relic and he’s memorizing my shape through touch.
Then lower, he presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist. Right over the pulse that’s hammering like thunder. My skin burns where his mouth lingers. I can feel the whisper of his breath, the deliberate slowness of his movements, and it’s too much.
But I don’t pull away.
“Sagax…” I whisper, but there’s no warning in my voice. Just ache.
“I will never let you fall,” he says against my skin, voice rough as gravel and just as grounding. “Never.”
I shudder. My whole body shudders.
It’s not the promise—it’s the way hemeansit. Like he’s carved it into the marrow of himself. Like the thought of failing me physicallyhurtshim. His words don’t feel like declarations. They feel like devotions.
“I don’t want you to say that if you don’t mean it,” I murmur.
“Ialwaysmean it,” he says, looking up. His eyes glow gold, fierce and open, but not demanding.
I reach for his face with trembling hands. His cheekbones are hard, the scales smooth but warm. I trace the lines of his jaw, the sharp strength of it, and he leans into my touch like I’m oxygen.
Then I kiss him.
Just a brush of lips, soft and cautious.
But it opens something in both of us.
His arms wrap around me, and he kisses me back—slow turning frantic, reverence turning to hunger. My hands tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His body presses against mine, heat pouring off him in waves, and the kiss deepens with a kind of desperation I’ve never felt before.
Like we’ve been waiting our whole lives to get here and didn’t realize it until now.
We stumble back together, breath hitching, laughter caught in our throats as we tumble into the tall grass. He cushions me easily, his massive frame blocking out the world. The sun hangs low in the sky, bleeding orange and red across the canopy above. Everything smells like wildflowers and sweat and him.
I feel wild.
I feelwanted.
His hands roam—but not greedy. Always asking, always listening, even when no words are said. My shirt rides up and his palm meets bare skin. I gasp against his mouth, arching into the contact. His breath stutters, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
“You feel like fire,” he murmurs against my lips. “You burn me. But I want it.”
My fingers press into the muscles of his back, dragging down over hard ridges. “Then burn with me.”
He kisses down my neck, his tongue tasting salt and skin, and I swear I could melt into the grass. The world vanishes—no Baragon, no colony, no danger. Just the rhythm of his body against mine and the ache blooming low and slow and powerful.
I hook a leg around his waist and he groans, deep and guttural, like he’s holding back a storm.
“I’ve wanted this,” I breathe, “so bad, for so long, I didn’t even know it.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes wild with emotion. “Say stop and I’ll stop.”
I shake my head. “Don’t you dare.”
His mouth finds mine again, and we lose ourselves in the grass, in the heat, in each other. I’ve never felt so bare and brave at once. Like I’m finally stepping into the person I’ve always been underneath the duty and expectations and fears.
