Page 40 of Mated to the Monster God
“Yes.” He moves his forehead to mine. “You are my home. My heartbeat. My…” His voice drops lower, tremulous. “My everything.”
I blink back tears, just salty warmth, as the enormity of his claim settles in me like sunrise.
I lean forward and kiss him—a press of lips that says more than words ever could. His arms slide around me—the cradle of reverence I’ve always needed. I feel his heartbeat, strong and restless.
We stay like that, breaths mingling, sharing warmth and tether.
I giggle—light and breathy and untethered. “You’re going to make me believe this is real.”
He smiles, gentle, fierce. “It is.”
I reach down, trace the line of his arm, syllables shaking free. “I think I’m falling.”
His response is soft, inevitable. “Fall with me.”
We lie there, the world hushed around us, two bodies tangled in dawn’s golden clasp.
I believe I am where I belong.
I can feel every sound: the hum of the jungle, Sagax’s breath deep and rhythmic beside me, the thud of my heartbeat racing against his chest. When his hands slip beneath my shirt, it’s like discovering secret constellations across my skin. Every curve, ridge, and scar I’ve carried becomes a map, and he traces them like scripture—with reverence, with curiosity, with awe.
“Breathe,” he murmurs against my neck.
I inhale—deep, slow—letting his palm slide lower. His touch is both fire and feathers, delicate and fierce, like he’s trying to memorize my shape in memory as much as in flesh.
It’s slower this time. No urgency, no need to conquer anything. Just exploration—two beings mapping desire with care.
I arch into him as his lips press daisies of warmth along my collarbone. The ache is not want—it’s recognition. He’s not just touching me. He’s reading me, learning me, accepting me.
“Esme,” he breathes, voice thick. I hear the thing unspoken in it: how perfect I fit. How natural this is.
He moves with me, matching breath to breath, thigh to thigh, pulse to pulse. His body molds to mine—solid, protective, responsive. When I moan quietly, head buried in his shoulder, I feel him gather around me tighter. Not possessive. Protective—like the world might vanish if he let go.
“Every sound you make,” he says, voice hoarse, “is like a melody I’ve never known but already love.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. Because this is honesty—naked and fierce. I’ve never felt such safety. Never felt such wild untethered surrender.
Sheets of moonlight pool across my skin as he adjusts so our bodies sync. His cock slides into my pussy, hot and certain. It’s love made physical—but also spiritual, elemental. I feel sacred under him.
He moves slow, carefully, in time with the ache in my hips. Every thrust is deliberate. His hands steel me, anchor me as I melt into him. The world contracts to the press of his body, the scent of sweat and jasmine in his hair, the whisper of his heartbeat echoing my own.
I reach up, thumb tracing the line of his scar. “You’re mine,” I whisper.
He growls—a deep, molten sound that vibrates through us. “Always,” he says.
And it’s more than a promise. It’s a vow, carved into the marrow of my spine.
My breath stutters. I’m undone by how completely he sees me, touches me, holds me together while tearing me apart.
My eyelids flutter closed as waves of sensation pull me under. I feel every nerve end ablaze—my pulse, his pulse, the electric charge between us.
“Esme,” he says—a sound that convinces me I’m alive in every cell.
I cling to him. “I’m falling,” I whisper. “So fast.”
He stills, slowing our rhythm until it’s a low murmur.
“There is no falling, not with me,” he breathes. “We rise together.”
