Page 77 of Mated to the Monster God
I start at her throat, brushing my knuckles along the soft ridge of her collarbone. I unfasten the clasp of her jacket with care, as if it’s sacred cloth. I peel back layers—cotton, sweat, warmth—until her skin is bare to the stars and I can see the goosebumps rise under the weight of my gaze.
“You are made of light,” I breathe, pressing my mouth to the hollow of her throat.
She moans my name—not justSagax, but a raw, broken sound that trembles through the jungle canopy like thunder. It cuts through the air, sinks into my marrow.
I touch her like she is the first thing I’ve ever touched. I map every curve with my hands, my mouth, my mind. Her scent is wild—salt and skin and something unnameable that drives me mad.
She arches into me, whispering, gasping, her nails dragging down my back as I shed my armor piece by piece, revealing flesh that is not wholly human, not wholly anything. My body—engineered for war, adapted for survival—has never known softness like this.
She looks at me, eyes wide, lips parted. Not afraid.
Never afraid.
“I want all of you,” she says. “Every broken, beautiful, impossible part.”
I kiss her like a vow.
My hands shake when I touch her. Not from fear, but from awe. Her breath hitches when I slide my palm down her belly, over her hip, into the heat of her. She is fire and silk and defiance.
She pulls me down, wraps her legs around me, opens herself like a temple.
“Please,” she whispers, “Sagax—please.”
I enter her slowly, reverently, as if I am stepping into the sun. Her breath catches, her fingers grip my arms, and her body welcomes me like it was made for nothing else.
Her voice breaks as she says my name again—once, twice—until it becomes a chant, a tether, a storm.
And I lose myself.
The moss glows brighter, pulsing with the rhythm of our joining. The jungle sings around us, crickets and night birds and wind all echoing the truth of this moment.
This ishome.
We move together like gravity and flame, like orbit and collision. Her hands never leave me. My mouth never stops whispering her name.
Esme.
My purpose.
When we fall apart, gasping and tangled, the stars burn low above us and the moss dims beneath.
She rests her head against my chest, her fingers tracing the lines of my ribs. “That… wasn’t what I expected.”
I smile, teeth bared in something like wonder. “Nor I.”
We lie in the glow, skin slick, hearts thunderous. I feel complete.
I am not a weapon anymore.
I am hers.
Her skin glows in the moonlight, kissed by sweat and starlight, chest rising and falling like the tide beneath me. I don’t know how long we lie there, tangled in silence, the moss beneath us still pulsing soft and warm.
She shifts. Just slightly. But it’s enough to pull me back into the gravity of her.
“I’m not done with you,” she says, voice rough with something deeper than lust.
I don't answer with words. I slide my hand along the curve of her thigh, the velvet of her skin vibrating with anticipation. She’s already pulling me in again, her mouth on my neck, her nails raking down my back like she’s carving her name into me.
