Chapter Thirty-Nine - All For Me

(Adelaide)

Heat.

That was the first thing she felt.

A steady, enveloping heat pressed against her back, sinking into her spine, warming her skin in a way that no blanket, no fire, no sun ever had. Something solid rested along the curve of her hips, something that radiated enough warmth to make her toes tingle. A breath—deep, slow, heavy—poured across the nape of her neck. It smelled like smoke and spice and something darkly sweet, threading through the remnants of her dream until the line between memory and reality blurred.

She drifted somewhere between sleep and waking, caught in that soft, blurry place where dreams still cling to the edges of reality.

And in that haze, in that half-conscious moment fuelled by exhaustion and memory, a single thought bloomed through her fogged mind:

Liam.

Her heart fluttered with a fragile ache.

She felt a body behind her—strong, warm, familiar in all the ways her young heart remembered. In sleep-drunken instinct, she pressed her back into him, seeking more of the warmth. His arm tightened around her waist.

A tiny, contented sound slipped from her throat. The long hard length jerked against her bare backside pressing into her like it demanded something.

She shifted again, her body arching softly back into the heat of him, wiggling her ass so that his length could slip between her cheeks. Wetness pool between her thigh and dreamy giggle brushing her lips.

“Mm… Liam…” she whispered, the name falling out of her with the innocence of someone still half-dreaming.

The body behind her went rigid. Completely, utterly rigid.

The warmth changed—no longer soft and embracing, but sharp. Tense. Coiled with the sudden, explosive stillness of a predator hearing a threat. The hand at her waist tightened a fraction, claws threatening at the edge of skin.

Her sleepy mind didn’t register the danger.

Not yet.

She only felt herself being moved—suddenly, swiftly—her back hitting the mattress as strong hands flipped her onto her spine. Before she could gasp, a heavy weight settled over her, caging her in.

Her eyes flew open.

Apollo’s face hovered above hers—shadowed, furious, beautiful in a devastating, merciless way. His hair fell forward in dark waves, his eyes molten and wild, his breath hitting her lips in ragged, seething bursts. His horns hadn’t broken through, but the threat of them lived in the sharp lines of his jaw.

Her stomach dropped. Her heart slammed. Apollo. Not Liam.

Cold terror and hot confusion collided like two storms inside her chest.

“A—Apollo—?”

His hand seized both her wrists, pinning them above her head in a single effortless grip. His other hand pressed into the mattress beside her shoulder, trapping her completely beneath him.

His voice was a growl dragged from the deepest, darkest part of hell: “Who. Is. Liam?”

She blinked, dazed, breathless. “What—? No… I—I thought—”

“Who,” he snarled again, leaning down until their noses nearly brushed, “is Liam, my Little Flame?”

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her lips parted, trembling. “He was—someone from the village. Someone I knew. I didn’t mean—”

His jaw tightened. His grip tightened. His body pressed down into hers—not roughly, but firmly enough that she felt every line of him, every muscle, every simmering ounce of anger vibrating through his frame.

“You said his name,” Apollo growled, “while sleeping in my bed.”

“It wasn’t— I didn’t know it was you—”

His head dipped to her ear, his breath hot and lethal. “It does not matter who you thought it was.”

Her chest heaved under him. Fear curled in her belly like smoke.

Apollo continued, voice low and deadly: “If you speak another male’s name within these walls, I will do two things.”

Her breath hitched.

He counted them off in a whisper that felt like claws dragging over her spine.

“One: I will punish you for it.”

 Her thighs clenched; she hated herself for the reaction.

 “And two: I will find the male who owns the name…”

He lifted his head, eyes burning into hers. “…and I will drag him to Hell, where he will beg me for death every hour of eternity.”

Her stomach twisted violently. “No—Apollo, don’t—he didn’t do anything—”

“Then keep his name out of your mouth.” His tone was soft. Terrifyingly soft. The flames in the sconces dipped low, as if bowing to the threat.

She swallowed, her tongue dry. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. It was the truth. She didn’t know what else to say.

His body still hovered over hers, heavy and hot, his weight pressing into her in a way she couldn’t ignore. His hips settled between her thighs, pinning her lower body effortlessly.

Her breath stuttered. She was still naked. And she felt him. Firm. Hot. Undeniable.

Her stomach fluttered with unwanted heat. “Apollo,” she breathed, panic warring with something far more dangerous. “Let me go. Please—I didn’t—”

“No.” The single word vibrated through her bones.

He lowered his face until his lips almost brushed hers.

“You don’t want me to let go,” he murmured.

Her heart tripped. “I do,” she whispered—but it sounded weak, unconvincing even to herself.

His lips curved—dark, knowing, devastating. “Liar.”

Her cheeks burned. “It’s just—just the bond—”

His hips pressed down into her, slow and deliberate. Grinding himself against her parted legs.

A strangled sound escaped her throat.

“It’s not the bond,” he murmured. “Not entirely.”

She gasped as he shifted again, the contact sending a hot jolt straight through her core. Her legs twitched beneath him, thighs trembling in traitorous betrayal.

The worst part was that she did like it. She liked it too much.

Apollo’s eyes darkened, pupils expanding like ink spreading through molten gold.

“Look at you,” he whispered, gaze dragging down her body—wild hair, flushed cheeks, the sheet half-tangled around her hips, the black fur fallen aside. “Naked under me. Exactly where you belong.”

Her face flamed. “I’m only naked because you destroyed my dress!”

“And you will remain naked,” he said smoothly, “for as long as it pleases me.”

Her breath caught. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” he murmured, brushing his nose along her jaw, “and I will.”

He lowered his mouth to her collarbone. Heat exploded across her skin.

He didn’t bite. He didn’t lick. But he kissed her there—slow, warm, lingering—before dragging his lips up her throat in a line of fire that made her entire body arch against him.

Her wrists strained uselessly against his grip.

“Apollo—stop—”

“You don’t want me to stop.” He kissed the hollow beneath her ear.

She shivered violently.

Then his mouth dipped lower, traveling down the curve of her neck. He nipped lightly—just enough to make her gasp. His breath was hot, his lips soft, his movements purposeful.

He kissed up her throat. Across her jaw. Along her cheek. And then—

He stilled.

His lips hovered over the bite mark he’d given her.

Adelaide trembled, breath shaking, her entire body pulled taut.

Apollo’s voice was a low, guttural confession: “When I touch this mark,” he whispered, “you’ll melt for me.”

He kissed it. Just once. Just barely.

A small, broken sound tore from her lips. She hated it. Gods, she hated it. But the sensation—sharp, electric, intimate—shot straight through her like lightning.

Heat flooded her, coiling deep in her belly. Her pulse roared in her ears. The bond flared, bright and wild, a dizzying rush of need she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She felt moisture gather between her thighs—hot, humiliating, undeniable.

Apollo’s nostrils flared. He inhaled. His eyes snapped open. Feral. Starved.

“Adelaide…” he growled, voice shaking with restraint. “Do you smell what I smell?”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t—don’t say it—”

His lips brushed her ear. “You’re drenched.”

Humiliation flushed through her, hot and sharp and consuming.

“Let me go,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Please—Apollo—I can’t think—I can’t—”

“No,” he growled, shifting his hips against her again—just pressure, just heat, nothing more, but enough to make her gasp. “I won’t let you run from this.”

The material of his pants rubbed against her aching clit, and her mind scrambled for reason—for fury—for anything except the fire consuming her body. A deep guttural groan rumbled in the back of his throat and he thrust again, harder this time.

“This is wrong,” she whispered, tears burning behind her eyes. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” She said on a broken moan, even as her legs wound tightly around his waist.

His eyes softened, but his grip did not loosen.

“I know,” he murmured. His lips brushed her cheek. “And yet you want me.”

Her heart thundered painfully. “I don’t,” she lied.

“You do.” He kissed her jaw—slow, dangerous.

“You’re trembling for me.”

His hand lifted away from beside her head and ran down her arm, along the side of her ribs, stopping just beneath the curve of her breast. His palm burned against her skin without touching anything of consequence. Even if she wished for it. The near-contact was worse than a touch, a promise hovering just above her nipple, making it tighten almost painfully in expectation.

She sucked in a breath so sharp it hurt.

He lowered his mouth to her throat again.

“Let me go,” she whispered desperately.

“No,” he growled, dragging his lips up to her ear. “Not until you stop lying to yourself.”

Her entire body shook.

She didn’t understand this. She didn’t understand him. She didn’t understand herself.

All she knew was this:

She was trapped beneath the Devil. Naked. Burning. Hating him. Wanting him. Falling apart because of him.

And that terrified her more than Hell ever could. Because somewhere beneath the fear and fury and shame, a horrible truth flickered to life like a newborn flame: part of her was starting to wonder if she was made for this fire.