All Chapters of The Devil's Broken Doll: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

(Apollo & Adelaide)“You take me beautifully,” he rasped, thrusting slowly and deliberately. “Tighter than any creature born to this realm.” Her eyes stung. She bit her lip until she tasted blood. It was so much. It was not enough. She didn’t know which frightened her more. Tears blurred her vision—frustration, pleasure, disbelief tangling until she could no longer separate them. Her mind felt split open, her thoughts dissolving into sensation. His second cock dragged along her lower back, leaving a trail of scorching heat across her spine. The contact was unbearable—hot and alive—sending a rippling shiver down her body, her muscles tightening helplessly. She felt the pulsing weight of it with every thrust. It made the air feel thinner. Made her body tremble harder. Made her desperate lust burn inside her. Her lungs seized, her skin buzzing, her pulse pounding so violently it felt like it might burst. Need clawed at her, sharp and frantic, leaving her shaking beneath him

(Apollo & Adelaide) Adelaide didn’t so much lie on the bench as melt over it. Every part of her felt unstrung. Her muscles quivered in tiny aftershocks she couldn't control, as if her nerves had been rewired and were still misfiring. The padded obsidian beneath her chest slicked with sweat; her cheek peeled away with each ragged breath. Heat pulsed up through the bench and into her bones, branding her from the inside out. The scent of smoke, sex, and scorched magic thickened the air, clogging the back of her throat. For a long, suspended moment, there was only the echo of her own pulse hammering in her ears. And his weight. Apollo’s body loomed above, caging her in heat and shadow. His chest crushed against her back, each breath a heavy, relentless drag. His breath crashed over her shoulder—harsh, uneven, yet tightly controlled. Even spent and trembling, the King of Hell yielded nothing. She could feel his heart through his chest plate of scales, a deep, slow thunder that c

(Apollo & Adelaide) The palace swallowed them whole. It wasn’t just architecture down here, not truly. It felt alive, a body grown from obsidian, bound by oaths, recognising what Apollo carried. The walls yielded, not out of kindness, but like an animal bending before its apex predator. Seams of old wards traced the corridor’s ribs, giving a faint, cautious gleam. For a moment, they flashed like eyelids cracking open, testing what approached in the dark. Heat rolled with them as Apollo carried Adelaide through the corridor. His footsteps echoed in a slow, steady rhythm, not matching the erratic hammer of her heart. Shadows stretched, then recoiled, making space for their passage. Even the architecture seemed to know better than to stand in his way when he held something this close. Air tasted of stone and old magic—dry at first. Then, slowly, it thickened, each breath dragging a faint tang of brimstone over her tongue. With every step downward, the scent changed: less scorched-m

(Apollo & Adelaide)He worked slowly, dragging the cloth across her back in long strokes, washing away the sweat and dried traces of their earlier violence. The faint bruises his hands had left earlier marred the pale canvas of her skin; his thumbs traced their edges with an odd, focused attention. Not regret. Not an apology. Attention like inventory, like assessment, like a king memorising the cost of what he’d demanded. He didn’t apologise. The Devil did not apologise. But his touch lingered there. “Does it hurt?” he asked. She huffed. “Which part?” “The parts I touched,” he said. “That’s not very specific,” she said dryly, but there was a tremor underneath. After a heartbeat, she added, quieter, “Some of it.” His fingers gentled by a fraction. “Good.” She snorted. “Of course you’d say that.” “If you can feel it,” he said, “you’re not broken.” The words slipped out without his usual coat of barbed humour. They hung between them in the steam, heavier tha

(Caelum Ashborne) Caelum had not meant to stay. The decision had been made hours ago, in the clean, disciplined part of his mind that still believed in exits and restraint. It felt laughable now, standing here with his back pressed to stone that pulsed like a living ribcage. He told himself that three times as he stood in the narrow hollow between walls, cloak of shadow drawn tight, body pressed against warm stone laced with the Devil’s wards. The rock hummed faintly against his spine, wards singing in a low, warning key that told him he had no right to be this close. The crack was no more than a sliver—a deliberate flaw in the palace bones that only someone like him would notice, would dare to test. It smelled different here, he realised. Not just fire and iron, but heat soaked into rock over centuries, like breath trapped in lungs that never exhaled. He had come to confirm she was still alive. That was all. Now he couldn’t move. The chamber beyond pulsed like a living heart. M