The Ascended — Chapter no 52

Chapter 52

Consumed

"IF WE DO THIS," HE CONCEDED, HIS VOICE DROPPING TO THAT DANGEROUS whisper again, "I won't be gentle. I won't treat you like some fragile flower.

I'll take you exactly how I want you—hard, demanding, unrelenting. Do

you understand?"

"Luckily for you, I don't want gentle."

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. "You liked teasing me that night," he said, his voice dropping to a register that sent heat spiraling through me. "When you came undone on my desk. Trying to suppress those little sounds that escaped your perfect lips."

His hand moved to my throat. "Do you have any idea how hard it was not to bend you over right then? To take what I wanted?"

I swallowed against his palm, pulse quickening beneath his touch. "Why didn't you?"

He laughed. "Because I knew once I had a taste, I wouldn't be satisfied with just that." His thumb traced my lower lip, eyes following the movement with scorching focus. "I'd want to devour you whole."

"Maybe I want to be devoured," I said.

His eyes darkened further. "Careful what you wish for, starling."

Before I could formulate a response, his mouth crashed down on mine, any pretense of gentleness abandoned. This was no careful exploration, this was possession, pure and primal. His teeth caught my lower lip, the sting drawing a gasp from me that he swallowed hungrily.

His hands moved to the sodden fabric of my dress, tearing at the laces with impatient fingers. "Too many fucking layers," he muttered, frustration evident in every harsh movement.

"I like this dress," I protested, though the charge in my voice belied any real objection.

"I'll buy you a hundred more." His smirk was insufferable, and yet heat bloomed low, thick and undeniable. "But right now, I need it off."

When the bodice finally gave way, he pushed the wet material down roughly, exposing my skin to the cool air of the chamber. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of me, his gaze trailing fire across my flesh.

"Beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. Then his expression shifted, a wickedness replacing the brief moment of reverence. "Ever since I tasted you, I’ve wanted more." His hand moved to cup my breast, thumb circling the hardened peak. "Here." His touch trailed lower, over my ribs, my stomach, to the apex of my thighs. "And here."

He shed his own clothing, revealing the sculpted planes of his body. In the flickering light of the brazier, he looked like something carved from shadow and flame—beautiful and terrible and utterly overwhelming.

When he returned to me, it was with a single-minded focus that stole my breath. His hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, learning my body with ruthless efficiency. Where before he might have been careful, now he was demanding, drawing reactions from me with the confidence of a god who knew exactly what he was doing.

His teeth grazed my nipple, the shock of it arching my back off the bed.

"Sensitive," he observed, satisfaction in his tone. "Good." He repeated the action on the other side, harder this time, followed by the hot suction of his mouth that had me gasping.

One hand slid down my stomach, fingers splaying possessively across my skin before moving lower. When he felt how wet I’d become, a low, animalistic sound rumbled from his chest.

"So ready," he murmured, his fingers exploring. "So fucking eager."

I bit my lip, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing how affected I was. His eyes narrowed at my silence, accepting the unspoken challenge.

"You think you can stay quiet?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

"Let's see about that."

Without warning, he thrust two fingers inside me, curling them to find that perfect spot that had stars exploding behind my eyelids. A cry tore from my throat before I could stop it, my body clenching around the intrusion.

"That's it," he encouraged, his thumb circling my clit as his fingers continued their relentless assault. "Let me hear you."

When his mouth returned to my breast, teeth and tongue working in concert with his hand between my thighs, I found myself clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

"That's right," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Mark me. Let me feel how much you want this."

Just as I approached the edge, he withdrew completely, leaving me gasping. Before I could protest, he flipped me onto my stomach with alarming ease, dragging me to my knees.

"Arch for me," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I complied, a mixture of anticipation and nervousness flooding through me. Behind me, I could hear his breathing, feel the warmth of his body as he positioned himself between my spread thighs.

His hand stroked down my spine, almost gentle until it reached my hip, where his grip tightened to the point of delicious pain. "You have no idea how beautiful you look," he said. "On your knees for me. Waiting to be taken."

I felt him lean over me, his chest pressing against my back as he whispered in my ear. "But this isn’t enough."

The air in the room suddenly chilled, the familiar sensation of his power gathering around us. A whisper of movement—I looked up to see shadowy forms materializing from the darkness near the ceiling—hands, dozens of them, wreathed in the same ethereal darkness that clung to the Warden of the Damned.

"What are you—" I began, but my words cut off as the first of the ghostly hands wrapped around my wrist, its touch cool but solid as it held me in place.

"Insurance," Xül murmured, satisfaction evident in his tone as more of the hands materialized, some moving to my other wrist, some sliding along my sides, others tracing patterns across my back.

"My own personal army," he murmured, breaking through my thoughts, watching as one of the spectral hands traced the curve of my hip. "Ready to hold you down while I have my way with you."

His hand slid between my thighs, finding me even wetter than before.

“I fear you enjoy this too much,” he observed. "Being restrained." His fingers explored lazily, as if he had all the time in the world.

One of the hands moved to tangle in my hair, pulling my head back. "I want to see your face when you come," Xül explained. "Want to watch you fall apart for me."

His words sent a fresh wave of thrill through me, my body responding instinctively to the dark promise in his tone. I felt him position his cock, the blunt pressure making me tense involuntarily.

"Relax," he murmured, his free hand moving to stroke between my thighs. "Or this is going to hurt more than it needs to."

I forced myself to breathe. The hands adjusted their grip, some moving to caress my breasts, others trailing cool touches along my inner thighs. The contrast between their ghostly touch and Xül's burning hands was maddening, sensations coming from too many directions at once.

As the tension left my frame, he began to push forward, the stretch of him burning despite how ready I was.

I couldn't move. I couldn't touch him or pull away or even shift against the ache building between my thighs. The hands held me firmly in place, preventing me from pushing back to take him deeper—leaving me completely at his mercy, exactly as he'd promised. And then the strangest thing happened. My mind went quiet.

That constant awareness I carried, the exhausting need to anticipate every threat, every angle, every possible problem. It all stopped mattering.

The decision was made. There was nothing to calculate, nothing to guard against.

The tears came then, but a relief washed through me at the same moment. I’d been so fucking tired. How heavy that incessant control had become. And here, pinned and helpless, I could finally stop carrying it.

He moved slowly at first, allowing me to adjust to his size, but his patience didn't last. Soon he was setting a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving deeper than the last, hitting places inside me I hadn't known existed.

The hands moved in tandem with his thrusts, some tightening their grip on my wrists, others teasing my breasts, my throat, my inner thighs—an extension of his will touching me everywhere at once.

"Fuck," he hissed. "So tight. So perfect."

The hand in my hair maintained its grip, keeping my head pulled back so Xül could see my expressions. Another slid beneath me to circle my clit, dragging a moan from my lips.

"Look at you," he growled, his voice strained. "Do you know what you look like right now, starling? When you’re taking my cock so well?" His hand came down on my ass with a sharp crack that sent shock waves

through me.

Another moan I couldn’t suppress.

“You look like you’re mine.”

Gods, I wanted to crumble at his words.

"Say it," he demanded. "Say you're mine."

"Yours," I gasped. The last of my resistance crumbled. Not conquered, but willingly demolished.

His rhythm faltered for a moment, as if my compliance had surprised him. Then his eyes darkened further. "Again."

"I'm yours, Xül," I repeated, my voice breaking as he hit that perfect spot inside me.

A satisfied sound rumbled from his chest as he leaned forward, his chest pressing against my back, his mouth at my ear. "Good girl," he murmured, the praise sending an unexpected shiver of pleasure through me. "Now you're going to come for me. With my cock inside you."

Another hand slid up to wrap gently around my throat.

"Not until I say," he warned, sensing how close I was. "Hold it back."

I whimpered, the command nearly impossible to obey as pleasure coiled tighter within me. "I can't—"

"You can," he insisted, his voice steeped in command. "And you will."

The effort had tears stinging my eyes, my entire body trembling with the strain. The hands slowed, easing the pressure just enough to keep me suspended on the edge of release.

"That’s it," Xül murmured, his thrusts becoming more measured, more controlled despite the obvious tension in his body. "So obedient for me."

Just when I thought I couldn't possibly last another second, his hand reached out, taking my hair from the ghostly one, pulling me up until my back was flush against his chest, his mouth at my ear.

"Now," he commanded with another maddening thrust, his teeth grazing my earlobe. "Come for me now, Thais."

His permission broke the dam, pleasure crashing through me in waves so intense I screamed his name, my body convulsing around him as he continued to drive into me, prolonging the sensation.

His own release followed soon after, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep with a guttural groan that sounded almost like my name. For several heartbeats, we remained locked together, his arms around me the only thing keeping me upright as aftershocks shuddered through both of us.

When he finally withdrew, I collapsed forward onto the bed, my legs unable to support me any longer.

The hands dissolved into wisps of darkness, melting back into the corners of the room as if they had never existed. For several moments, the only sound was our ragged breathing, my body still trembling as I lay face- down on the bed, utterly spent.

I felt the mattress shift as Xül moved, and then his hands were on me again—but different now, gentle where they had been demanding, soothing where they had been bruising. He gathered me against him, cradling me to his chest as he settled back against the headboard.

"Are you alright?" he murmured, his voice entirely transformed from the commanding growl of moments before. His fingers brushed the hair from my face.

I managed a breathless laugh. "I think you broke me."

His brow furrowed immediately, concern replacing the satisfied gleam in his eyes. "Did I hurt you? I—"

I pressed my fingers to his lips, silencing him. "It was perfect," I assured him. "More than perfect."

The tension eased from his shoulders, and he pulled me closer, one hand tracing idle patterns along my spine. The other reached towards the bedside table, grabbing a small vial.

"Turn," he instructed, his voice soft now, almost shy.

I complied, letting him position me so that my back was to his chest.

With a flick of his wrist, he uncorked it, pouring a small amount of iridescent liquid into his palm. His hands, slick with the fragrant oil, began to work along my shoulders, finding knots of tension I hadn't even realized were there.

"What is that?" I asked, melting beneath his touch. The oil seemed to radiate gentle warmth wherever it touched my skin.

"Healing balm," he explained, his thumbs working methodically down either side of my spine. "It helps with… soreness."

I couldn't help but smile at the hint of embarrassment in his voice. This was a side of him I'd rarely glimpsed—uncertain, almost boyish.

"How many women have you used this on?" I teased, though part of me

didn't want to know the answer.

"None," he said quietly.

As his hands continued their gentle work, I felt myself sinking into a pleasant haze, the combination of physical release and his careful touch lulling me toward sleep. Just as my eyes began to drift closed, his voice pulled me back.

"I was worried," he admitted, so softly I almost didn't hear it.

I turned my head to look at him. "About what?"

"That I went too far. That I was too rough." A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"That I revealed too much of me."

"And what are you, truly?" I asked.

Now his eyes did meet mine, vulnerability laid bare in their depths.

"Selfish. Possessive."

I considered his words. "I'm not afraid of that," I told him. "I'm afraid of your walls."

His hands stilled on my back, and for a moment he seemed at a loss for words.

Then, to my astonishment, he laughed. Bright and startlingly young.

"Only you," he said, shaking his head in wonderment. "Only you would face down a god of death at his most unhinged and complain about his

emotional unavailability."

I grinned. "I contain multitudes."

"That you do, starling. That you absolutely do."

We fell into comfortable silence then, his hands resuming their gentle work. When he finished with the balm, he didn't stop touching me—his fingers continued to trace lines across my skin, as if memorizing every curve and plane.

"Are you hungry?" he asked eventually. "I could have something brought up."

I shook my head, burrowing deeper against his chest. "Just tired."

His arms wrapped around me, secure and warm. This was a different kind of possession than before.

I twisted in his arms to face him, taking in the relaxed set of his features, so different from his usual guarded expression.

"There you are," I murmured, reaching up to touch his face.

His brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

"This is you," I said simply. "Not the Prince. Not the Warden. Just…

Xül."

Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Then he took my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm.

"I've spent so long being what others needed me to be," he said quietly.

"What my father needed. What the domain needed. Sometimes I forget who I am without all of that."

"You contain multitudes too," I told him with a soft smile.

He stared at me for a long moment, wonder flickering across his eyes.

As I reached up to touch his face, my fingers brushed against his neck, finding the thin silver scar I knew was there—the one he'd mentioned during our conversation in the garden.

My fingertip traced the mark, but as I followed its path, I realized it didn't end at his neck. It continued downward.

"May I?" I asked, my hand hovering on his bare shoulder.

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded once.

I sat up, allowing him to turn over. My eyes followed the silvery line as it traced a jagged path across his shoulder blade and down his back. The scar was far more extensive than I'd imagined—not just a thin line but slash that had been cruelly carved. I'd heard the story from his own lips, but seeing the physical evidence of what Nyvora had done to him as a child made it horrifyingly real.

“You told me she hurt you," I said quietly, my fingers following the raised ridge of tissue. "But I never realized…"

His silence was heavy.

"Why hasn't it healed?" I asked as my fingers continued to trace the mark. "You're a god now."

"Some wounds follow us, even into immortality," he said quietly.

"Especially those inflicted when we were young.”

I nodded, kissing his shoulder.

Then a thought struck me with such force that I bolted upright, my heart suddenly hammering in my chest.

"What is it?" Xul was immediately alert, his body tensing beside mine.

I turned to face him, eyes wide. "We didn't—I didn't think about—" I pressed a hand to my lower abdomen, the implications hitting me all at once.

He sat up beside me, his expression softening.

"Thais," he said, reaching for my hand. "You don't need to worry about that."

"How can you be so certain?" I demanded.

"Because it's not possible," he interrupted gently, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. "Not with me."

I stared at him, confusion replacing panic. "What do you mean?"

Xul sighed. "When I took my place among the Aesymar, certain… choices were made. Precautions."

"What kind of precautions?" I asked, still not fully understanding.

"A ritual," he explained. "It ensures that I cannot father children unless it is reversed."

Relief washed through me. "That's… good, then. One less thing to worry about."

He nodded and drew me back down beside him. "Then sleep, starling.”

He shifted us both until we were lying properly on the bed, my back to his chest, his arm draped protectively over my waist.

I lay there trembling. I’d always equated control with safety, surrender with weakness. But this—giving him everything, letting him orchestrate my pleasure, my pain, my very breath… It was a strength I didn’t know existed within me. Perhaps it took more courage to let go than to hold on. And I knew, with bone-deep certainty, that I would never want anything else.

Never want anyone else to have this power over me. Only him.

And that was a problem for tomorrow.

As sleep began to claim me, I felt him whisper something else against my skin—words too soft to catch, perhaps not meant for me to hear. But the sentiment wrapped around me like a blanket, warm and safe and perfect.