His hips settled against mine. The feel of him there, aligned so perfectly, made my legs tremble. His cock, hard as the marble in which the likeness of gods was carved all around us, pressed against my bare flesh, and a breath lodged itself in my throat.
It excited me more than I dared believe. The warmth of his cock, the slickness of it against my tender skin, sent a wave of tingling sensation through my limbs.
My cock stirred and I inhaled, parting my lips wider for Auren’s tongue to explore me.
We moved together in slow, exploring rhythms, and I didn’t know where to place my hands. I settled them first on his arms, then his shoulders, then at his back. His muscles shifted beneath my palms—warm, hard, alive.
When his chest met mine, slick with oil and heat, something in me cracked open.
I gasped.
It wasn’t pain. Not even fear. It was just too much.
Too much sensation. Too much closeness. I had never been this near to another person. Never breathed their breath. Never felt their heartbeat like a second rhythm inside my own.
Auren slowed. A lock of silver hair fell over his brow and onto mine.
He lifted his head just enough to meet my eyes.
“You’re with me,” he said softly.
I nodded my assent.
“Say it.”
“I’m with you,” I whispered.
His lips curled triumphantly.
He lowered his head again, nuzzling the side of my throat, and kissed the place just beneath my ear. Then my jaw. Then the hollow between neck and shoulder.
I let my head fall to the side. I let him mark me in kisses.
It wasn’t just dominance. It was devotion.
His movements grew more fluid. Less restrained. His body rocked gently against mine, bare skin sliding over bare skin. His cock rubbed against the low plane flat stomach. The air thickened with the scent of sweat and sacred oils and our bodies. I didn’t think I could take more.
And then he reached between us, fingers wrapping around us both, holding up in a loose grip that brought me to the verge of screaming.
The shift made me gasp aloud, my back arching from the altar, every muscle drawn tight like a bow.
Auren stilled me with a kiss, deep and anchoring.
“I’ve got you,” he said, lips brushing mine. “Just feel their presence. They watch.”
And I did.
What followed wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t violent. It was guided by breath and instinct. We moved together, slowly, instinctively, like waves drawn by the moon. He cradled the back of my neck. I clutched at his spine. His mouth stayed close to mine, lips brushing and breaking apart and returning again.
Auren’s hand worked us both in slow, deliberate strokes, likely feeling every throb that rocked my body. He lifted his torso and let the kiss end, looking at me as he reached for the chalice with scented oil beside the altar.
The sconces had dimmed somehow, or else the moonlight had grown stronger, pouring in through the carved apertures high in the dome above us. Moonstones embedded in the ceiling spread their light and scattered it down in a soft, iridescent shimmer—blue and silver and soft gold across the marble floor. The glow fell in sacred patterns, some ancient geometry known only to priests, but it wrapped around us now like another layer of skin.
Statues encircled the chamber—tall, silent forms of the gods I had once only known in stories. I saw the archer with his shattered bow, the twin-faced guardian of truth, the goddess of the flood with her palms raised high. And there, at the far edge, the bound lovers carved in moonstone, their bodies forever intertwined beneath the watchful gaze of the divine.
They looked down on us now.
And Auren was beautiful in that light. Truly beautiful. His torso gleamed like sculpted bronze, not hardened into perfection but alive with motion. Muscles shifted with each breath he took. Oil caught the curves of his body as he dipped his fingers into the chalice and let them move lazily through its contents, warming them between his palms.