Page 19 of Golden Bond (Pleasure Palace #1)

I reached between us, closing my hand around both of us where we pressed together. We hissed in unison. I stroked us together, slow and slick, the motion coaxing precome from both tips, letting it ease the rhythm. His hips rolled up into me, greedy, lost, unashamed .

I watched his face the whole time.

My hand went to my lips, spit moistening my fingers, and I rubbed myself before settled my cock between Callis’s legs.

He whimpered his assent, and I let the beastly power that soured through my veins take over.

His lips parted. His brows drew together. His breath came sharp and fast and uneven.

“Auren,” he breathed, his voice breaking like surf on stone.

I slid my other hand beneath him, lifting his hips just enough to change the angle. My thumb traced his slit, already wet with silver lust, and he cried out softly, bucking into my palm.

“I can’t?—”

“You don’t have to wait.”

I kissed him hard as he came, trembling under me, spilling over his flat stomach with a cry I caught in my mouth.

The bond roared. His release crashed through me like a wave I couldn’t avoid.

The pulse of it triggered my own. I spilled inside of him with a broken moan, burying my cock deep into his body and my face in his neck as the bond reached its peak.

It wasn’t a chain anymore. It was a ribbon of gold threading through every part of me, pulling tight and clean and right.

We lay there, tangled and heaving, limbs heavy with sweat and satisfaction.

The tide had broken.

And still, I didn’t let him go.

We lay there in the soft hush of the room, our limbs tangled and slick with sweat, the sheets bunched beneath us like a forgotten offering.

The moonstone light radiated its glow. The air smelled of salt and skin, the bond a quiet ember glowing just beneath my breastbone—no longer searing, no longer frantic. Just warm. Just steady.

Callis lay half on his side, his hand brushing the skin above my heart. His gaze drifted to the windows where moonlight filtered through, painting silver over the stone tiles. He didn’t speak for a long time.

Then, quietly, he said, “Sometimes I wonder if I’m like the youth in the field. The one Elyon fell in love with.”

I turned to look at him. His lashes cast long shadows on his cheeks. His lips, still swollen from our kisses, curved slightly.

“He lay there in the grass, content, alone, until Elyon passed over him and stopped. Saw him. Loved him.”

“And they made love,” I murmured, “and where their bodies met, the flower sprang forth.”

Callis met my gaze. “It wasn’t the power that created it. It was the joy.”

My throat tightened. I had never heard anyone say it quite like that.

“I have other scrolls,” I said after a moment. “Tales from the southern dialects. Their versions are stranger, but lovely. If you’d like, I could bring them.”

His smile grew, sleepy and content. “My old temple had only fragments. Glosses. I used to sneak into the archives just to read the torn edges of stories. I don’t know how I’ll live without the full texts once I go back.”

I stilled.

Go back?

He meant to leave.

I swallowed. “You plan to return to your home temple?”

He blinked slowly. “Yes. Once the cycle ends.”

“You miss it?”

“I do,” he said softly, stretching out his legs under the sheet. “It was quiet. Predictable. I knew where I stood in the rhythm of the days. Morning prayers, herb gathering, scripture at dusk. Here… everything’s richer. More intense. But it’s not my home. When the debt is repaid…”

“You’ve repaid the debt,” I said. “Your arrival alone satisfied the temple. Your work has been… devout.”

“But the bond?—”

“Many young men arrive and never bond,” I said, voice steady. “They train. They serve. They illuminate. The bond is not a transaction. It is a holy rite.”

His eyes widened, hope flaring behind them. “So I’m… free?”

I nodded once. There shouldn’t have been a reason to feel so spurned.

And I watched the light in him rise like dawn.

My chest ached.

I sat up slowly and reached for my seret , draping it over my shoulder. My hands moved too carefully, too measured. I crossed the room, poured myself a cup of wine, and took a long sip before turning back to him.

“If you wish,” I said quietly, “we can dissolve the bond. Tonight. You may return home.”

Silence followed.

Then, carefully: “Would it hurt?”

“No,” I lied. He wouldn’t hurt nearly as much as I.

He sat up too, propping himself on one elbow. His hair was a tousled halo. I couldn’t bear to look at him for long.

“I need to tell you something,” I said, too quickly. “This bond—it’s my fourth. The others… failed. And without the completion of one, I cannot advance. I can never become a Vinekeeper.”

He stilled completely.

“Our order serves the divine by tending not only the land, but the spirit of connection. We’re meant to cultivate the bonds that rise among us and bring them to fullness.

Only by finishing one can I place it upon the path, like a stone in the bridge between men and the gods.

Without it, I am… nothing more than a servant to others who have walked that path. ”

I looked down into the wine.

“I would ask—only if you don’t find me unbearable—that you stay until the cycle ends. Another fortnight. That’s all.”

For a moment, I heard only the sound of our breathing.

Then movement.

Callis rose without dressing, crossed the floor naked and unafraid, and reached for my hand. He took it gently in both of his, then knelt. Looking up at me, his eyes wide and solemn, he said:

“I swear it. I will remain.”

The bond pulsed between us like a living heart.

And for a moment, I could almost believe it was joy.