Page 27 of Golden Bond (Pleasure Palace #1)

CALLIS

The wind stirred around us, soft through the grass, as though the world itself were holding its breath.

I leaned into him, still cradling the last echo of the kiss. The bond pulsed between us—not as a demand, but a promise. Not tethered by ceremony, but by choice.

And suddenly, I understood.

It wasn’t the ritual that made the bond sacred. Not the wine or the incense or the rod etched with old prayers. It wasn’t the rhythm of verses I’d once copied under moonstone light in the Temple of Aerius.

It was the truth.

The truth in the words, if they were spoken freely. The truth in the heart, if it offered itself without condition. The bond had never needed robes or witnesses.

It had only ever needed this .

“I don’t think…” I began, my voice quiet, but steady, “I don’t think it was ever about the rites.”

Auren looked at me, a flicker of curiosity beneath the gold of his lashes.

I touched his chest, where his heartbeat steadied beneath my palm. “The bond. It lives in us. In what we say. In what we mean.”

His lips parted slightly, and I saw the moment he felt it too. He nodded once. “Yes.”

I drew in a breath.

And then, before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped back just enough to look at him fully. The tall grass tickled my calves. The obelisk loomed behind us, and the sun slipped lower, painting his face in light.

“I want to offer you my vow,” I said. “Not for tradition. Not for the priests. Just for us.”

His eyes softened. He didn’t speak, but I saw the quiet bloom of hope unfurl in them.

“I vow,” I began, voice rough, “to walk beside you, not because I was chosen or commanded, but because I choose you.”

A breath.

“I vow to listen. Even when it hurts. Especially then.”

His eyes welled, but he didn’t blink. He wanted to see me say every word.

“I vow to speak my truth. To offer it freely. To trust that you’ll hold it gently.”

The bond shimmered—warm and quiet, like a river turning toward home .

“I vow to love you,” I said, “as you are. Not as the temple sees you. Not as the island does. But as I do.”

Auren stepped closer, gaze never leaving mine. I saw awe in it. And something older than awe—something sacred.

“I have nothing to give you,” I finished. “No gifts. No gold. Only myself. Will you take me?”

His answer was a whisper: “Always.”

He took my hands in his, brought them to his lips. Pressed a kiss to my knuckles, then to my palms.

“You’ve just built your own rite,” he said softly. “And it’s more beautiful than any the palace ever taught me.”

The bond trembled once more.

And then it sank into us—fully, wholly, as though it had only ever been waiting for us to open our hands and ask it to stay.

Auren kissed me, and the world seemed to kneel.

Not in silence—but in song.

The bond surged through me, no longer aching or uncertain. It moved like breath and heartbeat, like something living, ancient, and new all at once. It poured into me not with weight, but with clarity. As if the gods had been waiting for this moment longer than either of us had known.

It was not the rite in the palace we were completing. It was ours.

Auren’s lips burned against mine—not just soft or sweet, but hungry. Certain. Our mouths opened to each other with the hunger of everything we hadn’t said and everything we’d dared to hope .

The kiss deepened, turned sharp and bright.

His hands found my hips, pulled me close.

I slid my fingers into his hair and held on as the wind swept around us, tangling our clothes in the tall grass.

My breath hitched when he pressed his forehead to mine, our bodies lined chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

The bond didn’t just pulse—it sang. A low, golden hymn in my blood, a river of yes, yes, yes that spilled down my spine.

And my body—my body knew.

It wasn’t ceremony that sealed a bond. It was this. Us.

The need flooded me, hot and tender and holy. I could no longer tell where the bond ended and my desire began. I felt his want through it. His hands trembled as they slid beneath my tunic, lifting the hem until warm air met bare skin. I gasped against his mouth, felt his lips curve.

I dragged his robes open, baring his chest to the sun’s last touch. I kissed down his throat, tasting sweat and wind and the salt of earlier tears. His skin was warm, olive-toned, golden in places the sun had kissed and pale where only I had.

We sank together into the grass, tangled limbs and rumpled linen, the obelisk watching like a silent sentinel behind us. I cupped his jaw and looked at him—really looked.

“I love you,” I whispered, and watched his lips part in something like awe.

He pulled me down to him with a low sound in his throat .

It was the kind of sound that stripped me bare—needy and reverent, like prayer made flesh.

His hands fumbled at my waist, warm and trembling, pulling me down into the heat of him until our chests met, until our breath mingled in the hush between our mouths.

I braced myself beneath him, shaking from the effort of restraint, but the bond inside me pulsed harder, wild now, insistent.

I rolled my hips against his, and he arched with a gasp—high and soft and completely undone.

His legs parted instinctively, one knee brushing mine, his tunic rucked high around his hips.

His hand slid between us, and I felt the graze of his knuckles, the slick surety of his fingers as he found me, held me with the kind of focus that felt almost worshipful while guiding himself against my rear.

And when he pressed into me, inch by inch, the world fell away.

There was only this: the heat that welcomed me, the pressure that built around me, and the breath we didn’t realize we’d been holding until it broke from both our lips at once.

That sound—that shared, helpless moan—felt like the bond itself crying out in recognition.

It was nothing like that first night—no dominance, no defense. Just surrender. Just love.

Our bodies found each other slowly at first, rocked by the weight of the moment.

The bond wrapped around us like a soft shroud, humming, shimmering.

My skin tingled where his touched mine—shoulder, thigh, wrist, mouth.

Every connection sparked. Every brush of his fingertips across my ribs or the inside of my arm felt like scripture being written in real time.

My legs curled around his hips. I thrust gently, drawing him into myself by something older than instinct. His back arched, lips parting in wordless exhalation. The bond pulsed again, thick with emotion. It clung to us like light, like oil, like silk.

My nails bit into his shoulders as I clutched him close, not to anchor myself but to offer him everything.

I buried my face in the curve of his neck, inhaling salt and heat and the clean scent of grass clinging to his hair.

I kissed the hollow beneath his ear, then lower, to the place where his pulse beat wild and fast. I bit him there, gently.

He cried out, not in pain, but in something closer to relief.

Around us, the wind stirred the tall grass, making it hiss and sway.

The linen beneath my knees bunched and twisted, the sacred white smudged with earth and skin.

Our rhythm deepened, grew more certain. His hips swayed faster, and the pleasure surged through me in waves—thick, grounding, real.

He moaned into my mouth as our lips found each other again, greedy and open.

Our fingers locked in the grass like we could fuse if we only held tight enough.

I felt it rising in me—something more than climax, something bigger. Divine.

I reached out blindly, and my hand landed hard against the stone behind me. The obelisk. My palm slapped flat to it, sweat-slick, fingers spread.

The stone shuddered under my touch .

And something answered.

A thrill shot through me so fiercely I gasped aloud. The carvings beneath my hand burned cold and sweet. The gods were here. Not as voices or visions, but as presence. As memory. As blessing.

I was not a priest. I was not holy.

But I was loved.

I gave that love freely—to him.

Auren arched above me, gasping my name. My hips stuttered.

“I give myself to you,” I whispered, breathless, as the bond pulled tight around us. My seed spilled in hot ribbons over my stomach.

His eyes, heavy-lidded and wet, locked with mine.

“Yes,” he breathed, a shudder passing through him. I could feel the heat of his climax filling my body. “Yes.”

And as we came—together, trembling, eyes open—the bond sealed.

Not with fire.

But with light.

The grass stirred gently around us, kissed by the wind and golden with the light of day. Auren lay beside me, his hand twined with mine atop his chest, our breaths moving in quiet rhythm.

I turned to him and smiled, and he returned it, soft and full of wonder, like we’d both found something we never dared to ask for.

Around us, the world exhaled.

And above, the gods kept watch.

The End.