Page 75 of Golden Bond

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 ribsor 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.

Want more from Tavian? Free story, The First Bond, is free for all. Read about the acolytes who first fell in love in the sunlit meadows. Visit taviancross.com for more information. The story of bonds and divine lust continues in Silken Collar.

The End.