Page 10 of Mated to the Monster God

ESME

I wake with a start, heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to break out of my chest. My skin's damp with sweat, clinging to the thin layers of my shirt, and my thighs are pressed tight together under the blanket. The morning air is still cool, but inside me, there's a wildfire burning.

The dream is still raw in my mind—Sagax’s hands on me, warm and curious.

Not rough or demanding, but reverent, like he was reading scripture written across my skin.

His mouth had hovered just over mine, his breath hot, fangs glinting like temptation itself.

Every part of him had hummed with restraint, with power, with a kind of desperate hunger that echoed my own.

I sit up too quickly and hiss when my sore muscles scream in protest. I rub at my arms, trying to shake the image, but it’s useless. My body remembers it better than my mind does.

Sagax is there, just a few feet away, crouched by the remains of the fire. He’s still, silent—too still. He’s watching me without really watching me, giving me the illusion of privacy I know he can see right through.

He doesn’t speak right away. Doesn't need to. That electric hum between us says everything.

“You had a dream,” he says softly, still not looking at me.

I flush, grabbing for my canteen just to give my hands something to do. “You—don't say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know. ”

He finally turns his head, his golden eyes locking onto mine with that eerie calm that drives me wild and crazy all at once. “I do know, Esme. I felt it too.”

My breath catches. Just like that. Three words. And I’m not even sure if I’m breathing or drowning.

“You—” I shake my head, gripping the canteen so tight it creaks. “What does that even mean?”

“I was connected to your neural rhythms while you slept. You didn’t shield your thoughts. Your sensations flooded through me.” He stands then, slow and deliberate, unfolding that massive body like a jungle cat. “I did not intend to intrude.”

“That... wasn’t just a dream,” I whisper. “You really felt it?”

He steps closer, the ground whispering under his bare feet. “Every heartbeat. Every quiver of want. Every ounce of restraint.”

I swallow hard. My throat is desert-dry. “I—I didn’t mean to... it was just a dream.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

His voice isn’t accusing. It’s tender. Hell, it's worse than tender—it’s understanding.

“Then what was it?” I snap, more defensively than I mean. “Some kind of... telepathic sex hallucination?”

His lips twitch. “I believe you initiated it. I merely responded.”

I cover my face with my hands and groan. “Oh my God, kill me now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not supposed to know that kind of thing!” I peek through my fingers at him. “It’s not fair.”

His voice dips low, a soft growl wrapped in velvet. “Nothing about this is fair. Least of all how much I want you.”

I freeze.

There’s no mistaking it. Not inference. Not implication. A declaration.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I whisper.

“Why?” he repeats.

“Because I don’t know what to do with it.”

He tilts his head. “Then let me help you understand.”

Before I can answer, he kneels beside me. The proximity steals my breath. He smells like rain and resin, heat and earth. His body radiates warmth in slow waves, and my traitorous skin soaks it in like it’s starving.

He doesn’t touch me. Just looks at me like I’m some ancient artifact he’s desperate to study but afraid to damage.

“I know this frightens you. The bond. The desire. But it doesn’t have to.”

“It’s not just the bond,” I say, my voice catching. “It’s me. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore. The dutiful daughter? The reckless explorer? The woman who dreams about alien kisses in the dark?”

He breathes in deep, as if absorbing my chaos.

“You are Esme, ” he says. “And that is more than enough.”

His words strike something deep in me—something fragile and hidden. I blink fast, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for more than this.”

“I won’t ask you to be. I only ask for the truth.”

The truth. It shimmers in the space between us like a live wire.

“I want you,” I whisper, voice cracking. “But I’m scared I’ll lose myself.”

He leans forward, eyes locked on mine. “Then I’ll help you find yourself. Every part. Every version.”

The vulnerability in his voice knocks me sideways. I’ve never seen a creature so powerful speak so softly. Never known anyone who makes me feel like I’m seen and safe at the same time.

I reach out. My fingers brush his forearm. His scales are warm, slightly rough, and they flex under my touch like they know it’s me.

“I don’t know what this is,” I say.

“It’s real,” he says. “And it’s ours.”

The words settle in my chest like a heartbeat.

We walk in silence. Not because there’s nothing to say, but because too much hangs unsaid between us. Every rustle of wind through the foliage, every splash of dew shaking loose from the trees feels louder than the tension knotting in my stomach.

Sagax moves like a shadow beside me, quiet but coiled with that animal grace I can’t stop noticing.

My eyes keep drifting toward him like a magnet.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t pry—but I can feel his presence pressing into mine, his attention like a tangible thing, wrapping around my skin with heat and promise.

We stop at a riverbank, the water running swift and clear over smooth stones. The canopy overhead breaks just enough to let in golden beams of morning light. It’s peaceful—too peaceful. My nerves can’t settle in it.

“I’m gonna wash up,” I murmur, crouching at the water’s edge.

I plunge my hands in first, letting the cold jolt through me. It cuts through the fog of dreams and desire lingering in my chest. I splash water onto my face, rub away the grime and sweat. My reflection wavers on the surface—cheeks flushed, eyes bright and wild.

When I glance up, Sagax is watching me. Of course he is.

His eyes don’t leer. They study. Intense and unblinking, like he’s memorizing the way the light touches my skin. Like he’s afraid if he looks away, I’ll disappear.

“You ever gonna blink?” I ask, trying to lighten the weight between us.

He does. Once. Slow and deliberate. “Your face is different when you smile.”

“That supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yes. And an observation.”

I snort and sit back on my heels, letting the damp seep into my pants. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“I am many things,” he says, stepping closer, “but not just a weirdo.”

His shadow falls over me, tall and strange and oddly comforting.

I tilt my head, looking up at him. “Can I ask you something weird?”

“Always.”

“What’s it like?” I ask. “Being made of... other people? Other species?”

He lowers himself beside me, the ground barely making a sound beneath his weight. His gaze turns inward, like he’s scrolling through a thousand files in his mind.

“I remember... sensations. Emotions. A sense of purpose. Hunger. Joy. Panic. Some leave stronger impressions than others. But they’re fragments. Disconnected. Like dreams half-remembered.”

I nod slowly, dragging my fingers through the river water. “So not names or faces.”

“No. Only you have given me continuity. Wholeness.”

The words hit me square in the chest. “That’s... heavy.”

“It is the truth.”

I sit there in silence, fingers going numb in the current, heart doing flips like a damn circus acrobat. Part of me wants to believe it’s just infatuation or the psychic bond or whatever excuse I can make. But I know it’s not.

There’s something in the way he says only you that makes my throat tighten.

“You ever think,” I say, voice small, “that maybe I’m not enough for someone like you?”

His head snaps toward me, golden eyes fierce. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m just me, Sagax. I’ve never been off-world. Never fought in some grand war. I haven’t invented anything or changed the world or—hell, I haven’t even kissed anyone in like... three years.”

His expression softens. He reaches out, slow and careful, and brushes a damp curl from my cheek. “You are strong. Clever. Stubborn. Curious. You have survived more than most, and you still choose kindness.”

“But—”

He silences me with a fingertip against my lips. Not rough. Not demanding. Just there. Gentle. Final.

“I do not need a legend, Esme. I need you. ”

“You say you’re made of fragments,” I whisper. “Well, I’m made of fear. And fire. And longing. I don’t know which part of me wins most days.”

“Then let me help you balance them.”

I open my eyes. His face is so close. The air between us hums, thick with static and promise. I can feel the heat of his breath. Smell the faint scent of resin and ash and something uniquely him.

“I’m scared,” I admit.

“So am I,” he says, almost reverently. “But I am also certain. ”

His hand drifts lower, fingertips grazing my jaw, tracing the edge of my throat like I’m something rare and breakable.

The river babbles beside us. Birds call in the distance. But all I hear is my own heartbeat, thudding like a war drum in my chest.

“God,” I murmur, “you really are something.”

“You feel like everything,” he replies.

And somehow, I believe him.

His breath brushes over my skin—warm, steady, grounding. And then, without a word, Sagax lifts my hand in both of his. It feels small in his grasp, delicate, though I know damn well I’m not a delicate girl. But under his touch, something in me trembles.

He turns my palm over, his thumbs brushing slow circles into the skin. The pad of one fingertip traces the faint calluses at the base of my fingers. Then he lowers his head.

My breath catches when his lips graze the top of my hand.

Slow. Reverent. Like I’m some sacred relic and he’s memorizing my shape through touch.

Then lower, he presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist. Right over the pulse that’s hammering like thunder. My skin burns where his mouth lingers. I can feel the whisper of his breath, the deliberate slowness of his movements, and it’s too much.

But I don’t pull away.

“Sagax…” I whisper, but there’s no warning in my voice. Just ache.

“I will never let you fall,” he says against my skin, voice rough as gravel and just as grounding. “Never.”

I shudder. My whole body shudders.

It’s not the promise—it’s the way he means it. Like he’s carved it into the marrow of himself. Like the thought of failing me physically hurts him. His words don’t feel like declarations. They feel like devotions.

“I don’t want you to say that if you don’t mean it,” I murmur.

“I always mean it,” he says, looking up. His eyes glow gold, fierce and open, but not demanding.

I reach for his face with trembling hands. His cheekbones are hard, the scales smooth but warm. I trace the lines of his jaw, the sharp strength of it, and he leans into my touch like I’m oxygen.

Then I kiss him.

Just a brush of lips, soft and cautious.

But it opens something in both of us.

His arms wrap around me, and he kisses me back—slow turning frantic, reverence turning to hunger. My hands tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His body presses against mine, heat pouring off him in waves, and the kiss deepens with a kind of desperation I’ve never felt before.

Like we’ve been waiting our whole lives to get here and didn’t realize it until now.

We stumble back together, breath hitching, laughter caught in our throats as we tumble into the tall grass.

He cushions me easily, his massive frame blocking out the world.

The sun hangs low in the sky, bleeding orange and red across the canopy above.

Everything smells like wildflowers and sweat and him.

I feel wild.

I feel wanted.

His hands roam—but not greedy. Always asking, always listening, even when no words are said. My shirt rides up and his palm meets bare skin. I gasp against his mouth, arching into the contact. His breath stutters, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“You feel like fire,” he murmurs against my lips. “You burn me. But I want it.”

My fingers press into the muscles of his back, dragging down over hard ridges. “Then burn with me.”

He kisses down my neck, his tongue tasting salt and skin, and I swear I could melt into the grass. The world vanishes— no Baragon, no colony, no danger. Just the rhythm of his body against mine and the ache blooming low and slow and powerful.

I hook a leg around his waist and he groans, deep and guttural, like he’s holding back a storm.

“I’ve wanted this,” I breathe, “so bad, for so long, I didn’t even know it.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes wild with emotion. “Say stop and I’ll stop.”

I shake my head. “Don’t you dare.”

His mouth finds mine again, and we lose ourselves in the grass, in the heat, in each other. I’ve never felt so bare and brave at once. Like I’m finally stepping into the person I’ve always been underneath the duty and expectations and fears.

Like he sees me .

And I see him.

Not just the scaled warrior. Not just the alien intelligence. But the man who chose me. The one who listened, who learned, who waited.

The one who burns just as hot.

He shifts, massive and controlled, pressing me down into the grass. I can feel the hardness of his cock against my thigh, thick and hot even through the fabric. I reach between us, fingers tracing the line of his scales, feeling the heat, the impossible size of him.

“Esme,” he breathes, and it’s a warning and a prayer all at once.

“I want this,” I say. “I want you.”

His control shatters.

Hands gripping my hips, he eases his cock between my thighs, sliding slow and deliberate, not entering—just letting me feel him. The anticipation makes me cry out softly, arching into him. Every nerve is alight.

“Please,” I gasp.

He doesn’t ask again. With care that makes my eyes sting, he pushes inside me—inch by agonizing inch. Stretching me, filling me. I’ve never felt so full, so completely possessed. His breath catches as he sinks into me, low and rough and reverent.

“You’re mine,” he growls against my throat. “And I’m yours.”

I claw at his back, gasping his name, moaning into his kiss as he begins to move—slow thrusts that build into a rhythm that steals thought. My pussy clenches around him, and he groans, burying his face in my neck.

“Gods, you feel like home,” I pant.

“You are,” he grits, voice thick with emotion. “My home. My fire.”

The world vanishes. There is only this. Only us.

...

We catch our breath in a steady manner, his arm draped over my waist, his hand splayed against my belly as if anchoring me to the earth. Our breaths slow, syncing again.

“I love you,” I whisper.

He tightens his hold. “Forever, Esme.”

And I believe him.