Page 12 of Mated to the Monster God

ESME

I wake slow—tangled in the arms of a sleeping alien. Muscles ache in a way I’ve never known, each ache humming with pleasure and remnants of what felt like a firestorm of sensation. Light filters in through the canopy, warm and golden, dust motes drifting like lazy fireflies.

I shift, half-awake, and immediately feel the weight of Sagax’s arm draped over me.

His chest presses to my back, steady and cavernous, heartbeat humming like a freight train rumbling through my bones.

I reach back, fingertips grazing his scaled forearm—cool where not touching skin, warm where flesh gleams.

He wakes the moment I move. His eyes open—glowing molten gold—and they’re fixed on me with a worshipful intensity that makes my heart cage-rattle beneath my ribcage.

“Morning,” I whisper, voice brittle-soft.

He licks his lips, expression dark and beautiful. “You feel different in the light.”

I roll my eyes, can’t resist. “That’s called orange juice, sunshine.”

He snorts, but it’s more like a growl. Warmth radiates from his chest into me. He tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, talon-soft fingertips grazing my cheek. “You’re different,” he murmurs.

“Uh-oh.” I push upward, my hip brushing against his side. “Have I crossed into ‘too dangerous to love’ territory?”

Sagax smiles—one slow curve of lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Impossible.”

I laugh, hollow and bright, brushing my knuckles along the ridges of his jaw. “You know, after all that, I expected you to tease me mercilessly.”

His hand closes around mine, pulling it to his lips. He kisses my fingers—slow, reverential. “You’re too precious,” he says. “And it’s terrifying.”

“Terrifying?” I echo, eyebrows shooting up.

He anchors me with his gaze. “Because you’re my purpose now.” His voice is low, deep in his chest.

I catch my breath. Chairs spin behind my ribs. My pulse opens wings in my throat.

“Your purpose?” I whisper.

“Yes.” He moves his forehead to mine. “You are my home. My heartbeat. My…” His voice drops lower, tremulous. “My everything.”

I blink back tears, just salty warmth, as the enormity of his claim settles in me like sunrise.

I lean forward and kiss him—a press of lips that says more than words ever could. His arms slide around me—the cradle of reverence I’ve always needed. I feel his heartbeat, strong and restless.

We stay like that, breaths mingling, sharing warmth and tether.

I giggle—light and breathy and untethered. “You’re going to make me believe this is real.”

He smiles, gentle, fierce. “It is.”

I reach down, trace the line of his arm, syllables shaking free. “I think I’m falling.”

His response is soft, inevitable. “Fall with me.”

We lie there, the world hushed around us, two bodies tangled in dawn’s golden clasp.

I believe I am where I belong.

I can feel every sound: the hum of the jungle, Sagax’s breath deep and rhythmic beside me, the thud of my heartbeat racing against his chest. When his hands slip beneath my shirt, it’s like discovering secret constellations across my skin.

Every curve, ridge, and scar I’ve carried becomes a map, and he traces them like scripture—with reverence, with curiosity, with awe.

“Breathe,” he murmurs against my neck.

I inhale—deep, slow—letting his palm slide lower. His touch is both fire and feathers, delicate and fierce, like he’s trying to memorize my shape in memory as much as in flesh.

It’s slower this time. No urgency, no need to conquer anything. Just exploration—two beings mapping desire with care.

I arch into him as his lips press daisies of warmth along my collarbone. The ache is not want—it’s recognition. He’s not just touching me. He’s reading me, learning me, accepting me.

“Esme,” he breathes, voice thick. I hear the thing unspoken in it: how perfect I fit. How natural this is.

He moves with me, matching breath to breath, thigh to thigh, pulse to pulse. His body molds to mine—solid, protective, responsive. When I moan quietly, head buried in his shoulder, I feel him gather around me tighter. Not possessive. Protective—like the world might vanish if he let go.

“Every sound you make,” he says, voice hoarse, “is like a melody I’ve never known but already love.”

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. Because this is honesty—naked and fierce. I’ve never felt such safety. Never felt such wild untethered surrender.

Sheets of moonlight pool across my skin as he adjusts so our bodies sync. His cock slides into my pussy, hot and certain. It’s love made physical—but also spiritual, elemental. I feel sacred under him.

He moves slow, carefully, in time with the ache in my hips. Every thrust is deliberate. His hands steel me, anchor me as I melt into him. The world contracts to the press of his body, the scent of sweat and jasmine in his hair, the whisper of his heartbeat echoing my own.

I reach up, thumb tracing the line of his scar. “You’re mine,” I whisper.

He growls—a deep, molten sound that vibrates through us. “Always,” he says.

And it’s more than a promise. It’s a vow, carved into the marrow of my spine.

My breath stutters. I’m undone by how completely he sees me, touches me, holds me together while tearing me apart.

My eyelids flutter closed as waves of sensation pull me under. I feel every nerve end ablaze—my pulse, his pulse, the electric charge between us.

“Esme,” he says—a sound that convinces me I’m alive in every cell.

I cling to him. “I’m falling,” I whisper. “So fast.”

He stills, slowing our rhythm until it’s a low murmur.

“There is no falling, not with me,” he breathes. “We rise together.”

That breaks me open. Joy, fear, desire, love—all converging in one sacred collapse.

A breeze whispers through the leaves, carrying the scent of rain and possibility. I rest my face against his chest, listening to the pulse of warmth and promise there.

This is how love feels—raw as blood, deep as roots, brilliant as hope.

“Promise me,” I whisper, voice bruised with awe.

He kisses the back of my head. “I promise.”

We lie there, the jungle exhaling around us, a sacred hush.

I know I’m lost. And found. And more loved than I ever believed possible.

And that knowledge will carry me through whatever comes next.

I pull back first, drifting away like a feather caught in dawn's first breeze. My breath is still ragged, my skin humming from what just happened. I rest on my side, facing away, trying to gather the shards of consciousness that are scattered inside me.

Sagax’s chest rumbles in my vision, steady and sure. He doesn't pull away. Not really. His presence stays close, comforting like low gravity. It’s maddening—like I'm craving oxygen while trying to remember how to breathe.

I swallow hard, jaw tight, eyelashes damp with something electric.

“Esme?” His voice is gentle, tentative, like he’s afraid to wake a sleeping beast.

I don’t answer. Instead, I reach for my canteen, hands shaking. The cool metal feels alien in my palm—even though I held it hours ago.

“I—I need a minute,” I manage finally. My voice cracks, but I hold the words out to him anyway.

He stills. His body stays curved around mine, tethered as if he fears any movement might disappear me entirely.

“I understand,” he says quietly.

His acceptance steels the knot in my chest, part relief, part sorrow. I’ve never wanted so desperately to rest—but to hide. Because the world shift in me is too new, too raw.

I take a deep breath, focusing on the rhythm of the night—crickets and distant frogs, the ripple of the river, the metallic scent of cooling gear. Every detail anchors me back to reality, away from the dreamscape we just lived.

I can feel his gaze, warm and curious.

“I’m sorry,” I say, voice small. “I didn’t mean to?—”

He shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for.”

I snap my eyes open, meeting his gaze. He’s watching me with that intensity that used to terrify me, now thrilling me instead. But there’s a softness there too—something like heartbreak in his luminous pupils.

“I just…” My voice goes brittle. “I’ve never done anything like that.”

His expression shifts—something like understanding, maybe even pride. “No one has ever been you before.”

I lean back into him. The heat of his chest steadies my racing heart.

“But we need,” I pause, swallowed by the need to explain, “time.”

“Time,” he echoes, voice low.

“When things feel normal again,” I continue. “When I can think without my chest exploding. Then… I want to talk.”

He doesn’t blink. He nods, ever so slightly.

“Then we’ll talk,” he says softly. His arm tightens around me, but not in a grip—more like a cradle.

It’s strange—by asking for distance, I’ve given us perceived room, and yet his presence presses into me deeper, anchoring everything that’s shifted.

I sink into memory—his warmth, the pull of his body, the way he tasted like moss and fire. My skin pulses with the memory. Fear tugs—fear of losing this, of being too small, too flawed to deserve the sacredness we’re forging.

“Es?” he murmurs.

I open my eyes. He’s still there. Unmoved. Patient. Solid.

“I’m scared,” I confess. “What if I break this? What if I’m not enough?”

He tilts my chin up. His gaze never wavers. His voice is thick: “You’re already enough. More than enough. And I won’t let you break what we have.”

I stare into those gold eyes, the forest forgotten around us. Never has any creature sounded more human, more real.

“How are you so sure?”

He brushes the hair back from my forehead. “Because for the first time, I’m not living for fragments. I’m living for you. Everything you are.”

I feel tears sting, not of pain, but something deeper. Completion? Belonging?

“Aren’t we fractured?” I whisper. “Won’t that always be part of you?”

He presses his lips to my temple. “Maybe. But our bond—our love—it’s something new. Something more whole than either of us alone.”

The sincerity leaves me choking. My breath hitches, and I press against him, mind rattling with love, fear, awe.

The world outside doesn’t matter.

The stars peer down, witnesses to this fragile budding connection.

I know exactly where I am.

And who I belong to.