Chapter 36 In Divine Intervention #3
I reached for him, both hands outstretched through my bars, desperate fingers seeking any part of him he would allow me to touch. “Don’t stop,” I pleaded, my voice breaking on the words. “Please, I need more. I need you.”
“I can’t—“ The sound of fists slamming into iron reverberated through the dungeons, Death growling in frustration. “I can’t give you what you need.” His voice was raw, strained with what sounded like physical pain. “Not like this. Not through these bars.”
I pressed myself against the wall between us, my body seeking his warmth through solid stone.
“Then tell me what to do,” I gasped, pressing myself as close to the bars as possible, my face turned toward his cell though I could see nothing in the darkness. “Tell me how to ease this. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I can’t—“
“Touch yourself.”
The command cut through my babbling like a blade, simple and absolute. My entire body clenched at the words, heat pooling between my thighs with such sudden intensity that I nearly sobbed.
“But I tried,” I whispered, remembering the numbness that had met my earlier attempt. “It didn’t work. I couldn’t—“
“You couldn’t because you were still his,” Death interrupted, his voice rough with something between anger and desire.
“But now you’ve tasted me. Now you’re mine.
” The possessive certainty in his voice sent another wave of molten need through me.
“Touch yourself, little fawn. Let me hear what’s mine. ”
I didn’t hesitate. My hands flew to the torn silk that still clung to my sweat-slicked skin, fingers fumbling with the remnants of laces and hooks.
I lifted the gown over my head in one fluid motion, discarding it in a heap of black fabric.
The cold air kissed my naked flesh, raising goosebumps across my shoulders, my breasts, my stomach—but I wasn’t cold.
I was burning, molten from the inside out, golden fire replacing the crimson heat that had tortured me moments before.
Only Valen’s collar remained, the leather warm against my throat, a reminder of the god who had started this madness. But even that seemed distant now, irrelevant compared to the voice that came from beyond the stone wall, the presence that had claimed something deeper than my flesh.
Kneeling beside the corner where our cells met, as close to him as the bars would allow, my hands trembled as I slid them down my body, one palm cupping my breast while the other traced lower, over the curve of my hip, between my thighs.
The moment my fingers found my swollen, aching flesh, I gasped.
Not from numbness this time, but from overwhelming sensation.
It was as if Death’s blood had awakened every nerve ending, made them hypersensitive to touch, to pressure, to the slightest friction.
“That’s it,” Death’s voice rumbled through the stone, thick with approval and something darker. “Tell me what you feel.”
I circled my clit with trembling fingers, my back arching off the cold stone wall as pleasure shot through me like lightning. “I feel—“ The words dissolved into a moan as I pressed harder, the sensation almost too much to bear. “I feel everything. It’s so much, I can’t—“
“You can,” he commanded, his voice like velvet wrapped around steel. “You will. For me.”
The possessive certainty in his words made my thighs clench, my body responding to his claim with desperate hunger.
I slipped one finger inside myself, crying out at the relief of finally being filled, even if it was only by my own touch.
But it wasn’t enough—would never be enough—not when what I truly craved was him.
“More,” Death ordered, and I could hear the strain in his voice, the way his breathing had grown ragged. “I want to hear you fall apart. Touch yourself the way I would touch you.”
“How?” I gasped, my fingers stilling as I pressed my forehead against the iron bars. “How would you touch me? If these barriers were not between us, if you could reach me… Please, I need to know.”
A low, appreciative groan rumbled through the stone. “Is that what you need, little fawn? To hear the ways I would worship you?”
“Yes,” I whispered, desperation making me shameless. “Please.”
Death’s breathing deepened, and I could almost feel his presence pressing closer to the wall that separated us. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to a register so low it seemed to bypass my ears entirely, vibrating directly into my mind.
“If I could reach you now,” he began, each word measured and deliberate, “I would start with my hands in your hair, tilting your head back to expose that delicate throat of yours.” A pause, filled with the sound of chains shifting.
“I would rip off his collar. Cast it into darkness where it belongs. Replace it with the mark of my teeth.”
I shuddered at the image, at the contrast between tenderness and violence, as my fingers resumed their circling, slower, to match the cadence of his voice. “And then?”
“I would taste you,” he continued, his voice roughening. “Not just your lips, though I would claim them thoroughly. I would taste every inch of your skin, starting at that pulse point beneath your jaw. Feel how it beats faster for me.”
My free hand rose unconsciously to touch the spot he described, imagining the press of his lips there.
“I would lay you out before me like the sweet offering you are. And I would take my time—hours, days if necessary—exploring every inch of your skin, learning the landscape of your body until I could navigate it blind.”
My breath caught, imagining those strong fingertips tracing over every exposed piece of me.
“I would discover every place that makes you gasp, every spot that makes you tremble.”
My fingers circled my clit faster as his words washed over me, my body responding as if it were his touch and not my own.
“And when I reached your thighs,” he said, “I wouldn’t rush. No, I’d tease you, kissing along the inside of your knee, working my way up so slowly you’d be begging before I ever reached where you needed me most.”
I moaned, imagining it, his mouth on my inner thigh, the scrape of his teeth against sensitive skin.
“And when you couldn’t stand it anymore, when you were wet and desperate and pleading,” Death growled, “only then would I taste you properly. I’d spread those pretty knees wide until I could see every glistening inch of you. I’d lick into you so deep you’d feel me in your fucking soul.”
My back arched, fingers working faster between my thighs. “Please,” I whispered, not even knowing what I was begging for.
“I would devour you, little fawn,” he said, voice deepening with each word.
“I’d make you come on my tongue again and again until your voice was hoarse from screaming my name.
I’d suck that sweet little clit until you begged me to stop.
Until your thighs trembled around my head.
Until you thought you couldn’t possibly take any more pleasure. ”
My body jerked at his filthy words, a strangled whimper escaping my throat. No one had ever spoken to me like this—raw and unfiltered with desire.
“Of course, I would prove you wrong,” he continued, and I heard what sounded like a wicked grin in his tone. “I would slide my fingers inside you, feeling how hot, how wet you are for me. I would find that spot deep inside that makes you see stars and stroke it until you’re sobbing.”
A high-pitched whine released from my throat, my fingers moving faster, sliding through slickness as I imagined his hands on me, in me. I added another finger, stretching myself, desperate to feel some fraction of what he described.
“Join me,” I pleaded, my voice shattering into desperate fragments. “Please, my harbinger. I need to know I’m not alone in this madness.”
The silence stretched for a heartbeat, then two, before his voice returned—deeper than before.
“You wish me to join you? To stroke myself as you touch that sweet cunt for me?”
“Yes,” I gasped, pressing my forehead harder against the cold bars. “Please. I need to hear you. I need to know this affects you too.”
A low, rumbling groan vibrated through the stone between us, followed by the unmistakable sound of chains shifting, links sliding as he adjusted his position.
“For you, then,” Death whispered, his voice deep and rough. “Because the sounds you make are driving me to madness. Because listening to you pleasure yourself for me is the sweetest torment I’ve endured in centuries.”
The chains rattled again, more deliberately this time, and I heard the rustle of fabric, the subtle shift of weight against stone. My breath caught, a grin spreading across my face in the knowledge that, beyond this wall, this god was touching himself because I had asked it of him.
“Please,” I gasped, my back arching as the pleasure built. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
A low groan vibrated through the wall, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with desire.
“I’m thinking about how you would look spread beneath me. How your silver eyes would go wide when I first pushed inside you. How tight you would be around my cock.”
My breath hitched, my fingers pressing deeper, searching for that spot he had promised to find.
“Would you like that?” Death asked, his voice rough. “Would you like me to fill you, to stretch you, to make you forget your own name?”
“Yes,” I gasped, my head falling back as pleasure coiled tighter in my core. “Gods, yes.”
“I would take you against this very wall,” he growled. “I would lift you, wrap your legs around my waist, and drive into you so deep you’d feel me in your throat.”
My fingers curled inside me, palm pressing against my clit as I chased the release that hovered just out of reach. Each word he spoke wound the tension inside me tighter, higher.
“I would fuck you until these stones remembered the shape of your back,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “Until the guards above could hear your screams of pleasure. Until every drop of his blood was burned from your veins by the fire I’d built inside you.”
The image he painted—of being claimed so completely, so thoroughly—sent me spiraling toward the edge. My fingers worked desperately between my thighs, chasing the release that Death’s words had brought to a fever pitch.
“I would make you mine,” Death growled, his voice thick with possession. “Completely, utterly mine. You would wear my marks, carry my scent, bear the evidence of my worship in every bruise, every bite, every place my mouth had claimed you.”
I cried out at his words, my body barreling toward its peak. The fantasy consumed me, his tongue replacing my desperate fingers, his hands holding my thighs apart, him driving into me with divine hunger.
“Fates,” he groaned. “Fuck yourself on your fingers like you’d fuck yourself on my tongue. I want those thighs wrapped around my head so tight I cannot breathe.”
“Please,” I sobbed, my movements becoming erratic as desperation overtook technique. “I need— I can’t—“
“Please, what?” Death asked, voice sharp with his own desperation. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need—“ The words caught in my throat, tangled with moans and gasps as pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. “I need to come. Please, let me come.”
A dark chuckle, devoid of any real amusement, resonated through the stone. “Then come for me, Mireille. Come with my name on your lips.”
The permission was all I needed. Release crashed through me, obliterating thought, reason, identity. My back arched off the stone floor, a scream tearing from my throat as pleasure more intense than anything I’d ever experienced consumed me from within.
“Death!” I cried, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer, like devotion, like worship. “Oh gods, Death!”
Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me, each one threatening to drown me completely. My vision blurred at the edges, darkness encroaching as my consciousness wavered under the assault of sensation.
I heard him growl, the sound vibrating through the stone as his chains rattled violently.
“Zai esharael, Mireille,” he hissed, his voice strained with what could only be his own release. “Utteri kael’sor.”
As the waves of sensation gradually receded, I collapsed boneless against the stone floor, chest heaving with exertion, skin slick with sweat. The madness burned away. Finally, finally, I felt at peace.
For a long moment, only our ragged breathing filled the space. Then his voice emerged, low and molten, curling around my bare skin.
“Call out for the gods if you must,” he murmured. “Scream for them. Whisper for them in your sleep. But understand this, Mireille—“ He paused, the silence rich with strain. With hunger.
“When you do, I am the God who hears you.”
His words slid into the hollow places still quivering with aftershocks. My pulse thundered in my ears. My limbs were trembling and loose, but it was his voice that left me truly undone.
“And in the end,” he whispered, each word laced with quiet certainty, “you—your soul—will belong to me. I will make you mine.”
There was no arrogance in the promise. Only conviction. Absolute, unshakable conviction.
Exhaustion was pulling at the edges of my consciousness, the aftermath of divine madness and earth-shattering release combining to drag me toward sleep.
My eyelids felt heavy, my body unresponsive.
The golden fire in my veins had banked to manageable levels, leaving me wrung out, yet strangely at peace.
But before sleep could claim me fully, I whispered one last truth.
“No. I will always belong to me.”
And then the darkness swallowed me whole.