Chapter 30 #3
Her gaze roved over him slowly, reverently: the carved muscle of his chest, the bark-like patterns on his skin, the green-gold veins pulsing faintly beneath.
Every line of him was a landmark in a sacred territory she longed to map.
Her hands traced downward, trailing heat and magic, until they reached the straining length between them.
Her hand closed around him. Splice choked, head snapping back, vines flaring wild in response. He was hot in her grip, impossibly hard, the thick shaft textured in ways that made her sex clench in anticipation.
“Well, aren’t you pretty,” she purred. Her thumb spread his slick across the glowing crown in lazy circles.
She began stroking him inslow, deliberate pulls that had him groaning, then a sudden punishing pace that made his hips buck, then back to slow again, cruelly teasing.
She was learning him, playing him like an instrument, dragging him to the edge and yanking him back.
“Marigold.” His voice cracked, desperate, eyes flaring wildly. “If you keep touching me like that, I’ll spill before I ever reach your cunt.”
Her lips curled. She bent low and dragged her tongue along his length from root to crown, savoring him, claiming him. His entire body seized, a raw cry ripping free as he arched off the ground, vines snapping taut, hips bucking wildly.
She swallowed him deep, throat clenching around the thick length, sucking hard as he writhed beneath her. His hands fisted in her hair to hold her there, to push her down harder, to fuck her mouth with frantic, stuttering thrusts.
She felt the tremor in him, the desperate tightening that warned of release, and pulled back, lips slipping free of him. He collapsed back, panting, utterly wrecked. His glowing eyes were wild, hungry, pleading.
“Not yet,” she husked, her voice low and merciless. She rose and straddled his hips, her dripping cunt hovering just above the slick, straining head of his cock. “We come together. For your god.”
Her hand wrapped around his length, guiding him to her entrance. The blunt head pressed against her slick folds, sliding just enough to coat before she held him there, teasing herself with the stretch she craved.
As she poised above Splice, the Thornfather stirred. The air thickened. Moss shivered. Petals trembled on their stems. Approval.
Splice’s hands clamped hard to her hips, bruising and reverent all at once. “He is blessing this,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “He is… grateful.”
The confirmation lit her veins with fire. She leaned down and brushed her lips against his. “Then let’s give him a show.”
With a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, she sank down onto him.
Her cry shattered the atrium as his cock split her wide, filling her inch by aching inch until she was stretched to the edge of bearing. Heat and fullness radiated through her, so sharp it was almost pain.
A green-gold light flared from the walls as the land roared in answer, vines unfurling overhead, and a pulse of life surging outward as if the land itself reveled with her.
A broken, incredulous laugh tore from her lips. The Thornfather’s withered frame began to pulse with vibrant green light, new blossoms spilling radiant nectar onto the moss. They were healing him. The joyful violence of their pleasure was the medicine.
Power unfurled through her in molten waves.
The Thornfather’s presence rooted through her, threading down her spine, into her bones, outward into the moss and the dark and the wild breath of the world.
She could feel new shoots blooming through her ribs, vines curling in her lungs, sap humming beneath her skin.
She was open to everything, and in that sacred openness, she felt Splice’s spirit braiding through hers.
She clung to him as the Thornfather pulsed, radiant and impossibly alive, the full weight of goodhood crashing through them both.
Then, softly, the divine presence pulled back like a tide. Not gone, but only watching now, quieter. What remained was sweat, skin, and the man still buried deep inside her. The ritual had found its rhythm, and now there was only flesh and need.
Splice’s hands clamped to her hips, fingers digging hard enough to bruise. He drove up into her, meeting her thrust for thrust, cock spearing deep and true.
“Gods, Goldie,” he panted. “You take me like the earth takes rain.”
“You’re so deep,” she gasped. “It feels like you’re inside my bones.”
Their rhythm turned brutal, desperate. Goldie rode him like she meant to tear the world apart, hips slamming down to meet every savage thrust. He drove into her, thick and merciless, so deep she swore he was carving himself into her.
Her nails raked his shoulders, sharp enough to welt. He groaned at the sting, vines cinching her waist and thighs, dragging her down harder, forcing her to take every inch. One tendril slid up her spine and curled around her throat, pressing just enough to make her breath catch.
Her scream shattered the atrium as the next blinding orgasm tore through her. She clenched around his cock, spasming in frantic pulses, light bursting from her in another surge of green-gold fire that flooded into the Thornfather’s roots.
But Goldie didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Even as tremors wracked her, she kept grinding down on Splice, wild and ravenous, chasing the next peak like a woman possessed.
“More,” she gasped, voice splintering into command. “Splice—give me more.”
With a snarl, he moved. His vines writhed around her, and in a blur of strength he flipped her onto her back. The moss caught her fall, air bursting from her lungs, and then he was looming over her, his eyes blazed and wild with hunger.
Growling, he drove into her in one brutal thrust. He fucked her hard, relentless, every slam of his hips rattling through her bones.
“Take me,” he growled against her throat, breath hot and ragged. “Bloom for me again.”
She clawed at his back, but he only drove harder, as if carving his devotion into her skin. Her body arched to meet his, helpless, desperate. A vessel of magic, of heat, of him.
The next orgasm hit like a lightning strike, ripping her open from the inside. Light spilled from her in a glorious eruption, racing across the atrium in glowing waves. Branches quivered, blossoms exploded into bloom, petals raining down in spirals of radiant color.
Greymarket trembled around them. Walls flexed. Windows groaned in their frames. The building moaned, and Goldie swore it was coming with her.
Splice’s rhythm broke, erratic and brutal. His vines snapped taut, his breath a ragged snarl in her ear.
“Marigold!” he roared, her name both spell and prayer.
He came hard, buried deep, hips jerking as wave after wave of heat pulsed into her. It was like being flooded with spring itself. Heat erupted, thick and fertile, pumping into her womb in heavy, pulsing waves.
She felt the seed take root, magical filaments spreading through her belly, threading her veins with glowing fire.
Every pulse of his release sent another shockwave through her body, another bloom of light across the Thornfather’s bark.
The god shuddered, branches groaning as the his vast frame drank down their mingled pleasure.
When Splice’s hips finally stilled, he collapsed onto Goldie, still buried deep, pulsing inside her, locking them together. Vines slackened and curled back toward his body, spent. The air was thick with the sweet perfume of new blossoms and the musk of sex.
Goldie wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as their sweat-slick bodies pressed together. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing and the steady thrum of power echoing through the atrium.