Chapter 29 Thalia
THALIA
His mouth crashes against mine with desperate hunger, all teeth and breath and barely contained wildness.
I taste wine and something darker—fury, maybe, or the kind of reckless abandon that comes from burning bridges behind you.
My hands fist in his ceremonial vest, pulling him closer even as my mind screams warnings about consequences neither of us can afford.
When we break apart, I'm gasping like I've been underwater too long.
"You shouldn't have done that." The words tumble out between ragged breaths. "She'll be furious now."
His hands frame my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones with reverent care that makes my chest ache. Those dark eyes search mine with an intensity that feels like being seen for the first time in my life.
"So you were there." His voice carries satisfaction and something else—relief, maybe. "Where were you hiding, my little goddess?"
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest, surprising us both. "Goddess? Me?" I shake my head, still breathless from his kiss. "How utterly ridiculous."
But he doesn't smile at my self-deprecation. Instead, his expression grows more serious, more certain.
"I was in the supply tent behind the pavilion," I admit, trying to ignore the way his thumb traces patterns against my skin. "Sorting through herb stores and trying to stay invisible. Rytha has been watching me like a hawk circles wounded prey. I didn't want to give her any reason to—"
He silences me with another kiss, this one slower but no less consuming.
His hands slide down to my waist, lifting me as easily as if I weigh nothing at all.
The world tilts and spins, and then I'm being carried across the clearing to where moonlight filters through the canopy onto a patch of grass soft with fallen leaves.
He lays me down with surprising gentleness for hands that have wielded war hammers and split shields. The earth beneath my back smells of rich loam and decomposing leaves, of seasons turning and life cycling through its eternal dance.
"I couldn't stand her touch." His voice drops to a rough whisper as he settles beside me, one hand tangling in my loose hair. "Every moment at that table felt like drowning. Like wearing someone else's skin."
I reach up to trace the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness where his tusks have left their mark over years of speaking and breathing and being magnificently, impossibly himself.
"And this?" I whisper. "How does this feel?"
His eyes close at my touch, a shudder running through his massive frame.
"Like breathing again. Like coming home to a place I never knew existed." He opens his eyes, and the raw honesty there steals what little breath I've managed to recover. "I only feel alive when I'm near you."
His mouth crashes against mine again, this time with a hunger that feels like falling.
My hands claw at the thick leather of his vest, desperate to feel the heat of his skin beneath.
The taste of him—wild herbs and iron and something uniquely Galthan—fills my senses.
A low, rumbling growl vibrates in his chest, resonating against my own.
“Need you,” he rasps, the words rough against my lips. His large hands move down my back, pressing me impossibly closer. “Now. Gods, Thalia, now.”
The urgency in his voice, the sheer, desperate need, ignites something reckless within me. A fire that pushes back against a lifetime of fear and submission. “Take me,” I gasp, the plea ripped from somewhere primal. The words feel dangerous, powerful. “Please, Galthan. Take what you need.”
He doesn’t hesitate. A powerful arm sweeps my legs out from under me.
For a heart-stopping moment, I’m airborne, cradled against the solid wall of his chest. Then, with surprising control, he lowers me onto the thick moss carpet beneath the ancient oaks.
Moonlight spills through the branches, silvering his dark green skin, glinting off the beads in his braids.
His eyes, dark pools of shadow in the dim light, hold mine with an intensity that steals my breath.
He spins me with a single, powerful movement, positioning me onto my hands and knees.
The cool earth meets my palms, the scent of damp moss and crushed leaves filling my nose.
Behind me, his movements are frantic, the sound of his belt unbuckling stark in the quiet grove.
The air crackles with anticipation, thick with the scent of our shared desire.
His hands settle heavily on my hips, fingers digging in possessively. The blunt, hot head of his cock nudges against my entrance, slick with my own arousal. A choked sound escapes him.
“Fuck,” he groans, the word thick and strained.
His grip tightens, anchoring me as he surges forward in one deep, possessive thrust. A gasp rips from my throat as he fills me completely, the stretch a delicious ache that steals my breath.
He’s massive, unyielding, and the sensation of being so utterly claimed, so full of him, sends sparks arcing through my nerves.
This. This overwhelming fullness, this desperate joining I’ve craved like air since he first stumbled into my tent, broken and needing.
Since he first showed me tenderness could exist alongside this fierce, consuming fire.
He begins to move with a deep, powerful rhythm, each thrust driving me forward slightly only for his grip on my hips to pull me back hard onto him.
No finesse, only raw, driving need. Each withdrawal is agonizing, each powerful surge back in floods me with heat and sensation.
I arch my back instinctively, meeting his desperate rhythm, seeking that perfect angle where friction ignites into pure, mindless pleasure.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the grove, mingling with our ragged breathing and the sigh of the wind through the oaks.
The tight coil deep in my belly pulls tighter, tighter, until it snaps with a violence that rocks through me, stealing my voice, leaving me trembling, my walls clenching rhythmically around his thick cock.
A dark chuckle rumbles from behind me, rough with satisfaction and exertion.
One large hand slides up my spine, tangling in my hair, pulling my head back slightly.
His breath is hot on my neck. “I’ll never get tired of watching you come on my cock, Thalia,” he growls, the possessiveness in his voice sending another shiver through my spent body.
He doesn't pause, his thrusts becoming even harder, faster, driven towards his own release.
The moss cushions my back as his hands grip my hips, lifting me and turning me over effortlessly.
For a moment, I’m weightless, suspended between earth and the hard lines of his body.
Then he impales me again, that thick, demanding heat sliding deep in one ruthless thrust that punches the air from my lungs.
My back arches off the soft ground, a choked cry escaping me.
"Galthan—!"
He leans over me, massive, blocking the moonlight. His eyes are dark pools of pure, possessive fire. Sweat beads on his brow, tracing the harsh planes of his face. Each powerful stroke drives me down into the yielding moss, the rhythm relentless, claiming.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice a gravelly rasp that vibrates through my core. One huge hand leaves my hip, slides up my side to cup my breast possessively, his thumb grinding hard over my nipple. "Whose are you, little goddess?"
The roughness in his touch, the raw need in his voice, shatters the last vestiges of restraint. My hands claw at his powerful forearms, needing an anchor.
"Yours!" The word bursts from me, ragged and desperate. "Only yours!"
He grunts, a sound of fierce satisfaction, slamming into me harder, the thick length of him stretching me perfectly, each retreat an agonizing loss before the next claiming surge.
"Say it again." His fingers tighten on my breast, sending a shockwave of pleasure-pain straight to my throbbing core. "Tell me who you belong to."
His dominance, the sheer power in his movements, unlocks something primal. I meet his dark gaze, defiance and surrender warring. "I belong to you, Galthan! To you!" My voice lifts, echoing slightly in the quiet grove, a desperate vow. "Make me yours! Fill me! Please!"
"Yes." His breath is hot against my face.
He watches every flicker of sensation on my features, the way my mouth falls open, the flutter of my lashes.
"My good girl. My brave, impossible little goddess.
" His praise is rough, possessive, grounding.
He shifts slightly, angling deeper, hitting that spot inside that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
"So fucking tight. Taking me so well. Made for this. .. made for me."
His words, the hard snap of his hips driving me towards the edge again, the possessive grip on my body – it coils the tension tighter, unbearably tight. He feels it, sees it in the way my inner muscles clench, desperate. "Come for me," he growls, a harsh demand. "Now."
The command shatters me. Pleasure detonates, white-hot and all-consuming, ripping through my body.
My cry is wild, uncontrolled, as I convulse around him, the pulsing waves locking him deep inside me.
His own control snaps. His movements become frantic, desperate lunges, his breath ragged gasps against my neck.
His whole body tightens, a cord pulled to breaking.
With a deep, guttural roar that shakes the leaves above us, he buries himself to the hilt.
I feel the hot, thick pulse of his release deep inside me, filling me with the undeniable, primal claim of his seed.
His body shudders violently above mine, a massive weight collapsing momentarily before he catches himself, arms braced on either side of my head.
We stay like that, locked together, panting harshly into the cool night air, the sounds of our bodies mingling with the rustling leaves.
Slowly, the tremors subside. He eases himself out carefully, a groan escaping him as he does.
He gathers me against him, rolling onto his side, pulling me back flush against the hard wall of his chest. His arm wraps possessively around my waist, his large hand splayed possessively over my lower belly.
His breath is warm against the nape of my neck, his body radiating heat against my cooling skin.
No words now. Just the shared rhythm of our breathing settling into calmness, the frantic energy spent.
The scent of sex, earth, moss, and him surrounds me.
The crickets resume their song. My eyelids grow impossibly heavy.
His breathing deepens, slows, becoming steady against my back.
The solid warmth of him, the heavy arm pinning me to him, the faint stickiness cooling between my thighs – it’s overwhelming and deeply comforting.
This stolen, impossible peace. I let my hand cover his where it rests on my stomach, feeling the rough calluses of a warrior against my skin.
My own eyelids flutter shut. The last thing I hear is his deep, even breathing against my ear before sleep drags me under, safe in the cage of his arms.