CHAPTER 224: CHAPTER 225: WANT

Her voice was quiet. Cracked. But there was something raw in it. Something that wasn’t seduction. It was shame. A desperate, twisted form of love. As if offering herself this way might make him forget. Forgive. Let her stay.

Atlas didn’t move.

For a full breath, neither did she.

Then his hands closed around her wrists. Not roughly—but firmly. She looked up, startled.

His face was unreadable. The moonlight caught his features—jaw tense, eyes shadowed.

"This isn’t the way."

"Then what is?!" she burst out, her voice loud again. "What is the way, Atlas? Do I crawl? Do I cry? Do I let them tear me apart in the square? Do I sit in a cell like a ghost while you forget I even existed?"

Her hands were trembling.

"I made a mistake... a horrible one. But I loved you. *I still do. And that night, when I thought you were leaving forever, I broke. You were the only thing left keeping me from going full monster..."

Tears streaked silently down her cheeks.

"...I just wanted you to stay."

Atlas slowly released her wrists.

His chest ached.

Not from anger anymore. But from the wreckage of everything between them. From the cruel, ugly truth that love didn’t stop people from hurting each other.

"Eli," he said softly. "There’s a version of this story where we end up killing each other."

She nodded.

"And there’s another... where we just suffer. Quietly. Apart."

Another nod.

"...But the one where we survive? I don’t know if that one exists."

She didn’t speak. She didn’t argue. As she just pull his pants down.

There it was, ploping down like an elephants trunk. Girthy as they come. Still covered by his underwear.

Before Atlas could protest, Eli reached out with a soft hand, her fingers brushing his buldge, a deliberate, testing touch.

"...Did you miss it...?" Eli voiced, her tone a velvet taunt, her hand gradually tightening, her fingers curling with a possessiveness that made his breath hitch.

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in, the lamp’s flicker a heartbeat echoing their tension. The air was heavy, damp with the storm’s breath seeping through the window,

"...My touch...?" she said again, her tongue darting out, grazing the fabric, a slow, deliberate lick that made his cock twitch, hardening despite his protest.

Her silver-white hair caught the lamplight, shimmering like moonlight on a blade, her blue eyes glinting with a hunger that mirrored the chaos outside.

The sound of her breath, soft but ragged, filled the space.

"...You..." Atlas grumbled, his voice a low growl, torn between desire and defiance. Her tongue layered around him through the fabric, a warm, teasing pressure that threatened to unravel him, like it wanted to wrap around his soul and swallow it whole.

His hands clenched, nails biting into his palms, drawing pinpricks of blood—a micro-movement anchoring his fraying control. She’s a storm, like Isabella, like Claire, but worse—she knows me, he thought, a contradiction stabbing his gut.

He wanted to push her away, to hold onto the vow he’d made to Claire, to the kingdom he’d sworn to protect, but her touch was a chain, pulling him back to a time when they were allies, not enemies.

"...I won’t... change my mind..." Atlas protested, his voice cracking, a plea to himself as much as to her. His golden eyes burned, locked on hers, searching for a crack in her resolve, but finding only fire.

"...Let’s see about that..." Eli voiced, her smile wicked, her hands deftly unfastening his breeches, pulling them down to reveal his hardened length, now rock-solid under her gaze.

She leaned in, her lips closing around him, taking him deep, all the way to her throat, like her gag reflex never existed. The warmth of her mouth, the tightness of her throat, enveloped him, a searing contrast to the cold stone beneath his feet.

Atlas moaned, a raw, broken sound that echoed off the walls, his hand instinctively finding her silver-white hair, fingers gripping it, not guiding but anchoring, as if holding on could keep him from drowning.

"...Eli," he voiced, his tone a mix of surrender and defiance, feeling the heat of her mouth, the relentless rhythm of her lips. The room pulsed with the sound of their connection—wet, deliberate, a primal cadence that drowned out the war outside.

Her tongue swirled, teasing, claiming, each movement a challenge to his resolve. She’s tearing me apart, he thought, a memory flickering—her sparring with him in the old keep, her laughter bright, her eyes free of this hunger. The contradiction clawed at him: the Eli he’d known versus the Eli now, a woman who burned for him, who saw him as hers to claim.

Eli looked up, her ash eyes gleaming with satisfaction, his reaction pleasing her more than him.

She thrived on his surrender, on the way his breath hitched, his lips parted, his gaze darkened with need. She bobbed her head—back and forward, back and forward—her rhythm relentless, like nature itself had tuned to her will.

The sound filled the room—gawaaapp... gwaaapp—wet and raw, the slap of her lips against him echoing like a war drum, a counterpoint to the distant thunder of the battlefield.

She couldn’t help it. She missed it—his blink, the way he bit his lip in pleasure, the gaze he gave her, like she was a slut... his slut. The thought sent a shiver through her, her own desire coiling tighter, her hands gripping his thighs, nails digging into his skin, leaving red crescents that marked him as hers.

He’s mine, not Claire’s, she thought, a flare of pride and possession surging through her, her lips moving faster, claiming him deeper. The sulphur-tinged air from the battlefield seeped in, mixing with the musk of their heat, the stone walls cold and unyielding, a prison for their sin.

Atlas’s hand tightened in her hair, his control fraying, his moans growing louder, each one a betrayal of his vow. I can’t do this, he thought, a flash of Claire’s purple eyes burning in his mind—her transformation, her claws, her vow to save him. But Eli’s warmth, her relentless pull, was a tide he couldn’t fight.

His hips bucked, involuntary, matching her rhythm, his body surrendering even as his mind screamed to resist. The lamp sputtered, its flame nearly dying, casting their shadows in a wild, writhing dance—a fractured mirror of his soul, torn between duty and desire.

"Eli..." he gasped, his voice breaking, his hand trembling in her hair. Her eyes met his, fierce and unyielding, her lips never slowing, her throat tightening around him.

She wanted to break him, to make him hers, to erase the others who claimed his heart.

She pulled back for a moment, her lips glistening, her breath hot against him. ".....You can’t resist me," she murmured, her voice a low purr, a secret slipping through her taunt.

Her hand stroked him, slow and deliberate, keeping him on the edge, her eyes searching his for a crack in his defiance. His jaw clenched, his nails digging deeper into his palms, blood trickling now, a micro-movement anchoring his fading resolve.

I’m not hers, he thought, but the lie tasted bitter, his body betraying him with every pulse of heat.

"Eli, stop," he said, voice raw, a plea that lacked strength. Her smile widened, wicked and knowing, and she dove back in, her lips reclaiming him, her rhythm faster now, relentless. The sound—gawaaapp... gwaaapp—filled the room again, louder, a primal echo that drowned out his protest.

His hand tightened in her hair, not pushing her away but pulling her closer, a contradiction that tore at his soul.

Everyone, forgive me, he thought, a flash of her haloed form, her claws slashing at Merlin’s shield, her voice echoing with divine power. But Eli was here, now, her warmth a chain he couldn’t break.

The lamp flickered out, plunging the room into darkness, but the heat of their connection burned brighter, a fire that consumed them both. Eli’s movements slowed, deliberate now, drawing out his torment, her eyes locked on his, daring him to surrender fully.

His moans were a surrender, each one a fracture in his resolve, his body trembling under her touch.

She pulled back again, her lips hovering, her breath hot against him. "....You’re mine, Atlas," she whispered, a secret slipping through, her voice trembling with need. His golden eyes burned, torn between rage and want, his hand still in her hair, gripping tight, as if he could hold onto himself by holding onto her.