Page 34 of Hex and the Dragon
"Then we fail together," Ivy said firmly, stepping closer to him until she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "But we fail on our own terms, making our own choices, trusting in something real instead of accepting something perfect."
The space shifted around them as they moved toward each other, the Chronicle's reality-prison responding to their growing connection with waves of distortion. But instead of the coldperfection the entity usually imposed, their magic was creating something warm and vital and fundamentally alive.
When Dorian's hands found her face, Ivy felt her bibliomantic abilities flare in response to his touch, but not in the controlled, academic way she'd always used them before. This was magic born of emotion, of choice freely made, of trust given without reservation despite every rational reason to hold back.
"I love you," Dorian said with the intensity of someone making a vow that would bind his soul, "not because you're perfect, not because you're safe, but because you're brave enough to choose difficult truth over beautiful lies."
"I love you too," Ivy replied, her hands sliding up to tangle in his dark hair, "not because you're controlled, not because you're predictable, but because you're strong enough to risk everything for the chance to protect what matters."
Their kiss was desperate and tender and absolutely necessary, a claiming of each other that had nothing to do with magical bonds or supernatural forces and everything to do with two people choosing to face the unknown together. But as their lips met, their magic began to intertwine in ways that transcended anything they'd experienced before.
Dorian's dragon fire flowed through Ivy's bibliomantic abilities like molten gold through silver wire, while her reality-shaping power gave structure and direction to his primal creative force. Instead of two separate magics working in coordination, they became something new—fire and words united in purpose, destruction and creation serving the same goal.
"The binding," Ivy whispered against his lips, feeling their combined power reaching toward the corrupted seal at the chamber's center. "I can feel it responding to our magic. It recognizes what we're building together."
"Then let's build something worth recognizing," Dorian replied, his hands finding the fastenings of her clothes with urgent need. "Let's show the Chronicle what real creation looks like."
They came together with the passion of people who might not see another dawn, their need for each other overwhelming every careful consideration about time and place and circumstances. Ivy's back pressed against one of the chamber's impossible walls while Dorian's mouth traced paths of fire along her throat and collarbone, his touch gentle despite the desperate urgency that drove them both.
"You're everything," Dorian breathed against her skin, his dragon fire flaring in response to her soft gasps of pleasure. "Everything real, everything worth fighting for."
"Don't stop," Ivy pleaded, her bibliomantic abilities weaving protection around them both as their magic began to build toward something unprecedented. "Whatever happens, don't stop believing in us."
Their lovemaking became a conversation conducted in touches and gasps and the kind of wordless communication that transcended language. Every brush of Dorian’s hands, every deep thrust of his hips, spoke volumes—about need, about reverence, about the kind of devotion that didn’t beg for permission, only deeper truth.
Ivy clung to him as he lifted her easily, her legs wrapped around his waist, her back against the warm, shifting wall that pulsed with the Chronicle’s fading power. His cock slid into her in a single, powerful thrust, and her cry echoed through the collapsing chamber, wrapped in a burst of silver magic that spiraled into the air.
The Chronicle screamed in rage and confusion as their bond reached full awakening, its alien intelligence unable to process the kind of love that chose trust over safety, connection overcontrol. The corrupted binding at the chamber's center began to crack, ancient protective runes reasserting themselves as Ivy and Dorian's united magic burned away centuries of parasitic influence.
IMPOSSIBLE,the Chronicle raged, its reality-prison shaking apart around them.LOVE IS WEAKNESS. CONNECTION IS VULNERABILITY. YOU CANNOT DESTROY PERFECTION WITH SUCH FLAWED EMOTION.
All Ivy could think right now was Dorian. He was thick and hard inside her, the stretch dizzying and perfect, filling her completely, grounding her even as the world fell apart around them.
“Fuck, Ivy,” he groaned against her throat. “You feel like fire wrapped in silk. So tight around me—gods, I’m never going to get enough of this pussy.”
Her head fell back as he thrust again, deep and hard. “You’re everything,” she gasped, digging her nails into his shoulders. “You feel so good, Dorian—so deep—I can feel you in my fucking soul.”
His rhythm quickened, cock dragging along her sensitive walls with each retreat before slamming home again, the sound of their bodies echoing with primal, echoing wetness and flesh. Her moans became louder, broken things that carried the edge of something raw and rising.
“I need more,” he growled. “I need to see your face.”
He shifted them—lifting her off the wall and lowering her to the smooth glowing platform at the center of the chamber. He hovered over her, amber eyes blazing, then hooked her knees over his arms and drove into her with a power that stole her breath.
Her back arched, spine bowing like drawn string. His cock hit angles that made her see stars, every thrust driving her closer to that edge where pleasure and power became indistinguishable.
“Dorian—oh fuck—right there?—”
“I’ve got you,” he grunted, sweat gleaming on his brow, hair wild and damp. “I feel everything. Every twitch, every flutter of your pussy around my cock. You’re so fucking perfect, Ivy.”
She shattered around him, the orgasm ripping through her like a lightning strike, her cry a mix of magic and broken need. Her pussy clenched tight, pulsing around him in rhythmic spasms, milking him.
But he didn’t stop.
He flipped her onto her side and pulled her back against his chest, lifting her leg to open her again. His cock slid back into her soaked pussy from behind, and she gasped, the new angle sending shockwaves through her already over-sensitive core.
“You were made for this,” he growled into her ear, thrusting deep. “For me. Say it.”
“Yes,” she whimpered. “Made for your cock. For this. Dorian—please—don’t stop?—”
