I bucked up, burying myself inside the sun with a thrust of my wings propelling me. Again. Again. We didn’t soar higher, for between each flap, I let us sink and knew that if we dropped too far, Apollo would keep us upright. Where my skin didn’t frost over was still chilled, and I guided his mouth to kiss my neck and warm me there. I brought his hands to reach around my back, low, lower, to cup my buttocks as I cupped his, and it was like a crucible catching the sun and setting fire to dry grass, yet I writhed toward the burn instead of away. Each sizzle of him was a balm upon where I would
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