The air in El Dorado was thick and humid, heavy with the perfume of night-blooming jasmine and the distant, rhythmic hum of insects. Moonlight, as pure and white as liquid silver, spilled over the grand stone temples, casting long, dramatic shadows that danced like ancient spirits. For Tulio, standing alone on a high balcony overlooking the silent city, the beauty was almost suffocating. He and Miguel had done it. They had pulled off the greatest con in history, convincing an entire civilization they were gods. But the weight of the golden circlet on his brow felt heavier than any crown, and the silence of the city echoed the hollowness he felt inside. It was all a lie, a magnificent, glittering lie, and he was beginning to wonder if he would drown in it.

A soft footstep on the stone behind him was the only warning he received. He turned, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of a sword he no longer wore, and his breath caught in his throat. It was Chel. Of course, it was Chel. She was a vision in the moonlight, her tanned skin glowing with an almost supernatural luminescence. The minimal, artfully arranged pieces of fabric she wore did little to conceal the perfect, athletic curves of her body, and the gold bands around her biceps and ankles seemed to melt into her skin. Her dark, expressive eyes, framed by a cascade of even darker hair, held a familiar, knowing glint of amusement.

“Heavy thoughts for a god?” Chel’s voice was a low, sultry purr that seemed to vibrate in the warm air. She glided closer, her movements fluid and impossibly graceful, like a jungle cat stalking its prey. He could smell the faint scent of orchids and something else, something uniquely her, a warm, musky scent that drove him to distraction.

Tulio forced a wry smile, leaning back against the cool stone of the balustrade. “Just admiring my… divine kingdom.” His voice was rougher than he intended. The truth was, he had been thinking of her. He was always thinking of Chel. From the moment she had emerged from that urn, a whirlwind of cleverness, ambition, and unabashed sensuality, she had occupied a space in his mind he hadn’t known was empty. She was more real, more intoxicating than all the gold in this entire city.

“It’s a beautiful kingdom,” Chel agreed, stopping just a breath away from him. She ran a slender finger along the stone railing, her touch light and deliberate. “And you make a very handsome god.” Her gaze swept over him, from the golden circlet to the fine linen tunic that draped over his shoulders. It was a look that was both an appraisal and an invitation, and it sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated lust straight through him. He felt his carefully constructed facade of the cool, calculating con man begin to crack and crumble under the heat of her stare.

“It’s all just a costume, Chel,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. He felt a sudden, desperate need for her to see him, the real him, not the deity he was pretending to be. “Underneath all this gold, I’m just a man.”

Chel’s smile widened, a slow, delicious curve of her lips. She closed the remaining distance between them, placing her hands flat on his chest. He could feel the warmth of her palms through the thin fabric, a searing heat that seemed to brand his skin. Her eyes locked with his, and the playful glint was replaced by something deeper, a raw, smoldering intensity that mirrored the fire she had ignited within him. “I know,” she murmured, her voice a velvet caress. “That’s what makes it so interesting.”

His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched the jungle’s pulse. He could feel the soft pressure of her breasts against his chest, the subtle shift of her hips as she leaned into him. The world seemed to narrow until it was only the two of them, bathed in moonlight on a temple balcony at the edge of the world. All his plans, all his schemes, all the gold he’d ever dreamed of, faded into insignificance. All that mattered was the woman in his arms, the incredible, brilliant, and impossibly desirable Chel.

“What do you want, Chel?” he asked, his voice thick with a desire he could no longer conceal. “The gold? A ship? A map to Barcelona?”

She shook her head slowly, her dark hair brushing against his shoulder. Her fingers trailed from his chest up to his neck, tracing the line of his jaw. Her touch was electric, sending shivers down his spine. “I want more than that,” she whispered, her gaze unwavering. “I want to see the world. I want adventure. But tonight…” She paused, her thumb stroking his lower lip, a feather-light touch that made his entire body tense with anticipation. “Tonight, I want to worship a god.”

That was all it took. The last of his control shattered. He lowered his head and captured her lips in a kiss that was anything but divine. It was hungry, desperate, and utterly human. It was the kiss of a man who had been starving for a taste of something real in a city of illusion. He tasted the sweet, fruity wine on her lips and the deeper, intoxicating flavor that was purely Chel. Her mouth opened to his, her tongue meeting his in a dance that was both a challenge and a surrender.

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him. He tangled one hand in her silky hair, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss, while the other slid down the smooth, elegant curve of her spine to rest on the swell of her hip. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat, a half-moan, half-purr of approval, and pressed herself even closer, her body molding perfectly to his. He could feel the lean muscle of her thighs against his, the soft give of her belly, the firm press of her breasts. Every point of contact was a fresh wave of pleasure, a new discovery in the geography of Chel.

When they finally broke apart for air, they were both breathless, their chests rising and falling in unison. Her eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, her lips swollen and damp from his kiss. The sight was the most erotic thing he had ever witnessed. “Your chambers?” she breathed, her voice husky.

He nodded, unable to form words. He took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers, and led her away from the balcony, deeper into the opulent, shadowed halls of the temple. The journey to his chambers was a blur of gilded walls and silent statues, their path lit by flickering torches that cast their entwined shadows onto the stone. The only sound was the soft slap of her bare feet on the polished floor and the frantic beating of his own heart. The anticipation was a physical thing, a tight coil of need winding itself ever tighter in his gut.

His chambers were fit for a god, filled with soft furs, silk pillows, and the gleam of gold in the torchlight. But Tulio saw none of it. He only had eyes for Chel. As soon as the heavy stone door slid shut behind them, sealing them in their own private world, he turned and pressed her back against it, claiming her mouth again in a kiss that was even more ferocious than the first. He plundered her mouth, exploring every sweet inch, while his hands began their own, more intimate exploration.

He slid his hands from her waist, up her ribcage, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. Chel gasped into his mouth, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Emboldened, he moved his hands higher, cupping the full, warm weight of her breasts. They were even softer, even more perfect than he had imagined, straining against the thin, wrap-like fabric of her top. He groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, and broke the kiss to trail a line of open-mouthed kisses down the long, elegant column of her throat.

Her skin was warm and tasted faintly of salt and flowers. She arched her neck, giving him better access, her breath coming in ragged little pants. “Tulio,” she whispered, the sound a plea and an encouragement all at once. Hearing his real name from her lips in that moment of pure passion was like a brand on his soul. He wasn’t a god to her now; he was a man, and she wanted him.

His fingers fumbled with the knot of fabric between her breasts, his usual dexterity failing him in his haste. Chel laughed softly, a throaty, sensual sound. She reached up, her own nimble fingers brushing his aside, and with a single, practiced tug, the knot came undone. The fabric fell away, revealing her breasts to the flickering torchlight. They were magnificent—full, round, with dusky aureoles and taut, pebbled nipples that seemed to beg for his touch. He stared for a moment, utterly mesmerized by the sight of her.

“Are you just going to look?” Chel teased, her voice laced with a breathless urgency.

That broke his trance. He lowered his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth, laving it with his tongue before sucking gently. Chel cried out, a sharp, piercing sound of pure pleasure, her back arching off the door. She threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him to her as he paid equal tribute to her other breast. He worshipped her there, tasting and teasing, learning the rhythm of her pleasure, until she was trembling in his arms, her hips beginning to move in a slow, instinctive rhythm against his.

He moved from her breasts, his mouth trailing lower, over the flat, toned plane of her stomach. He knelt before her, his hands gripping her hips to steady her. He pressed his face against her, inhaling her scent, the raw, female aroma that was driving him wild. With his teeth, he gently tugged at the waistband of the loincloth-like garment she wore. It fell to the floor in a whisper of fabric, pooling around her ankles. She stood before him, completely naked, a golden goddess bathed in firelight.

Tulio’s gaze drifted down her body, over the gentle curve of her belly and the triangle of dark, neat hair at the juncture of her thighs. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line where her thigh met her hip, marveling at the softness of her skin. Chel’s breath hitched, and she placed a hand on his head, her fingers gently stroking his hair. He looked up at her, and the look in her eyes—a mixture of vulnerability, trust, and ravenous desire—was his undoing.

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, then another, working his way higher. She quivered under his touch, her legs threatening to give way. He wrapped his arms around her thighs to support her, and then his tongue found her. She screamed his name, the sound echoing in the silent chamber, a raw, uninhibited cry of ecstasy. She was so responsive, so alive beneath his touch. She tasted of wine and honey and a unique flavor that was all Chel, and he couldn't get enough.

He devoted himself to her pleasure, his tongue and fingers working in a practiced rhythm, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan, what made her body arch and tremble. He felt the moment her pleasure began to crest, the tensing of her muscles, the way her breath caught and held. He quickened his pace, driving her higher and higher until she shattered, her body convulsing around his touch as a wave of pure bliss washed over her. Her cry was muffled as she pressed a hand to her mouth, her body shaking with the force of her release.

As her tremors subsided, she slid down the door until she was kneeling in front of him, her eyes still hazy with pleasure. “My turn,” she whispered, her voice husky and thick. Before he could react, her hands were on his tunic, pulling it up and over his head. She tossed it aside without a glance, her eyes devouring his naked torso. Her cool fingers traced the muscles of his chest and abdomen, leaving trails of fire on his skin.

She unfastened his trousers with an efficient grace, pushing them down his hips until he stepped out of them, kicking them away. He was now as naked as she was, his erection hard and demanding, straining toward her. A slow, predatory smile touched Chel's lips. She leaned forward, her hair brushing against his inner thighs, and her warm, wet mouth closed over the tip of him. Tulio groaned, his head falling back against the door, his fingers gripping the stone for support. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect combination of heat, pressure, and silken friction.

Chel was a master, her movements confident and sure. She took him deep, her throat muscles contracting around him, before sliding back to lavish attention on the most sensitive parts of him with her tongue. It was a slow, deliberate torment, designed to drive him to the very edge of his sanity. He was used to being in control, the one pulling the strings, but with Chel, he was utterly powerless. He was an instrument, and she was playing him with the skill of a virtuoso. The coil of need in his gut tightened until it was a single, throbbing point of unbearable pleasure.

“Chel,” he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily. “Please.” He couldn’t take much more. He needed to be inside her, to feel her wrapped around him, to lose himself in her completely.

She pulled back, looking up at him through her dark lashes, a single drop of his essence clinging to her full lower lip. The sight was devastatingly erotic. She slowly licked it away, her eyes never leaving his. “To the bed,” she commanded softly.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He lifted her into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her the few steps to the large, fur-covered bed. He laid her down gently on the soft pelts, her body a beautiful contrast of warm, tan skin against the dark fur. He followed her down, positioning himself between her open, inviting thighs. He looked down at her, this incredible woman who had turned his entire world upside down. Her eyes were wide, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her body humming with a potent combination of satisfaction and renewed anticipation.

“Tulio,” she breathed, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “Now.”

He needed no further encouragement. He braced himself on his hands and slowly, deliberately, pushed into her. She was so warm, so wet, so incredibly tight. She gasped as he filled her, her body arching up to meet his, taking him deeper. He paused for a moment, letting them both savor the feeling of their joining, the incredible sensation of being one. He looked into her eyes and saw his own desperate longing reflected there. In that moment, there were no cons, no lies, no El Dorado. There was only Tulio and Chel.

He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that was both a claiming and a surrender. With every thrust, he felt the last of his worries and fears melt away, replaced by the all-consuming reality of Chel’s body moving with his. She matched his rhythm perfectly, her hips rising to meet his every push, her legs wrapped tightly around him, holding him captive. The sound of their bodies meeting, the soft sighs and moans that escaped their lips, filled the chamber, a raw and beautiful symphony of their passion.

He leaned down and kissed her, a deep, soul-searing kiss that spoke of all the things he couldn't put into words. Her hands roamed over his back, her nails scraping lightly over his skin, urging him on. He increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, more desperate. The pleasure was building into a tidal wave, a raging inferno that threatened to consume them both. He could feel Chel’s climax approaching, the way her inner muscles tightened around him, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Look at me, Chel,” he rasped, needing to see her, to be connected to her in this final, breathtaking moment.

Her eyes fluttered open, locking with his. They were dark, bottomless pools of pure sensation. Seeing her on the precipice, so completely undone by him, was the final push he needed. He drove into her one last time, deep and hard, and his world exploded in a blinding flash of white-hot pleasure. He cried out her name as his release flooded her, his body arching and shaking with the force of it. A second later, he felt her own climax wash over him, her body convulsing around his, her cry of ecstasy a beautiful, perfect echo of his own.

For a long time, they lay there, tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts gradually returning to a normal rhythm. He remained inside her, unwilling to break the connection. He gently brushed a stray strand of damp hair from her forehead, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. She smiled, a soft, languid expression of pure contentment. The playful, ambitious woman was still there, but now he could also see a softer, more vulnerable side of Chel, a side he felt privileged to have witnessed.

“So,” she murmured, her voice sleepy and satisfied, “what’s it like to be worshipped?”

Tulio chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. He rolled onto his side, pulling her with him so they were facing each other, still joined. He kissed the tip of her nose. “I think you have it backwards,” he said softly, his voice full of a warmth and sincerity that surprised even him. “Tonight, I was the one doing the worshipping.” And as he looked at the beautiful, clever, and passionate woman in his arms, the incredible treasure he had found in the heart of El Dorado, he knew he had never spoken a truer word in his entire life. The gold could wait. For now, he had Chel, and that was more than enough.