Chapter 31 #3
My palm brushes against the scratchy shadow of his beard.
The sensation ignites an awareness within me.
As I run my thumb along the pronounced contours of his high cheekbones, he leans into my touch, his sapphire eyes devouring me.
They glimmer like deep pools, and I find myself lost in them, captivated by how they shimmer with unspoken want.
“It’s real,” I mutter, not as a question, but as an understanding, an acknowledgment.
This magnetic pull between us transcends the Lumos Bond.
It’s a fulfillment of an ancient prophecy ordained by the gods themselves.
Usually, I would be terrified, instinctively wanting to run in the opposite direction, hating that once again my life is dictated by the gods’ plans, but right now, I simply can’t resist, and I don’t want to.
Acceptance floods my mind as an unexpected calm washes over me.
It’s real.
I’m unsure who moves first—maybe it’s me, perhaps him—but suddenly our noses are brushing, the whisper of shared breath hanging between us as if time has slowed.
Our lips are so tantalizingly close that it would only take a minuscule shift to close this insufferable distance.
His breath grazes my lips as he whispers my name.
“Soraea,” the sound so much like a prayer or maybe a desperate plea, as his hand moves to cup my neck, his fingers weaving through my hair, as his thumb brushes over a very sensitive spot on my neck. The intimacy of his touch tugs at something deep within me.
In that same heartbeat, I lean forward, letting our lips graze like they did at the resort.
I crave this connection, and as my eyes flutter closed, I feel a euphoric haze settle around me, my body coming alive with anticipation.
His lips brush against mine again, soft yet fervent, and I am swept away by the sweetness of it.
But just as I feel ready to surrender, he pulls away, a pained expression crossing his features.
“I really want to kiss you.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“Gods, I want to kiss you…” I see the longing and truth of that statement in his eyes, but he continues, brushing a hand down my shoulder, “but not like this.” The weight of his frustrating words hangs in the air.
“I don’t want our first real kiss to be tainted by this trauma. ”
The tension in his jaw reveals the restraint he’s forcing upon himself, as if he can’t believe his own words. I can’t argue with him. I want to kiss him desperately, yet I understand.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he chuckles softly.
His gaze is full of mischief and a searing heat as he leans in, his mouth brushing against my cheek.
“I plan on kissing you the moment you’re ready, but when I do,” my whole body erupts in goosebumps as his breath and lips brush over my cheek, “it won’t be soft or sweet, Princess. ”
A gasp, or maybe a moan, escapes my lips as he pulls away. A darker glimmer flickers in his gaze this time, and a seductive grin spreads across his lips.
“When I finally kiss you, Soraea, it will be a claiming. There won’t even be a hint of doubt about my intentions or feelings.” His promise sends a thrill coursing down my spine, setting my already heated core ablaze.
I shift slightly in his arms, my core brushing against his hips, and a knowing smirk curls at the corners of his mouth.
Just as I’m about to demand that kiss, my body betrays me as a pain I hadn’t noticed before, which feels like a stab wound at my hips, causing me to clutch his shirt in pain.
He swears under his breath, drawing me against him as he runs a soothing hand down my spine.
I can feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against my belly, but he’s right, I’m not ready.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” Anders teases. “That’s enough excitement for today.”
I mock gasp, half-heartedly slapping his chest, the pure strength of him beneath my palm igniting a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.
Just as I lean back on my hands again to catch my breath, the door swings open with a creak, and my father steps inside, his presence instantly commanding the room.
I immediately shoot up, sitting straight and attempting to wiggle free since Anders is still between my bare legs.
His annoyingly sturdy, impressive body doesn’t budge an inch.
Something like amusement flickers in my father’s gaze as I squirm, pushing at Anders; it almost makes me turn my stubborn glare on him.
He clears his throat, and Anders finally turns, keeping a possessive palm on my thigh as he stands beside where I’m still seated, shifting my thighs closed and crossing my ankles. Embarrassment floods my cheeks.
“Thank you, Prince Anders, for rescuing my daughter,” my father says genuinely. “But if you wouldn’t mind carrying her back to her bed, her mother would be extremely grateful for her return.”
I can hardly believe my ears. Did my father just say that? The man who should be storming in, demanding that Anders release me, is instead suggesting he carry me? My jaw drops in disbelief.
“Yes, your majesty.” Anders’ grin widens as he bows before effortlessly scooping me into his arms in one fluid motion. His audacity renders me both impressed and flustered.
My father holds the door open, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, while I sit stiffly and awkwardly in Anders’ arms.
“Relax,” Anders whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
But I can’t let go of my tension; instead, I press my lips into a tight line. If I had been caught in that position with anyone else, I’m not sure they would have survived my father’s wrath.
Anders chuckles softly at my discomfort, and for a moment, the atmosphere softens with amusement.
That moment dissipates faster than my next heartbeat when the door swings open.
Kellan sits at my bedside, his face pale, his eyes wide, as his gaze shifts from Anders’ arms around me to where my palm is flat on Anders’ chest.
The silence that follows is far worse than any shout.