Chapter 23 Azalea
Azalea
“So that drink?” Braxton nods towards the cart he has filled with a multitude of different liquors.
I slowly realize that my experience with alcohols outside of wine is slim, making me unaware of my tolerance for them.
“Right.” My eyes scan the variety of decanters, some are filled with completely clear liquids while others have a deep amber tone. “Why don’t you make me your poison of choice?” I give him a tight smile.
“Oh, I don’t plan on drinking.”
His smile tells me everything I need to know. Even if he hasn’t fully figured out my plan, he doesn’t trust me enough to drink alone with me.
“You’re going to make me drink by myself?” I ask not having to feign my annoyance. The entirety of this plan will crumble if I can’t get him to at least take a few sips of a drink while in this room.
“You drink alone every night at dinner.”
My brows wrinkle. “You drink at dinner as well.”
He shakes his head. “I only ever drink water. Think about it, Azalea, you’ve only ever seen me at my worst once.”
I plaster a fake smile on my face. “I wouldn’t say that,” I chirp coyly.
“You’ve only ever seen me drunk once.”
“Better.”
“That’s because I don’t drink.”
“Oh come on,” I dramatically toss myself into one of the oversized armchairs in his study, before crossing one leg over the other.
The skirt of the dress has a long slit up one of the sides, which causes it to fall away, leaving my bronzed legs on display.
He watches me unabashedly. “You won’t have one drink with me? ”
“Why is it so important for you that I drink.”
I curse myself internally. I’m trying too hard. Knowing I need to pull back, I feign nonchalance. “It’s not. I’ll take whatever drink you recommend.” I wave my hand at him uncaringly, trying to figure out how best to pivot my plan.
Huffing under my breath, I sit up straighter, the thin strap of my dress sliding down my shoulder in the process. Looping my thumb underneath the thin material, I push the strap back up, and when I look over, I see Braxton tracking my every move. There’s a borderline predatory edge in his eyes.
I scoot closer to the edge of the armchair as he walks up to me and holds out a glass full of an amber liquid and two cubes of ice.
I already know I’m going to hate this, but I smile and accept the drink anyway.
I wait for him to sit next to me, but watch as he instead walks toward the other chair that sits directly across from me.
Crossing one leg over the other, he clasps his hands together and stares at me, his body language screaming that it’s my move.
I slowly pull my thumb out from underneath the strap it was still looped through, before letting my fingers trail along the border of the sweetheart neckline of my dress.
If I can’t drug him, I can at least distract him while I think of what to do.
I delicately run my fingers back and forth, knowing his eyes will follow the movement and inadvertently keep him attentively staring at my chest.
“Are you trying to seduce me, Azalea?”
My heart thunders in my chest at how easily and accurately he’s able to read me. I momentarily ponder how far I’m willing to take this in order to slip this tonic to him before I wet my lips and push myself up from the chair, sauntering toward him.
“And what could I possibly have to gain from that?” I question, my voice coming out soft and low.
As I get closer he uncrosses his legs, an undeniable invitation.
Placing my hands behind him on the armchair, I slide my body until I’m hovering over him.
There’s a small amount of space between us as I hold myself up, keeping me from fully sitting on his lap.
That familiar sense of enticing power fills me when I notice his muscles grow taut against his black button-down shirt.
Flicking my gaze to his hand, I see his knuckles turn white from how hard he’s gripping the chair’s armrest.
“This is a dangerous game.” The gravel coating his voice has heat pooling in my core.
I soothe the guilt from my conscious reminding myself that this reaction is only happening because I’m starved for intimate touch.
It’s not a betrayal but a biological reaction.
Prince Braxton Carter is as handsome as he is hateful, so it would be physiologically impossible to be this close to him and not feel my skin heating.
His delicious scent envelopes me as he leans his body ever so slightly closer to mine.
He smells like a summer rainstorm and fresh linens, and it is far more intoxicating than any liquor.
I feel his fingers ghost along my thighs and have to suppress a shiver.
I curse my body and question if it really is my biggest traitor in all of this.
“Do you like games Braxton? Or only games you can win?” I make my voice sound like silk.
His eyes roam my face as he assesses me.
A look of what can only be described as disappointment lingers in his gaze.
Before I know what’s happening, his hand roughly grips my waist and forces me onto his lap.
As my body molds to his, I can feel the extent of the effects I’m having on him, and it takes every ounce of my self control not to roll my hips and feel more.
“And just how far are you willing to take this game, Wildflower?” His voice is a combination of disgust and lust as his jaw tenses and fingers flex on my waist almost to the point of pain.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s feeling the same way I am. He wants this. He really wants this, and he hates himself for it.
“What will you let me do to you?” He presses me further into his lap. I swallow my whimper at feeling his hardened length dig into the backs of my thighs.
Any form of a response becomes trapped in my throat as my heart clatters inside my chest. I’m desperately trying to think of anything other than the friction I so desperately need between my legs right now.
This isn’t how this is supposed to go. I need to seduce him.
The triumphant smile that once pressed my lips up has now transferred to his annoyingly stunning face.
“Will you let my hands roam along your body?” One of his hands remains planted on my hip as his other drifts down beyond the hem of my dress before gliding back up underneath it and gripping my calf.
I release a surprised gasp that I immediately wish I could take back when I see the wicked glint in his eyes.
I need to push him away. I need to put distance between us.
But Great Celestials curse me, I also need his hand to climb up higher.
Unable to back away from a challenge, especially from him, I lean my body closer into his, making sure to rub my ass along his hard cock as I do so. He lets out a low hiss, and his grip on my calf turns bruising.
“Will you let me kiss all along your body like the starved man that I am?” Reaching up, he firmly grasps my face, tilting it to one side as his lips brush along my neck.
I can’t stop myself from rolling my head back to grant him better access.
How could this feel so good? Why does this feel so good?
Why does this feel somewhat familiar? And most concerning of all, why does this feel right?
My legs involuntarily squeeze together as his words radiate a heat of pleasure right to the apex of my thighs. He pulls his face back to look at mine again. I can feel the flush filling my cheeks, and know that the desire dilating my pupils perfectly matches his.
“Will you let me run my fingers through your hair while you fall asleep on my chest?” The tenderness in his tone has me pausing.
It pulls me back to the present. That wasn’t a statement filled with lust, but with care, and that, for some reason, is enough to jar me out of whatever spell he has on me.
His eyes soften, and he looks at me like he’s seeing a ghost.
Just as suddenly as his touch went tender, he hardens it again. If I blinked I would have missed the care in his eyes, now leaving only the distrusting glare of a monster in its wake.
“Will you let me punish that pretty mouth the way it deserves?” He roughly runs his thumb along my lower lip, smearing my crimson lipstick in the process. I jump from his lap.
“You’re a pig!” I shout, any feelings of fiery desire evaporating into an inferno of anger. “Even if it would guarantee my freedom, I would never let you touch me,” I snap at him.
He stands from his chair, seeming completely unperturbed by my outburst. “You already did.”
My chest heaves at how casually he brushes his clothes off, as if he’s brushing the remnants of me from himself. I hate the embarrassment that colors my cheeks. “A lapse in judgment. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”
His dark eyes study me, a flicker of relief passing through his features.
“There you are,” he breathes. I watch his hand flex at his side as if wanting to reach out and touch me again.
Clenching my teeth, I take another step away from him, suddenly feeling cramped in this giant room.
“I thought I lost you.” He says these words so softly that it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself.
Confusion creases my forehead as I stare at him. “You never had me, nor will you ever have me,” I seethe.
He nods still assessing me. “Get out.” The command is harsh. Any warmth that was once in his tone, no matter how malicious it was, has been replaced with this cold bravado.
“With pleasure.” I sneer before stepping around him. What was I thinking, letting him get that close to me? I can feel every inch of where his hands touched me, and now I want nothing more than to scrub my skin raw.
“Oh, and Azalea.” His words reach my ears at the exact moment that I step outside of his study. I turn to find him walking toward the door, his fingers wrapping around the edge of it. “I suggest you don’t try to seduce me again in whatever this game is you’re playing.”
It’s a great effort to keep my expression neutral, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Because next time, I won’t stop you.” He leans closer to me, dropping his voice to a whisper. “In fact, next time, I’ll quench my budding curiosity in seeing exactly how far you will go.”
Curling my lip, I close the last bit of distance between us, making sure my body is pressed against his.
I bring my hands up to his sides and pull him even closer.
His eyes widen with the slightest hint of surprise, and I savor this moment of me catching him off guard.
I never take my eyes away from him as I spit out my next words.
“Take this moment to memorize what it feels like to have my body pressed against yours, Braxton, because I promise you, it won’t be happening again.”
Then, with as much strength as I can muster, I shove him away from me, turn on my heel, and stalk toward my bedroom.
It isn’t until I’m well out of Braxton’s sight, until I can’t feel his glare burning holes into the back of my neck anymore, that I unclench my fist and look down at the small key I snatched off of him. The key that will grant me access to his study.