"If only you knew how you made me feel," Ryu roughly whispered to her with his lips in close contact with her right ear, "What that outfit did to me," he pressed himself against her while her chest hit the door; his growing manhood possessively swelling against her plumb ass.
****
(Xenroth's POV)
I shouldn't be here.
Not in my room with him naked on my bed. Not tangled in silk sheets that had started to smell like him; dark spice and something purely seductive. An enchanting sweetness that made my head spin, yet I could feel its toxic undertones beneath the surface. His scent was like a whispered promise of danger, a temptation I knew better than to indulge in. But here I was, caught in his trap, my back arched, fingers digging into his muscled back.
His mouth was hot against my throat, trailing down, sending a pulse of heat through my veins. His hands, large and commanding, gripped my wide hips like he wanted to brand me with his touch, marking me in a way I could never escape.
This is reckless.
This is wrong.
And yet, despite the voice of reason screaming in the back of my mind, I couldn't stop. I couldn't pull away. Every part of me, every fiber in my being, was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
We had only met yesterday.
The second day of diplomacy greetings had been just as unbearable as the first. Our families had spent hours exchanging pleasantries, their fake smiles and forced politeness so thick it was suffocating. But the moment I sat at the table, my gaze had landed on him—Ryuin, the first heir of the Night Kingdom.
He hadn't even tried to hide his disdain for me. His eyes, dark as midnight, had skimmed over my figure with barely concealed mockery, while his lips twisted into that arrogant, almost smug smirk. He was just as insufferable as I'd heard. He treated every conversation like a game, each word wrapped in veiled insults, every sentence laced with the kind of poison that made my blood boil.
And I had thrown it all back at him with equal venom. The unspoken challenge between us had been palpable, thick enough to cut through the air. We had both known that it was only a matter of time before things escalated.
After dinner, after the nobles and royals had retreated to their chambers, I couldn't help myself. I had followed him. Or perhaps he had led me here, knowing exactly how to draw me in, how to twist the tension between us until it became unbearable.
It didn't matter.
Because now, in my room, everything was different. The power dynamic had shifted. His dark velvet eyes locked onto mine, unwavering, daring me to regret this, daring me to step back.
But I couldn't.
I didn't want to.
His hand slid between my parted thighs, and I shuddered at the contact, even though my body had already betrayed me. He teased, drawing circles with his fingertips, tormenting me in the way only someone like him could. Every brush of his skin against mine felt like an electric current, jolting through my veins, pulling me deeper into the web he was weaving around me.
I tried to suppress the involuntary moan that threatened to escape my lips, but it was impossible. His mouth crushed against mine, deep and punishing, claiming me in a way that made my thoughts scatter. I couldn't focus on anything but him. The weight of his body against mine, the roughness of his hands, the alluring taste of his kiss.
I could feel the clash of our emotions in every touch. He hated me. I hated him. And yet… there was something so damned addictive about this. Something that felt too good to deny, too impossible to resist. The hatred between us only fueled the fire, made everything more intense, more urgent.
He grinned against my lips, and I could hear the smugness in his voice as he whispered between kisses, "You always play the good princess, don't you? But deep down, I know what you really want."
"Shut up," I breathed, even though my body was betraying me. My fingers dug deeper into his back, feeling the solid muscles hidden beneath his clothes in the breath of day, as if I were trying to tear him apart. His moon pale skin shifting between life colours and pain. But he didn't flinch. He didn't back down. Instead, he pressed harder into me, rolling his hips against mine, his body a furnace against the coolness of mine.
His lips moved lower, his breath hot against my skin as he left a trail of burning kisses down my neck. I gasped, arching into him, feeling his hardness press into me. It was too much.
Too much heat, too much pressure, too much everything.
"Say it," he murmured, his voice low, thick with hunger. "Tell me you need this."
I wanted to fight it. I wanted to push him away, to scream at him, to tell him that I wasn't his. But I couldn't. The words caught in my throat, and all I could do was whimper when he ground his hips into mine, sending a wave of pleasure crashing through me.
"Say it," he insisted again, his hand slipping to my chest and exchanging an equal grip on each breast while the other's fingers teasing the edge of my skin.
I hate him. I hate him so much.
But the words didn't come.
Instead, I pulled him closer, my body a desperate, needy thing that couldn't get enough of him. My hands slipped to his chest and abs, feeling the heat of his skin, the smoothness of his muscles, the hardness of his body pressing against mine.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
I wasn't supposed to give in.
But every time his lips touched mine, every time he whispered my name in that dark, possessive tone, I was drowning in him. I wanted to fight, I wanted to push him away, but my body betrayed me, craving him in a way I couldn't understand.
He chuckled softly, a sound full of satisfaction, as though he had already won. And perhaps he had.
"Mmmm yes," I whispered, my voice barely audible, the words escaping before I could stop them.
But he didn't need any divine intervention. He was already in control.
And that only made this feel even better.