Barracks (War of Hearts)

31- Ordinarily

His amusement dances in the curve of his brow, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Is that so? Is that what you think? That I won't ever kill you or that I don't want to?" His words hang in the charged air, a dangerous game of truth and provocation.

I swallow my insecurity, refusing to back down. "I am positive. You wouldn't dare hurt me. You said we are friends." The declaration is both defiance and vulnerability, a fragile thread I cling to.

"I thought you said you didn't want to be," he counters, his touch tentative as he caresses my jaw. A whirlwind of emotions churns within me—fear, desire, anger—all colliding at once. My knees wobble, and I wonder when the ground beneath me became so treacherous. 

I wanted to hate him, I admit silently but with one glance, he sweeps me off my feet.

His fingers trace patterns on my skin, and I close my eyes, surrendering to the pull. Aldaire is dangerous my rational side warns. But my heart rebels, craving more even as logic protests. Xavier, the safer choice, waits in the wings. At least with him, I'd know where I stand.

When I open my eyes, Aldaire's gaze locks onto mine, lustful and unyielding. "You should stay away from me," he murmurs, but it's as if he's trying to convince himself, not me.

"I think I should do that exact same thing," I reply, my resolve faltering. The room crackles with tension, a charged silence. I silence my inner skeptic, waiting for him to make the first move. He's always known how to unravel me, from that mountain encounter to this very moment. Perhaps it isn't him I loathe, I realize, but myself.

"You should." His hand descends, tracing the curve of my cleavage, and this time, I don't stop him. "I have missed you so much," he confesses, and the room tilts on its axis. 

The room pulses with tension, a clandestine dance between desire and danger. His eyes, a tempest of secrets, lock onto mine. 

"I've always been here."

"Not where I want you to be."

"What about Stefani?" I tease, my voice a fragile thread. Jealousy simmers beneath my skin, a forbidden emotion. My logical side has abandoned ship, leaving me adrift in this treacherous sea of longing.

His grin is a wicked promise. His hand, warm and possessive, slides lower. Every cell in my body screams for him, but I want to savor every delicious inch of this torment.

"Are you jealous?" he murmurs, his touch igniting sparks along my spine. I lie, my denial a flimsy shield against the wildfire raging within.

He steps closer, and the air thickens. His other hand traces my back, branding me with invisible ink. Then he yanks me toward him, and my heart thunders like a war drum. His lips curve at my reaction. "Leizabeth," he whispers, "don't fall for me."

His words ricochet off my defenses. I should etch them into my bones as a warning, but there's no room for caution now. "I shall not, your highness," I reply, my voice a fragile tether.

"Good." His lips descend, achingly slow. Seconds stretch into eternity as they brush mine. Desire blooms, consuming me. I ache for more, for his mouth to plunder mine, for his touch to unravel me.

He hums against my lips, and I'm lost. His breath is ambrosial, intoxicating. "But I cannot bring myself to harm you," he confesses.

I want to silence him, to drown his words in kisses. Actions speak louder, after all. But I'm drowning in him, in this exquisite ache. "So you use Stefani," I accuse, frustration bubbling. "To lull your needs?"

He smirks, a dangerous predator. "Maybe," he murmurs. "But you're the one who unravels me, Leizabeth."

Consequences be damned. I'll deal with them later. For now, I'll drown in the storm of his kiss, surrendering to the tempest that threatens to shatter us both.