The King's Prey

Chapter 21 | Brazen

Anaxiphilla • [ann-ax-a-fill-e-ah]
The act of falling in love with the wrong person.

꧁ ꧂

~ Anastasia ~

I'm falling.

I'm falling so fucking hard.

And I haven't even hit the damn ground yet.

Within seconds, the delicate parts of Samuel's mouth become rough and grow wild. Eager with a craving I can't express, I plunge into the feeling of his lips on mine. Into the fervor. Into the taste of him. Into pure heaven and hell.

God, the taste of him.

It's like smoke and honey—like sweetness saturated in his brazen nature. It's fucking exhilarating. I've never felt anything like it before. The sides of my face find their way between his palms as he wraps his fingers around my neck, holding me close. My hands in turn grip the front of his shirt, clenching tighter when his tongue caresses my parted lips.

I open willingly for him.

Tongues colliding, a soft moan swells through me and enters his mouth, eliciting a groan through his own throat. We kiss like we've been starved from the taste of each other our entire lives. I'd be lying if I said the wine I drank earlier didn't entice me to explore him further. I've never been intertwined with someone like this. The petty kisses I experienced throughout my adolescence with Upper Sector boys could never compare to this entanglement.

One callused hand finds its way to the nape of my neck as the other wraps around my waist. Samuel's fingers brush the hem of my sweater up, his bare touch a chilling sensation. I gasp as they travel against the length of my spine, pressing flat against my back once they reach its center.

No longer do I care how reckless this is—how stupid I am for allowing him to touch the parts of me most don't get to. My mouth opens further, dancing into his dark abyss. His grip against my back solidifies, and suddenly I'm yanked to the edge of the counter, our chests colliding. A sharp breath escapes my lungs as my breasts press against his hard chest, finding warmth and pleasure there.

I wonder for a moment if my craze for his touch is a result of being stuck in this damn house. If it wasn't, any sane person would surely consider this idiotic. Foolish. Senseless. But a part of me knows it's greater than insanity. It's lust. It's fucking desire. It's the feeling of being wanted. It's the kind of heartache only he can fix. And it's as if all the agonizing seconds of our lives are converging into this singular, inexplicable feeling.

Samuel is the first to gain a sense of composure. The kiss slows into a gentle rhythm, our tongues eventually separating as he pulls his mouth away enough to be able to speak. Or to breathe. Both are valid reasons to find a break from our collision, either way.

With still-closed eyes, I will a trembling hand to release from his dark shirt, letting it reach the middle of his chest—the part of him heaving uncontrollably. The pound of his heart against my palm enlivens me, telling me he feels the same way. I can barely fathom these newfound emotions with the rush that continues to consume my blood and bones—the thrill of him.

More seriously, I can barely comprehend the severity of our choices that led to this moment. How we got here.

Samuel releases the nape of my neck, brushing the pads of his fingers against my cheeks. It commands me to tilt my head up, finding kaleidoscopic blues meeting my eyes. I shudder when his thumb traces my bottom lip.

A slight grin curves the corners of his lips.

"You're so reactive," he says, his voice thick and sultry. I shudder again unwillingly and Samuel chuckles deeply in response.