"Do you wanna cuddle?"
My brain short-circuits.
Like actually blue screen.
He says it with his eyes closed.
Like it's casual.
Like he didn't just wreck my nervous system for the last twenty-four hours.
I look at him.
Still eyes shut.
Still unfairly good.
Face relaxed.
Lips slightly parted.
Why do his lips look like that when he's not even trying?
I swallow.
"Why?" It comes out softer than I planned. Almost a whisper.
He exhales slowly, like I'm exhausting but entertaining.
"Because," he says lazily, "I am tired, you are dramatic, and this bed is big enough for both of us to pretend we don't want each other."
I blink.
That… is not a normal answer.
A smile tries to escape me.
I fight it.
Fail.
He smiles too.
Still eyes closed.
Like he feels it.
"Don't make me beg too much, Arshila," he murmurs. "I'm tired."
"You didn't even beg."
A pause.
Then, without opening his eyes, "Should I stay on my knees?"
My stomach drops.
Heat crawls up my neck instantly.
I look at his mouth.
That was a mistake.
Full.
Soft-looking.
Shut up.
Would he?
The thought slips out before I can stop it.
"Would you?"
His eyes open slowly now.
Dark.
Focused.
"For you?" His voice lowers. "Anything, my love."
Fuck.
That hits way too clean.
Blush creeps up my face and I hate it.
He sees it.
Of course he does.
I want to cuddle him so badly it's embarrassing.
I want to slide into his chest and pretend I don't think about murder confessions and dead men and secrets.
But if I admit it?
My pride is already halfway packed in his private jet.
So I cross my arms.
"I don't want to."
Silence.
Then that slow smirk.
"Just like you are a terrible actress," he says calmly, "you are also a terrible liar."
I kick him.
Harder than I mean to.
He wasn't ready.
He actually falls off the bed.
There's a loud thud.
I gasp so loud I cover my own mouth.
Holy shit.
I did not expect that.
He's on the floor.
Staring at the ceiling.
Processing.
"Ouch," he mutters. "What is this behavior, wife?"
I burst out laughing.
I can't stop it.
He looks offended.
Which makes it worse.
Then suddenly he moves.
Fast.
In one smooth motion he's up and pushing me back onto the mattress.
I bounce slightly.
Air leaves my lungs.
And now he's hovering over me.
Shirtless.
Close.
Too close.
His arms planted on either side of me.
Chest inches from mine.
Skin warm.
I have the most inappropriate urge to get on my knees for him.
My brain is unwell.
"You have the nerve to kick a Tavarian?" he asks, voice low.
I smirk up at him.
"Why? Tavarians don't get kicked?"
His smirk sharpens.
This one is darker.
Cleaner.
"We don't get kicked," he says quietly. "We kick."
I raise an eyebrow.
"How about women?"
His gaze shifts slightly.
Not soft.
Not weak.
Intent.
"Women are queens, babe," he says. "We don't touch them."
I laugh.
"Good answer."
He doesn't laugh.
He just looks at me.
Really looks at me.
And something shifts.
The air thickens.
Charged.
His eyes move slowly over my face.
My mouth.
My neck.
Not rushed.
Deliberate.
My heart starts acting stupid again.
His thumb brushes my jaw lightly.
"Careful," he murmurs. "You're testing your luck."
"With what?" I whisper back.
"With me."
I swallow.
He leans closer.
Our noses almost touch.
"You kick me again," he says softly, "and I might decide to keep you under me for the rest of the afternoon."
My breath stutters.
"Threatening me?"
"Promising."
God.
I try to roll my eyes but it doesn't land.
"Move, Zayan."
I say it like I mean it.
Like I'm not currently pinned under a shirtless problem with dark eyes and a smirk that should be illegal.
He doesn't move.
Not even a centimeter.
Not even a flicker.
He just looks at me like I just asked him to hand me the remote instead of surrendering the upper hand.
"Do you really want me to?" he asks quietly.
His voice isn't loud.
It doesn't need to be.
It sits low in his throat and wraps around my spine.
I glare at him.
"If you don't," I say sweetly, "next time I'm aiming for your balls."
There's a beat.
A pause.
Then his mouth curves.
Slow.
Interested.
"I'd like to see you try."
Oh.
Oh you arrogant—
Heat rushes up my body so fast it's embarrassing.
I can feel it on my face.
My neck.
Everywhere.
I hate that he sees it.
I hate that he knows exactly what he's doing.
I shove both my hands against his chest.
Hard.
I expect at least some resistance.
Some shift.
Nothing.
He doesn't move an inch.
Not even a breath.
His chest is solid under my palms.
Warm.
Firm.
Rock hard.
I push again.
Nothing.
He looks down at my hands like they're cute.
Cute.
"You done?" he asks mildly.
"Shut up."
I push again, harder this time, like I can physically bully him off me.
His body doesn't budge.
Not even a fucking tremble.
He tilts his head slightly.
That analyzing look.
That dangerous almost-amused thing.
"You know," he says, voice calm, "you're stronger when you're angry. It's impressive."
"I am trying to remove you."
"Mm. I can tell."
Bastard.
I press my palms harder into his chest and for half a second my brain betrays me and registers how good he feels under my hands.
Solid.
Warm.
Alive.
This is not helping.
"Get off."
"Make me."
He leans a little closer.
Just enough.
His face inches from mine.
His forearm flexes beside my head and I notice the vein along his skin and that is not information I need right now.
My breath tightens.
He notices.
Of course he notices.
He always notices.
"You're breathing differently," he says quietly.
"I'm annoyed."
He hums.
"Does annoyance usually make your pupils look like that?"
I swear to God.
"You are so full of yourself."
"And you are very bad at pretending."
He lowers his face slowly.
Not rushed.
Not dramatic.
Just controlled.
Measured.
Like he knows I won't move.
Like he knows I can't.
Our noses almost brush.
I hold my breath without meaning to.
Idiot.
Why am I holding my breath.
Breathe.
Be normal.
His breath hits my chin.
Warm.
Slow.
My stomach tightens.
If he kisses me right here I'm done.
Actually done.
Brain gone.
Pride evaporated.
I shut my eyes.
I don't even know why.
Defense mechanism.
Coward move.
Whatever.
His lips don't touch mine.
Instead—
His mouth shifts.
Lower.
Closer to my ear.
"You don't wanna cuddle, huh?" he whispers.
His breath spills against the sensitive skin under my ear and my entire body reacts like it's been plugged into something.
I hate how immediate it is.
I hate how obvious.
My fingers twitch against his chest.
His lips hover there.
Not touching.
Just there.
Close enough to make my brain short-circuit.
I should say something.
Anything.
A threat.
An insult.
A joke.
Nothing comes out.
His teeth graze my earlobe.
Light.
Testing.
A warning.
My body jerks before I can stop it.
Heat floods down my spine.
Fuck.
He knows.
He absolutely knows.
"Zayan—"
My voice breaks slightly and I want to die.
His hand shifts near my waist but doesn't grab.
He doesn't need to.
He has me exactly where he wants me.
"You were so confident a minute ago," he murmurs against my ear. "Talking about aiming."
His teeth catch my earlobe this time.
Not hard.
But deliberate.
A slow bite.
Fuck.