26
1752 Words
CELESTE
When we got home from the banquet, I made a beeline for my room. My heels were already half off when…
“Running away already, Celeste?” Knox stopped me in a rough, teasing, and infuriatingly confident tone that only he could manage.
I froze mid-step, fingers tightening on the banister. I didn’t turn around, but I could feel his stare and a smug smile probably curving his mouth.
“I’m tired,” I said flatly, reaching for the hallway.
“You mean you’re pretending again.” He laughed softly.
That made me turn. “What do you mean by pretending?” I snapped.
He was leaning casually against the wall, still in his suit. His tie was loosened, his shirt open at the throat. Damn it, I hated how unfairly beautiful he looked like that. His eyes glittered with challenge.
“You’ve been pretending not to want me all night.” He mused.
My pulse skipped. “Excuse me?”
He pushed off the wall and closed the distance between us. “You think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me across the room or the way your breath hitched every time I touched your wrist.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You wanted me, Celeste.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “You’re imagining things.”
He smirked. “Am I? You nearly kissed me at the banquet. You were shaking when I touched you.”
My throat went dry. He was right, but he didn’t know how right he was. I had been ready to give in. Even now, I could still feel the ghost of his breath against my skin. If not for that timely interruption, I would have kissed him. My heart thundered as I forced a scoff.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Alpha,” I snapped. “I had a lot to drink tonight.”
His eyes darkened. “You weren’t drunk,” he said softly. “You were aroused.”
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. To cover the tremor in my chest, I tossed my hair back and said,
“So what now? Is the honeymoon over since I won our little game?”
His smile widened. “You didn’t win.”
“Excuse me?”
“I canceled the game, remember?” he said, stepping close enough that his scent filled my lungs. “And for the record, the only way either of us wins… is if we both do.”
“What does that even mean?” I frowned, confused and annoyed in equal measure.
“It means,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from my cheek, “we are grown adults and are no longer stuck in the petty competitions we had as kids, sweetheart. We are now in a partnership. If one of us loses, we both do.”
“Spare me the poetic Alpha talk.” I sneered. “You don’t know the first thing about partnership.”
“Well, I know that our marriage is a partnership and that a partnership only works when both sides rise together.” He shrugged.
I scowled. “You and your cryptic philosophies.”
He chuckled. “You’d rather I keep teasing you?”
“Anything’s better than you acting like some enlightened monk.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m anything but a monk.” He wiggled his brows suggestively.
My cheeks burned. Anger flared within me. I hated him. I hated how he always found a way to drive me to the brink of losing my mind.
“Why do you think you can just walk around saying things like that and expect me to—” I stopped myself before the words flew out.
“Expect you to do what?” He smirked.
“Expect me to melt every time you open your damn mouth!” My voice rose before I could stop it.
His expression changed, and he nodded.
“So it works. My words make you melt. How much? Tell me how badly they affect you, sweetheart.”
“You arrogant—” I gasped, then stopped myself again.
“Say it,” he pushed. “Say what you’re really thinking.”
“Fine!” I exploded. “I’m thinking you’re impossible! You twist everything around until I feel like I’m the crazy one! You push and prod until I can’t think straight, and then you act like you’re the victim!”
“You done?” He crossed his arms, jaw tight, but lips still curved slightly.
“No!” The words poured out faster now. “You think this is all some kind of game, but you don’t get to play with me like you play with your little pack projects! You’ve made me doubt myself. You and this foolish bond thrumming beneath my skin have made me feel something I didn’t ask for. You—”
My eyes widened in realization of what I’d just confessed. His hand shot out, and he pulled me into his arms in fluid movement.
“Is that all?” he rasped. “Tell me everything, sweetheart.”
I glared up at him, chest heaving. “I want you to let me go.”
“Liar.”
I laughed, breathlessly. “You’re delusional.”
“I agree.” He tugged me closer. “But you’re trembling in my arms again.”
I realized too late that he was right. My pulse was pounding against his fingertips.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“No, you don’t.” His smile faded into something darker.
The world tilted. One moment I was glaring, the next his mouth was on mine. The kiss exploded between us.
I pushed at his chest, then pulled him closer. He growled against my lips, and my knees nearly buckled. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was years of tension, fury, and something far more dangerous. Every ounce of anger, denial, and heat between us combusted. His mouth was fire and dominance and desperation, and I matched him. My fury and want tangled so tightly I couldn’t tell them apart. I clutched at his shirt, nails digging into the muscle beneath, while his hands cupped my jaw, holding me still like I might vanish if he let go.
When I finally tore away, gasping, my lips felt bruised, my pulse raced, and I hated that I wanted more.
Knox’s eyes were molten gold, breathing hard. “Celeste”
“Shut up.” My voice shook. “Just… don’t.”
We stood panting and wrecked by something neither of us could take back.
I turned away first. “I’m going to bed.”
“But…” He started. I shut him up with a death glare and hurried away.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He said quietly.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his mouth on mine, his hands gripping my waist, the sound of my name breaking from his lips. My wolf was restless and howling for him.
By morning, I was a mess. I was still awake and tangled in sheets that somehow smelled faintly of him. When I finally dragged myself to breakfast, Knox was already there, leaning casually against the counter, coffee in hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Morning,” he said without looking up.
I grunted something unintelligible and made a beeline for coffee. It was after I took several sips that I realized how frustrated I was that he didn’t seem to be suffering like I was.
“You’re acting very calm for someone who—” I blurted.
He raised a brow. “For someone who what?”
“You know what?”
“I know we kissed,” he said smoothly. “And that you kissed me back.”
I almost dropped my mug. “You’re an arrogant mutt.”
He grinned. “You said that last night, too.”
“Morrison!” I snapped.
“Relax, sweetheart.” He set his cup down and crossed the room. “You’re overthinking again.”
“I’m not overthinking,” I snapped, stepping back as he approached. “I’m trying to make sense of—”
“Of wanting me?”
“I don’t want you.” I inhaled sharply.
He was close now, too close, his breath teasing my neck. “You can’t fight this, Celeste. The bond’s there. Might as well stop pretending.”
My pulse hammered.
I glared at him, but the words refused to come. He pulled out my chair, casual as ever.
“Breakfast?”
I sat because my legs refused to obey any other command.
The meal was torture. Every time I lifted my cup, his fingers brushed mine. Every time he leaned close to say something, his lips ghosted near my ear, leaving sparks in their wake.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” I hissed when he reached for the butter, hand grazing mine again.
“Doing what?” His tone was all innocence.
“Touching me.”
He smirked. “Maybe I just like seeing you flustered.”
“I’m not flustered.”
“Right,” he murmured, “and I’m not tempted.”
I froze. Every nerve in my body lit up. His eyes burned with amusement as he waited for my reply.
“Eat your breakfast,” I muttered.
He straightened, smirking. “Yes, Luna.”
I pretended to ignore the way the title made my stomach flip.
“Sleep well?” he asked, eyes flicking up still glinting with mischief.
“Perfectly,” I lied.
“Good,” he said. “You looked restless last night.”
I choked on my coffee. “You were watching me?”
He smiled. “You talk in your sleep.”
“I do not.”
“You said my name.”
“I—what—no, I didn’t.”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, voice dipping. “You moaned it.”
“Morrison!”
“Relax, Celeste. I’m teasing.” He laughed.
“Keep it up,” I warned, “and maybe I’ll stab you with this fork.”
“Oh, I’d like that,” he murmured. “I’d still say it’s worth it.”
I had to stop myself from smacking my forehead. To make it worse, my body was still tingling in excitement, and I could feel myself getting aroused again. Hurriedly, I rushed away before he caught the scent.
- Writer
