CHAPTER 345: CHAPTER 345: BECAUSE, YOU KNOW... THIS WAS ALL JUST A JOKE

The air between them was thick—too thick.

Kian’s face hovered close, and the usual icy calm he carried had fractured into something darker, heavier. His gaze wasn’t merely steady—it was hungry, as though he’d gotten lost in a place he rarely allowed himself to go. Lost in her. Lost in lust.

And Isabella? She knew it. She felt it. Every nerve in her body screamed with the intensity of his stare, and for once her dramatic mouth didn’t know what to do.

So, of course, she did the only thing Isabella ever did when things got too serious—she started talking.

Her lips curved into a small, sweet smile, and her voice softened into that honeyed, coaxing tone she always used when she wanted to wiggle her way out of trouble. "Um... is it too late to say I’m sorry? Because, you know... this was all just a joke, I might have taken too far."

The words tumbled out quickly, almost too quickly, like a shield she was desperately trying to hold up against his burning gaze.

Kian didn’t even blink. His eyes narrowed slightly, disapproving, and when he finally spoke, his tone was deep, steady, and laced with reprimand. "I do not joke like that, Isabella."

The way he said her name—it rolled over her skin like a command, like he was daring her to try him again.

Her heart did a flip, but she pasted on a bright, nervous smile. "I know, I know, I know..." she rushed, her words tripping over themselves. Then, with a playful tilt of her head, her eyes locked on his, refusing to look away. She held the silence just long enough to make it daring before adding, softly but deliberately: "...papi."

The corner of her lips twitched upward as she delivered the word like a dagger wrapped in sugar.

Kian’s eyes flashed. His chest rose and fell once, sharp, before he let out a long, heavy sigh. It wasn’t annoyance—it was restraint, the kind that took every ounce of control not to snap.

"You need to be punished," he murmured at last, his voice so low it vibrated through her bones.

Isabella’s giggle bubbled out instantly, high-pitched and delighted. She leaned back slightly, trying to create space, but the warmth radiating off his body was still wrapped around her. "Fine, fine," she said quickly, eyes dancing with mischief. "I won’t take it too far next time." She paused for dramatic flair, then grinned wider. "Well... maybe I will. Because—"

Her voice dropped into a whisper, wicked and teasing, her breath brushing the space between them. "—because I do want to be fucked by you."

Her cheeks flamed, but the words slipped out anyway, betraying her.

Kian’s eyes darkened further, his composure cracking one thread at a time. She saw it—the twitch in his jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils, the way his fingers flexed like he needed to ground himself.

And Isabella? Instead of shutting up like any sane woman would, she doubled down.

She pulled back just a fraction, enough to give herself breathing room, and raised her brows at him with mock innocence. "But not now," she whispered, tilting her head toward him as though it were a secret just for him. "Not like this."

Her gaze flicked away from his face, landing on the floor nearby.

Glimora.

The mythical white beast sat at their feet, staring up at them like she had just witnessed the downfall of civilization. Her bright blue eyes were wide, unblinking, filled with unfiltered judgment

.

Isabella blinked back at her, then slowly pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. The poor fluffball’s little jaw was practically slack with shock, and if a beast could look disgusted, Glimora absolutely did.

The realization hit Isabella like a splash of cold water: their entire... whatever-this-was... had been witnessed.

She bit her bottom lip, cheeks pink, and turned her gaze back up at Kian with a sheepish grin.

"Not while she’s watching," Isabella whispered, almost conspiratorial, nodding at Glimora.

Glimora huffed loudly, her fluffy body puffing up even more as if to say, damn right not while I’m watching.

And Isabella giggled, the sound light and playful, though her pulse was still racing, her throat still tight.

The golden light of morning poured through the stone windows, warm and sharp, catching the edges of Kian’s face. He hadn’t spoken for a while, not a word, not even one of his usual cold reprimands. Isabella finally turned, expecting his disapproving stare, only to freeze.

He wasn’t looking at her.

He was staring at her lips.

Her heart thudded, hard enough to rattle through her ribs. The way his gaze lingered—heavy, unblinking—she knew instantly what was coming. She could already feel the weight of it in the air. There was no clever joke, no sweet little word she could slip in now to dodge it.

Her breath hitched. "Kian?" she whispered, so soft it was almost a plea.

But he didn’t answer. He didn’t even blink.

Because Kian was gone—completely lost.

His hand moved first, brushing against her jaw, so lightly it was almost nothing, and then his thumb ghosted across the corner of her mouth. The touch sent a shiver darting down her spine, heat sparking where his skin grazed hers.

And then, slowly, achingly slowly, he leaned in.

Her lips parted without permission, her chest tightening with every fraction of space he stole. His eyes dropped lower, still locked on her mouth as if the entire world had narrowed to that single point.

The first kiss was barely there—soft, fleeting, the kind of kiss that felt stolen rather than given. Just a whisper of warmth brushing against her lips. Her breath trembled out, shaky, surprised.

The second came before she could recover, deeper, firmer, though still careful. A test. His mouth pressed against hers with a hunger he was trying desperately to cage.

Her hand found the front of his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. She didn’t push him away. She couldn’t. Instead, she pulled, just enough that he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

Kian inhaled sharply against her lips, and then all restraint shattered.

His arm circled her waist, dragging her closer, until their bodies collided with a force that stole her breath. She gasped against him, only for him to catch the sound with his mouth, kissing her deeper, rougher now, as though he’d starved for this and finally broken his fast.

Her knees weakened under the sheer weight of it. She didn’t even know when her balance tipped, but suddenly she was straddling him, perched right on his lap. His hands gripped her waist firmly, anchoring her in place as if he couldn’t risk her pulling away.

The shift made her gasp, and he caught it with his mouth, deepening the kiss until her head spun. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, clutching him for balance, but she wasn’t trying to escape—she was holding on like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.

She broke the kiss for only a second, just enough to breathe, her lips swollen, her chest heaving. He stared up at her, blue eyes darkened into something molten, something that could burn her alive.

She didn’t look away. She couldn’t.

Then she kissed him again, hard this time, greedy, desperate. His hand slid into her hair, threading through the strands, guiding her mouth against his until she forgot where she ended and he began. Her nails dug into his shoulders, dragging against the muscle there as if clawing her way deeper into him.

A sound escaped him—low, guttural, pulled from somewhere in his chest—and it only made her kiss him harder.

The world spun, blurred, disappeared. There was nothing but his mouth against hers, the press of his body beneath her, the heat coiling in her stomach like wildfire.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

The door creaked, wood groaning against stone.

Neither of them moved—at least not until Glimora’s sharp intake of breath cut through the haze.