Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 436. More Than Need
Rose reached up and tugged him closer, her other hand finding the back of his neck. Angel groaned softly—not the elegant kind—but the deep, aching one that said he'd been waiting too long to feel like this again.
She felt his coat slide from his shoulders, and he let it fall. Her hands were already on the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one—slowly—because she could. Because she wanted to draw it out, just to see how long he'd last before he lost control.
Angel was the kind of man who could command an army with a whisper. Who could silence an entire war council with a look. But here?
She had all the power.
He let her undo the last button. Let her peel the shirt away from his shoulders. Let her press her lips against the scar on his chest—the one he never let heal completely. The one that marked the end of his Asterian Prince.
His hand slid up under her dress, fingers trailing along the small of her back, then higher, until she was arching into him without even realizing it.
"Do you want this?" he whispered, voice barely audible, brushing against her throat.
Rose met his gaze.
And for once, she didn't use words.
She just nodded.
And pulled him down onto the couch with her.
Their bodies tangled in firelight. Clothes discarded in slow, maddening layers. Her gown pooling around her hips. His hands on her thighs, her waist, her ribs—like he was memorizing her again.
Not the queen. Not the soldier.
Just Rose.
He kissed her like a promise.
She kissed him like a challenge.
And somewhere in the hush of the parlor, they stopped being rulers, and started being themselves again.
Angel buried his face in her neck as she gasped his name.
Her hands clutched at his back, fingers splayed against muscle pulled tight from restraint.
His pace slowed—not from hesitation, but intention. Drawing the moment out. Savoring the tension.
Then he looked at her.
Really looked.
Not as a king.
Not as a ruler trying to control a kingdom wrapped in old curses and political chaos.
But as a man.
Tangled in the silk-soft folds of her dress.
Half-naked on a couch they weren't supposed to use this way.
The air between them pulsed with heat, the faint scent of smoke and jasmine curling around their bodies. The firelight threw golden shadows across the elegant fabric pooled beneath her hips. Her dress was half undone. His shirt was already discarded somewhere behind them, lost between velvet cushions and royal impulse.
Their breaths came fast.
Their mouths swollen from kissing too hard, too deep, too long.
But that wasn't what caught Rose's attention.
It was his eyes.
Still sharp. Still shadowed like always. But something had changed.
She'd seen those eyes across a war table. She'd seen them when he issued execution orders with a voice like frost. She'd seen them when he stood before a crowd, a quiet monster in control of everything.
But now?
Now those same eyes were fixed only on her.
And they looked… hungry.
More than lust.
More than need.
Possessive.
Like some part of him had finally decided this was his—she was his—and everything else could burn.
The firelight curled around their limbs like a veil of heat, tracing the curves of sweat-slicked skin and casting them in gold and shadow. Her dress was twisted beneath her hips, his belt long forgotten under the couch, and their bodies pressed so close that breath became indistinguishable from desire.
His head tilted back slightly. The control cracked.
A low groan escaped from deep in his throat—raw and guttural—as he reached his release. It wasn't polished. It wasn't regal. It was real. The sound of a man breaking free for a breathless moment from the crown he wore like a chain.
And just as he fell into her, just as his chest trembled and his mouth found her throat—
She sighed.
Right in front of his ear.
A soft, drawn-out sound like silk dragging across skin. Sweet and low and tired. A melody meant for no one but him.
It lingered there, in the space between noise and heartbeat. Like a reward. Like a tether pulling him back down from whatever cliff he just fell from.
And it was perfect.
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