Chapter 392: Chapter 392: You really don’t hold back, do you?
The stone chamber was quiet. Too quiet.
Only the faint hiss of rain outside filled the silence, its rhythm tapping against the palace walls, whispering like a secret neither of them dared to voice. The torches along the carved walls flickered in protest, shadows stretching and shrinking with every crackle of flame.
Isabella stood in the middle of it, wrapped in Kian’s cloak. It was far too big for her, the lion pelt draped heavy over her slim frame, dragging across the stone floor. Her golden hair clung damply to her cheeks, her lips tinted with that natural color that drove men insane without her even trying. She looked like sin dressed in silk and wet fur.
And the man staring at her—the one and only Lion King—looked like he wanted to devour her whole.
But Kian didn’t move. He hadn’t since bringing her here. He stood tall, rigid, shoulders squared, his piercing blue eyes locked on her like prey. His jaw was clenched, the muscle there ticking as if every ounce of him was straining against himself.
Isabella tilted her head, lips twitching into a smirk. Oh, so that was how he wanted to play it? Silent? Intense? Pretending she didn’t affect him? Fine. She could play that game.
"What’s wrong, my king?" she said lightly, her voice carrying both mockery and charm. She took a step forward, her bare feet whispering against stone. "You drag me all the way here, lock me in your big scary room, and all you’re going to do is stare at me?"
His silence was deafening.
Her smirk widened. She pressed her hand to her chest, dramatic. "Oh, don’t tell me... You’re scared to touch me?" She giggled, the sound soft but sharp, like a blade hidden in velvet. Her eyes sparkled as she said it, daring him, provoking him, feeding on the tension like it was a game designed just for her.
That single word seemed to tear something inside him.
Kian’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze darkening. Slowly—deliberately—he moved. His hand rose, large and calloused, and he set it firmly against her waist. The wet fabric of her dress clung under his grip, and he tugged her the slightest fraction closer. The heat of his touch burned through the cloak, branding her skin beneath it.
"Scared?" His voice was deep, a growl hidden beneath a whisper. His blue eyes glowed faintly under the torchlight, wild, dangerous, unshaken. "Isabella..."
He leaned down, his face hovering just inches above hers. His breath was hot against her damp skin, mingling with hers in a suffocating haze. "I am anything but scared."
Her smirk faltered. Just slightly. Just enough to betray the flutter in her chest. He was too close, too steady, too overwhelming. She told herself she wouldn’t look away, that she would hold her ground, but her lips parted against her will, her pulse betraying her beneath her skin.
Kian’s thumb brushed lazily against her side. A feather’s touch. Torture in its restraint. His other hand lifted, fingers brushing damp strands of her hair behind her ear, dragging purposefully slow, as if reminding her how easily he could break her composure with a touch.
Isabella forced her smirk back onto her lips, though her breath caught with every shift of his. "Then prove it," she whispered, her voice light, mocking—but her trembling pulse screamed otherwise.
His eyes narrowed at her words. The lion inside him roared. And then, without warning, the restraint shattered.
Kian moved like a predator finally giving in to the hunt. His arm tightened around her waist, dragging her flush against his chest with no space left between them. She gasped at the suddenness, but before she could form another witty retort, his mouth was on hers.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.
It was raw, rough, hungry.
His lips crushed hers like he’d been starving for far too long and finally found the one feast that could sustain him. His kiss was desperate, claiming, consuming, leaving her no choice but to yield to the fire that scorched through her body.
Isabella’s hands rose instinctively, clutching at his chest. She told herself it was to push him away, but her hands wrapped around his neck instead, pulling him closer. Her giggle died against his mouth, replaced by a muffled gasp that he swallowed greedily.
The world outside didn’t exist. Not the rain, not the torches, not the stone walls. Just him—his lips, his hands, his unrelenting force pressing into every part of her until she couldn’t breathe without him.
And Kian? For once, the Lion King wasn’t in control. He wasn’t calculating or cold or untouchable. He was just a man undone by one woman, kissing her like he’d waited centuries for her.
The kiss finally broke. Isabella’s lips were swollen, her breath short, her chest rising and falling against his. Yet her eyes—those damn bold eyes—lifted to meet his with no fear, no hesitation.
She stared at him like she’d just unlocked the most dangerous weapon in the world. And then, in a voice that trembled with both plea and provocation, she whispered, "Ruin me, Kian."
That was it. The last shred of control holding the Lion King together snapped.
A growl rumbled from deep in his chest, low and primal, vibrating against her ribs where his body pressed hers. His arms moved instinctively, gripping her as if she were the only thing anchoring him. With one swift motion, he lifted her off the ground, her gasp cut short when her legs wrapped tightly around his waist like they belonged there.
He didn’t stumble. He didn’t falter. Each step he took across the chamber was steady, purposeful, his eyes never leaving hers. Predatory. Possessive. Hungry.
The thick fur bedding spread across the stone floor waited for them, layered with pelts from beasts long conquered. A king’s den. His den. And tonight, she was inside it.
But even then—even as fire burned through his veins—he wasn’t rough. No beast man ever was with their woman. His strength could break walls, shatter bones, bring kingdoms to their knees, but with her... his touch was reverent. Controlled. Worshipful.
He lowered her onto the bedding slowly, carefully, as though she were something holy. The furs swallowed her form, white dress clinging damply to every curve, her blonde hair spilling wild like golden threads over the dark pelts.
Kian hovered above her, his shadow covering her whole world. His eyes drank her in greedily, but his hand—steady, deliberate—brushed the strands of wet hair from her face before trailing down, cupping her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze again.
"Do you even know what you’re asking for?" His voice was husky, dangerous, but there was something softer beneath it—something only she could draw out of him.
Isabella smirked faintly, even as her pulse betrayed her. "Do I look like I don’t?"
Another growl. This one darker, edged with heat. His lips crashed against her neck, claiming the delicate skin there. Her breath hitched instantly, her back arching against him. His kisses were not rushed—never rushed. Each one deliberate, pressed hard enough to leave her trembling but soft enough to remind her of his restraint.
He trailed lower, the curve of her throat, the edge of her collarbone. His mouth was hot, unrelenting, marking her with every press. The cloak slipped off her shoulders, baring more of her to him, and he followed the new path greedily, his teeth grazing, lips soothing.
Isabella gasped, one hand instinctively gripping his shoulder, the other tangling in his damp hair. Every movement of his mouth set her nerves alight. Every second dragged out, winding her tighter and tighter.
He kissed lower still, down her chest, over the thin wet fabric clinging to her like a second skin. His hand slid to her waist, gripping firmly, holding her steady as if he knew she might break apart from the sheer intensity.
By the time his lips brushed her stomach, she let out a shaky laugh. "You really don’t hold back, do you?"
Kian lifted his head slightly, eyes dark and unreadable, his breath warm against her skin. "You told me to ruin you." His tone was deadly serious, as if her words were law and he intended to obey every letter.
Her heart skipped, and for once, she had no witty comeback.
His mouth returned to its trail, lower, slower, each kiss more agonizing than the last. Her thighs tensed beneath his hands, her body torn between wanting to squirm away and begging him not to stop.
The torches flickered violently, the rain outside thundered harder, as if the world itself leaned closer to watch the king and his chosen woman.
Kian finally paused, his lips pressed just above the line of her hips. His eyes lifted, meeting hers, sharp and burning.
And Isabella realized—if he kept going, there would be no turning back.