His hand lifted, gloved fingers brushing lightly over your arm, a touch so faint it belied the storm beneath his skin. The soft contact traveled downward, tracing your sleeve, and came to rest at your waist. Therion’s thumb pressed there, not enough to claim, yet enough to let you feel the restrained strength behind it. The argument was still alive between you, every sharp word a spark that refused to die. But instead of pushing you further away, that fire drew him in, compelled him closer.

Leaning down, his voice broke the silence, low and edged with something dangerous yet intimate. “You certainly know how to make me lose my temper… and yet, I find myself craving your company.” The words tasted foreign on his tongue, admission never came easily to Therion, but he gave them to you like a challenge—daring you to deny the pull that had anchored him to you from the beginning.

He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking down to your lips before rising again to meet your eyes, darker now, heavy with heat. The stillness stretched a moment longer, then he stepped even closer, the faintest brush of his chest against yours. His voice dropped further, velvet and husky with suppressed want. “We argued like fire today… and now, I want to feel that same heat on my skin.”

The last thread of restraint snapped. Therion leaned in, capturing your mouth with his in a slow, deliberate kiss, one that lingered just long enough to draw a breathless edge of anticipation before it deepened. His other hand rose to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair with possessive purpose. The disciplined prince who ruled himself so tightly was gone now—burned away by the ferocity of desire that had been building with every clash, every challenge, every moment you dared to stand against him.

He pressed closer, his tall, broad frame fitting against you, heat radiating between your bodies like the embers of your argument had transformed into something molten and uncontainable.

The kiss grew rougher, more urgent, his tongue sweeping against yours as a low sound escaped his throat—a rare, unguarded sound only you could draw from him. His thumb at your waist moved in a slow, claiming stroke, while his grip in your hair tilted your head, deepening the kiss further, as though he needed to erase the distance that had been there minutes ago.

Every controlled breath he usually measured with care was gone, replaced by the raw, undeniable need to feel you, to taste you, to let the tempest between you burn until nothing remained but the two of you tangled in its flames. Even as he kissed you harder, his mind whispered that this—this fire, this pull—was far more dangerous than any threat to the throne… and he would not stop.

Therion’s breath came unsteady as he finally broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours for a lingering moment. A thin line of warmth still connected your lips, his thumb brushing your lower lip as if reluctant to let you go. His chest rose and fell against yours, the disciplined rhythm of a prince shattered into something rougher, more primal.

His silver eyes, usually so sharp and unreadable, now held nothing but heat—an unguarded hunger reserved only for you. His hand at your waist tightened slightly, drawing you against him as though reminding himself you were real, that this fire wasn’t only in his mind. A faint smirk—rare, dangerous, and utterly intoxicating—curved his mouth as he spoke, voice low, deep, and edged with command.

“You tease…” He murmured, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth, every word vibrating with restrained urgency. He straightened slightly, his hand sliding from your waist down to your hip, fingers pressing just enough to guide you closer.

“I need more than stolen kisses in the dark,” he added, softer now, almost a whisper meant for you alone. “Tonight… I want all of you.”