The Promised Queen

𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝓌𝑜

HRUDAY

I didn't know what came over me.

One second, I was staring at her, trying to maintain the composure I had perfected over the years. Every nerve in my body was on edge, screaming at me to look away, to keep the distance I had so carefully maintained between us. 

I reminded myself—again and again—why this was a bad idea. Why she was off-limits.

But then she kissed me.

It wasn't even a real kiss, not at first. Just a fleeting brush of her lips against mine—light, quick, barely enough to count. 

As if she was proving some ridiculous point, making a statement with that brief touch.

But it undid me. Completely.

Something inside me snapped.

Every wall I had built, every carefully constructed barrier I had placed between us, trembled under the weight of that single kiss. 

The defenses I had relied on—logic, control, distance—they all crumbled in an instant.

I couldn't hold back anymore.

I pulled her back to me, unable to stop myself.

My hand slid from her waist to the curve of her back, pulling her flush against me. Every inch of her body pressed into mine—soft yielding to hard, warmth melding into warmth. 

The delicate fabric of her dress was a poor barrier between us, and I could feel the heat of her skin beneath it, radiating into me, making it impossible to think of anything else.

I tilted my head and captured her lips again—this time with no hesitation, no restraint.

Her lips were soft, warm, and intoxicating. She tasted like something forbidden, something sweet and dangerously addictive, the kind of taste that lingers and ruins you for anything else.

And I was ruined.

I kissed her with a hunger I didn't know I possessed, as if I had been starving for her. Because I had been—every living moment since that night at the club, I had thought of her. 

Of this. Of the way her lips had felt against mine, the way she had fit so perfectly in my arms.

And now, she was here. In my arms again.

And she wasn't pushing me away.

Her hands, tentative at first, found their way to my chest. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, holding on as if she was afraid to let go. 

That small gesture—so simple, so innocent—stripped away whatever fragile control I had left.

I deepened the kiss, sliding my hand into her hair, tangling my fingers in the soft, silken strands. Her hair was warm, smooth, and it smelled faintly of jasmine—a scent that now filled my senses, mixing with the taste of her on my lips. 

I tilted her head slightly, giving myself better access to her mouth, and kissed her again, deeper this time.

She sighed softly against my lips—a quiet, breathy sound that sent a shiver down my spine and ignited something primal inside me.

I pulled back, just for a moment, just enough to catch my breath, my forehead resting lightly against hers. 

Her eyes were half-closed, her lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks, and her lips were slightly parted, red and swollen from our kiss.

But before I could say anything, before I could gather my thoughts, she pulled me back in.

Her hands moved from my chest to my shoulders, her grip tightening as she kissed me again.