My Enemy, My Love

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔗𝔢𝔫

(WARNING: This chapter contains references of a sexual nature - read at your own risk!)

Prince Luka [Jimmy]

Thyme didn't move away. His breath was warm against my lips, quick and uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he had just run a great distance. My pulse hammered, loud in my ears, and I could feel the heat radiating between us, burning away whatever rational thought I might have had left. His gaze flickered to my mouth, dark with something neither of us wanted to name. I could taste the hesitation, the warring thoughts between what we should do and what we both so desperately wanted.

I lifted my hand slowly, fingertips tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the warmth of his skin burning beneath my touch. He shuddered but didn't pull away. Instead, his lips parted, a shaky breath escaping, and that was all the invitation I needed.

I crushed my mouth against his, swallowing the soft gasp that left him. Thyme melted against me for half a second before he responded, his hands clutching at my waist, fingers digging in as if to ground himself. The kiss was searing, all heat and desperate friction, tongues tangling in a way that had my stomach clenching and my knees going weak.

"Luka—" Thyme broke away with a pant, his forehead resting against mine, his breath ragged.

"Shut up," I murmured, capturing his lips again, biting down lightly just to hear the sharp inhale he made. His hands slid up my back, gripping at the fabric of my shirt, and I knew he was holding himself back. Always the restrained prince, always the one with too much dignity to let himself go completely.

I wasn't having it.

I pushed him back until he hit the edge of the desk, knocking over a stack of papers neither of us cared about. He cursed under his breath, but I only used the opportunity to press closer, to slot my leg between his and revel in the strangled moan he barely managed to suppress.

"I hate you," Thyme whispered against my lips, but there was no malice in it, only raw, aching need.

"I know," I murmured back, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm. "You hate me so much you're shaking."

"Bastard." His hands tangled in my hair, pulling just hard enough to sting, and I groaned, sinking my teeth into the soft skin just below his jaw. He arched against me, his breath hitching, and I felt a rush of satisfaction knowing I was unraveling him, piece by piece.

His grip tightened, his fingers dragging down my back, and then suddenly, he flipped us, shoving me against the table instead. This time, it was my turn to let out a sharp breath as the wood pressed into my lower spine, but I barely had a moment to adjust before Thyme was kissing me again, rough and unrelenting, as if he was trying to devour me whole.

"You've been driving me insane," he growled between kisses, his voice thick with frustration and want.

I smirked against his lips. "Good."

His teeth grazed my bottom lip in warning, his grip tightening around my wrists, pinning them to the desk. My blood roared in my veins, a delicious kind of tension crackling between us, neither of us willing to fully surrender, neither willing to let the other have the upper hand.

But this wasn't just lust. It was years of pent-up anger, years of resentment, years of pretending we didn't look at each other too long, pretending we didn't care, pretending the very sight of one another didn't set something alight deep inside.

And now, with no one to stop us, with no one to tell us no, we gave in.

"Say it," I demanded, voice hoarse. "Say you want this."