Disheveled

"Cathedral Maverick," I call, stepping onto the Gilcha lizard with Haroun at my side. The creature stirs beneath us, but Maverick bows at my order, his compliance unwavering.

I settle into the plush cushions—bless Maverick for these. He must've known how much I needed comfort after that insufferable Prince ruined my morning. Just thinking about the encounter has my blood simmering again, but I push it aside. I look across at Haroun, sitting stoic and composed as usual, the sharp lines of his uniform accentuating his broad shoulders and chiseled features.

I allow myself a moment to appreciate the sight, my gaze lingering on the buttons of his coat. Thank you, dear buttons, for holding that together so perfectly. I glance up and catch a slight flush spreading across Haroun's face, a faint pink coloring his cheeks. The big, stoic knight—blushing. That's a rare sight.

Instantly, my earlier irritation fades, replaced by amusement. I reach into the hidden compartment beside me and retrieve a cookie, nibbling on it as I lean back lazily, crumbs spilling onto my chest. I make no effort to brush them away. Instead, I look down at the mess, feigning disappointment.

"Oh dear," I say with exaggerated sadness. "I'm all messy now. Help me."

Haroun's eyes flicker from my face to my chest, and I can almost see the inner battle playing out in his mind. He's torn between duty and desire, his stoic mask cracking just a little. It's amusing, really, watching him try so hard to resist. But eventually, as I knew he would, he gives in.

He stands, moving beside me, and retrieves a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his uniform. With featherlight movements, he begins to wipe the crumbs from my chest, his touch careful and precise.

"You know," I say with a teasing lilt, leaning toward him just enough to close the gap between us, "It'll take you forever if you're that gentle."

Haroun clears his throat, his expression stoic as he carefully removes the crumbs from my chest. The poor thing takes his task far too seriously, and when he's done, he starts to rise, clearly eager to escape. I stifle a laugh—he really is like a kitten, always running away the moment things get too intense, but I'm not about to let him get away that easily.

"Wait," I say, a mischievous glint in my eyes. "You missed a spot. My mouth."

His body goes still, and he turns, confusion flickering in his eyes. Slowly, ever so cautiously, he reaches for his handkerchief again, bringing it toward my lips like I'm some delicate porcelain doll. But I stop him with a shake of my head, leaning forward just enough to let my breath fan over his skin. "Nope. With your mouth."

That hesitation in his eyes, that flash of uncertainty—it's gone in an instant, replaced by something darker, something feral.That look sends a thrill through me, a spark ignites between us, and I feel the tension in the air crackle like fire. His eyes lock onto mine, and then, without another word, Haroun tosses the cloth aside and grabs me by the neck, pulling me into him with a force that sends a thrill through my entire body.

His lips crash against mine, not with the gentleness of before, but with an urgency that makes my pulse race. The kiss is brutal, demanding, and I gasp into his mouth, but he doesn't give me a moment to recover. He takes advantage of that gasp, his tongue pushing past my lips, hot and insistent, tasting every inch of me. It's not just a kiss—it's possession.

I melt back into the cushions, but he's relentless. Haroun follows me, his body pressing into mine as we tumble off the seat and onto the floor in a tangled mess of limbs. His arm wraps protectively around my head, cushioning the fall, but it doesn't matter. He's everywhere at once—his lips, his hands, his heat.

Goddess, I can't think. I can't breathe. His mouth devours mine like he's been starving for this, and I'm the feast he's waited for. The world outside disappears. All I know is the way his lips move against mine, the heat radiating from his body, the delicious weight of him pinning me to the ground. I grip his collar like it's my lifeline, desperate to hold on as he pulls me deeper into this overwhelming, intoxicating sensation.

I lose track of time, of myself. It's all-consuming. The way his mouth claims mine, the way his hands grip me like he can't get enough. I don't even know who I am anymore, lost in the intensity of his touch.

It's only when the Gilcha lizard jolts to a stop that I manage to pull away, gasping for air, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from my chest. I take a moment to compose myself, smoothing down my hair, fixing my makeup, trying to regain some semblance of control.

Haroun, now back on the seat opposite me, tries to look unaffected, but I see through the facade. His face is flushed, his fists clenched, and his breathing is still ragged. I can't help but let my eyes linger on his disheveled uniform, the way his collar is crooked, the buttons undone.

I bite my lip to keep from smirking.My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I sit up, smoothing my hair and fixing my makeup, pretending nothing just happened.