between them as possible.
She retreated to the farthest corner, practically hugging the wall.
Damian gave her a cold, sideways glance. “Did you really think I was actually interested in
you?”
“Of course not,” Deborah replied quickly. “Naturally, Your Highness wouldn’t be. I wasn’t thinking anything like that–you’re overthinking it.” She forced a weak smile, lifting a hand to her temple. To her surprise, her fingers came away damp. She was sweating. “I think… it’s getting kind of warm in here,” she said.
Deborah thought, ‘An autumn night–and it is hot? That can’t be right.‘
Feeling flushed, Deborah turned toward the window, thinking some fresh air might help. But she barely took two steps before her knees buckled, and she collapsed–not onto the floor, but straight into Damian’s arms.
“Your Highness? Weren’t you just… sitting over there?” she asked.
She thought, ‘How has he crossed the room so fast? One second he’s been across the room, the next–he is holding me. But that wasn’t the part that truly startled her.
“It’s so hot…” The heat inside her was growing unbearable.
Damian’s expression darkened. He felt it too. A burning sensation surged from deep in his core, shooting up like wildfire. In that instant, he realized what was happening.
The so–called “soup” from the Queen Mother–it had been laced with an aphrodisiac.
“Your Highness… I don’t feel well…” Deborah’s inner strength was no match for the soup’s effects. Her body was losing the battle fast.
Damian guided her to the edge of the bed, intending to lay her down. But before he could, her arms suddenly wrapped tightly around his waist. “I feel awful..” she whispered, voice trembling.
Her hands were soft and boneless, yet somehow she clung to him with surprising strength. He could’ve pushed her off–should’ve. But he didn’t.
Couldn’t. His body was burning like it was on fire. No amount of willpower or self–control could withstand the way she was rubbing against him, breathless and warm in his arms.
Within moments, his forehead was slick with sweat.
“Your Highness…”
“Do you even know who you’re holding onto right now?” he asked, voice low and hoarse, strained nearly to the breaking point.
Of course she knew. He was Damian. But the drug’s effects were clouding everything. She couldn’t think–she just wanted to hold him tighter, to feel him closer.
“Your Highness…” Her arms locked around him, her soft body pressing into his with unintentional temptation.
That was it. His restraint snapped.
“You’d better back away,” he ground out, hands clenched at his sides, every muscle tense. “Right now.”
He tried to summon his internal energy to force the heat away. But she kept moving against him, so close, so impossibly warm. His breath turned ragged, his thoughts scattered. Every nerve screamed for him to touch her, to kiss her, to take her.
He shut his eyes tight. “This is your last chance.”
But instead of letting go, she held him tighter.
Her breathy little whimpers were like kindling to flame–and with that, Damian’s last thread of control snapped.
“You asked for this.” He grabbed her chin, tilted her face up, and crushed his mouth to hers.
His kiss was rough, searing–hungry.
Deborah gasped from the force of it. His lips were firm, unyielding. When his tongue pushed into her mouth, demanding and relentless, a jolt of clarity struck her.
Her eyes flew open, wide with shock, misted with tears.
She thought, ‘He’s kissing me… Damian is kissing me… No. This isn’t right. This can’t happen.’
But her body wouldn’t obey. She wanted to push him away, but her strength was gone. Worse–she found herself rising onto her toes, instinctively leaning in.
Her mind screamed no, but her body had betrayed her completely.
She could feel every inch of him–his chest, hard and sculpted from years of training, the strength in his arms as they held her, and lower, the fierce pressure pressing against her abdomen, radiating heat and hunger that made her want to cry out.
Her body turned to liquid. Every ounce of strength melted away. She wanted more.
“Your Highness…”
Her hands fumbled, searching for something to hold onto, finally gripping his shoulders. Her tongue, trembling and unsure, brushed timidly against his–responding, slowly, helplessly.
