For the Rebellion

Chapter 9 - Think That It's Real

Theo had just enough time to suck in a breath before her lips were fused to his. He froze, disbelief warring with desire. She'd kissed him—actually kissed him. Something hotter than his dragon fire dropped low in his belly, unfurling, spreading.

Her lips moved over his, hesitant at first, then more fervent. He snapped out of his stupor, kissing her back. The taste of her pulled a groan from low in his throat. His entire body exploded with want. He'd kissed plenty of women, had held them his arms, all willing and eager. But this? This was something else entirely.

He opened his mouth, brushing his tongue against her lips until they parted. He swept in, hungry, ravenous, stroking his tongue along hers. Her tiny mew was swallowed whole by the beast writhing in his chest.

More. He need more. So much more. His hands unfurled, one wrapping around the back of her neck, the other around her waist, pressing her to him as his body hardened. Their curves aligned perfectly, like she'd been made for him, for this moment.

She gasped against his lips at the feel of him. Her hands pawed at him, fisting his tunic, pulling him more firmly to her body.

The world quieted. Even his own mind quieted. He increased the ferocity of his kiss, claiming her—

Pain erupted in his groin, shooting straight up his spine. He gasped doubling over, white spots filling his vision. Her knee slammed into his nose, breaking it. He cried out, this time in confusion.

She twisted from his grasp and shot away, her laugh a low victory.

He cursed, sputtering, cupping himself, waiting for the pain to abate. Gods above! Where had she learned to do that? She'd just...she'd just kneed him in the balls and broken his nose. No woman had ever injured him like this. Certainly not while he was kissing them.

Blood gushed down his nose. Already, he could feel his body began to heal itself. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and whipped at his face, trying to clear most of it away. A flash of movement caught his attention. It was all he saw of her as she disappeared into the trees.

A laugh bubbled up from his chest. It got louder, turning slightly deranged. His head began spinning. He replayed their kiss, the way she'd melted against him, the little sound she'd made that made him feel undone.

He shook his head, not quite believing, then tilted his head back and yelled, "You made me think it was real." The dark night swallowed up the confession, but it was loud enough that she'd hear him. "You made me think it was real," he said again, this time quietly, staring after the place she'd disappeared, blinking.

Then—

Something shriveled in his chest. She'd made him think it was real. He hated to admit it because he wished it had been, because despite the circumstances of that kiss, it felt like the truest, realest kiss he'd ever had. Girls in the capital kissed him because he was the prince. They kissed him because he had status, power, money. What would it feel like to be kissed by a woman who wanted to kiss him and only him, without anything else attached?

What would it feel like to be kissed by her, without any bargains between them. Because if that's how she kissed him when she was forced to, how would she kiss him if she simply wanted to? When it was just them, and their want, and their desire fueling their actions.

Then her words came back to him. That thing in his chest, that feeling that had unfurled and swelled with the touch of her lips, shriveled up even further. She'd never fall at his feet—never fall for him.

He scoffed, muttering, "As if I would I want her to."

There was a reason he flirted and kissed his way through all the women at court. A reason he had a trail of scandals following in his wake. Why reports of tearful women had been seen sneaking from his chambers the morning after his parties.