Shackled To The Enemy King-Chapter 86: Finally Found Each Other

Bernice wanted to disappear.

At the same time, she braced for impact.

He was falling straight toward her... far too large, far too fast... and her mind, ever efficient in catastrophe, calculated the damage in vivid detail.

Three broken ribs. Minimum.

At least five fractures.

Possible internal bleeding.

And judging by the angle... Yes, likely brain damage.

Good! I’ll die before I have to live through this embarrassment.

She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for pain.

It came... but not as expected.

Her back struck the marble. The back of her head knocked lightly against the floor. A sharp sting flared...and then...

Nothing else.

No crushing weight.

No ribs shattering.

No air being knocked out of her lungs.

Slowly, cautiously, Bernice opened her eyes.

Everything was blurry. Her glasses... gone. She squinted, trying to make sense of the indistinct shape hovering above her...

The wall of... was that muscle?

She blinked again. And again. Her vision steadied just enough for comprehension to dawn.

This man... this dangerously lean, perfectly sculpted man, was suspended over her in a flawless push-up position, every line of his body held taut with control.

He had stopped himself from falling on her.

Completely.

Her breath caught.

And then...as always... her curiosity overruled her survival instincts.

Her heart still hammered, her head still throbbed faintly, her thoughts still felt a little dreamlike... and yet...

She leaned closer.

Too close.

Her gaze traced the strength braced above her... the powerful shoulders, the defined arms, the steady tremor of effort running through them.

Before she quite realized what she was doing... she touched him.

Just lightly at first.

Her fingers brushed over his collarbone... slid down the line of his sternum...

For a man who appeared lean, he was solid. Compact. Every muscle defined beneath warm skin, like a swimmer’s build; controlled, efficient strength rather than bulk.

Her fingers kept moving... Across his chest... Down the ridges of his abdomen... Mapping him in quiet, fascinated disbelief.

Drip.

A drop of water landed on her forehead, breaking the spell.

She clicked her tongue, absently wiping it away, faintly annoyed at the interruption. The warmth surrounding her: the clean, sharp scent of pine and something darker beneath it, the steady heat of him suspended above her...

She liked it.

She really, really shouldn’t like it.

And yet.

Her hand continued its uninvited exploration, moving upward again, tracing the warm line of his throat, the angle of his jaw.

How could someone look this perfect?

Until... her fingers brushed his lips. Soft. Warm. Alive.

So this is what a man’s lips feel like...

For a brief, suspended moment, she simply... admired.

Then his lips parted... And he bit the tip of her finger. The sensation shot through her like a spark.

And suddenly... reality came crashing back.

Oh, fvck.

What am I doing?

She blinked, startled, but only then realized her hand was still between his lips. She pulled it back quickly, her breath uneven.

Yet her eyes... refused to leave his.

Brown.

Ordinary, technically, the most common color in the world.

And yet his were anything but ordinary.

There was something in them... something calm, something steady... something she felt she had lost a long time ago.

Beautiful.

He was looking at her the same way. A twinge of yearning, and desire as he looked at her lips. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer.

And she...she didn’t move away.

Not even as he hovered over her bare, warm, and impossibly close, while she lay beneath him, half-damp, half-breathless, and entirely aware of him.

"Forgive me, Bernice," he said softly.

His voice had changed. Gone was the distant, mechanical tone. This was something deeper. Warmer. The words spoken as if there was history between them, as if he had held himself back for far too long.

Before she could ask what he meant... his lips met hers.

Her eyes widened in shock. But only for a moment. Because the kiss wasn’t forceful.

It was gentle.

A question.

A request.

She answered.

Her eyes closed, and she leaned into him, giving him what he asked for, and silently asking for more.

Heat unfurled low in her stomach as the kiss deepened. His touch moved carefully, reverently, as though memorizing her. And she—she leaned into it, into him, into the feeling of being wanted, of being seen.

She didn’t want to be unseen anymore. She wanted to be seen. By him.

It felt like hunger.

Like she had been starved for something she had never even tasted before.

Her hands moved too... over his shoulders, his chest, learning him the same way he was learning her.

The world beyond that room ceased to exist.

When he paused, both of them breathing harder, her blouse loosened beneath her fingers. She didn’t hesitate.

Fabric slipped away. Air touched her skin.

Their eyes met again.

No words were needed.

He lifted her effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing, and she wrapped around him without thinking, drawn to his warmth, his presence, and the quiet certainty in the way he held her.

Kisses trailed along her throat, her shoulder—soft, unhurried, leaving shivers in their wake.

By the time they reached the bed, there was no space left between them... no hesitation, no doubt.

Only want.

Only heat.

Only the steady pull of something deeper beneath it all... something neither of them fully understood yet, but both of them felt.

Nothing else existed in her mind except the need to be with him.

The kiss deepened, slow at first, then hungrier. His hands moved over her with a growing urgency, learning her shape, memorizing her warmth. Her back arched instinctively as his lips traced a path along her skin, leaving heat in their wake.

When he shifted over her, their eyes met—his searching, hers steady, unafraid. The pause between them was brief, but it said everything. A final, silent question.

She answered by pulling him back into a kiss.

The world narrowed to breath and heartbeat.

He moved with care, with a restraint that made every touch feel deliberate. When they finally came together, it was unhurried, as though both of them instinctively understood that this moment was not meant to be rushed.

Their rhythm found its own naturally; two bodies adjusting, aligning, and learning. Their breaths mingled, each exhale stolen by the other, each movement answered in kind.

It was heat.

It was hunger.

It was the quiet surrender of control neither of them had planned to give.

Something they had wanted for more than a lifetime.

Beneath the physical pull, beneath the desire and the reckless, intoxicating closeness, there was something else.

Something softer.

Something that lingered in the way his forehead brushed hers, in the way her fingers tightened at his shoulders as if she feared she might disappear if he let go.

Neither of them spoke it.

But both of them felt it.

This wasn’t just lust.

And that made it far more dangerous.

-----

Sebastian’s fingers moved gently through Bernice’s still-damp hair, careful not to wake her. A quiet, unguarded smile softened his face—so rare it almost felt unfamiliar even to him. He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, breathing in the faint scent of soap and warmth that clung to her.

For a while, he did nothing but watch.

The slow rise and fall of her chest. The delicate flutter of her lashes as she dreamed. The faint pout of her lips, as though she were about to argue with someone even in her sleep. It was... peaceful. Disarmingly so.

"Bernice amata," he whispered, the words barely more than a breath against the quiet room.

Beloved Bernice.

His hand drifted to his chest, pressing lightly against the steady beat of his heart. It felt... full. Settled in a way it had never been before, as if something restless in him had finally found its place.

Time passed; he didn’t know how long.

And then, like cold water poured over warmth, reality settled in.

Bernice had been placed under his protection.

Entrusted to him.

And he had crossed a line he could never uncross.

His gaze fell back to her sleeping face, the small streak of red on the sheets, and his jaw tightened as the weight of it all settled heavily on his shoulders.

I slept with her!

What should I do now?

His heart pounded.