CHAPTER 193: CHAPTER 193: BY THE WALL

Dax didn’t need to do anything except exist behind Chris with that molten, post-bond shamelessness radiating from every inch of him and Chris’s entire nervous system reacted like he’d been plugged directly into a power grid.

They reached the intersection of the East Wing corridor where the hall split, one direction toward the council chambers where Dax was supposed to be right now, and the other toward their private residence where absolutely nothing good could happen.

Chris slowed, forcing himself to breathe, to remember he had the upper hand for once. "Meeting," he said, pointing sharply to the left. "You’re going to your meeting."

Dax did not look left.

Dax looked at him, hungry, as if the concept of "meeting" was some foreign relic from a world that no longer mattered.

Then, without looking away, he tapped his comm with one finger.

"Killian."

Chris’s blood pressure spiked. "Dax, don’t you..."

The Prime Steward answered instantly, crisp as ever. "Majesty?"

"Inform Dr. John Bird," Dax said, voice so smooth it made Chris’s spine arch involuntarily, "that I will be late to the meeting by an hour."

A beat of silence. Killian was absolutely judging him.

"...Understood, Majesty," Killian said, in the voice of a man rearranging the entire royal schedule while silently lighting a prayer candle for the staff. "I will adjust the agenda."

"Good," Dax murmured, already turning toward Chris, who had gone utterly still. "Thank you."

The comm clicked off.

Chris took one step backward.

Dax took one step forward.

And that was the last thread of control, the last fragile shield of public propriety, because the moment the door to their private wing closed behind them with a soft hiss, sealing them away from guards, staff, Rowan’s dying soul, and every camera in the kingdom...

Dax moved.

He moved fast, faster than Chris had ever seen him, pinning him to the wall with one hand braced beside Chris’s head and the other splayed low on his waist, pulling him in with the ease of a man who had thought about this too much, too long, too intensely to allow even a second of hesitation.

Chris gasped while the bond surged, wrapping around them like a living thing that finally had room to breathe.

"You said I was delusional," Dax murmured, leaning in so slowly it felt like torture in the shape of a breath, "but the bond doesn’t lie. Look at me and tell me you don’t want this."

Chris exhaled and placed one hand on Dax’s large chest and the other threading through his blond white hair. "I do, you bastard, but not in public with Rowan gouging his eyes out."

Dax’s answering laugh was low and devastating, the kind of sound that vibrated straight through Chris’s ribs and made the bond flare like it recognized its master.

"Good," he said, leaning in until his nose brushed Chris’s cheek, "because there is nothing public about this anymore."

And he kissed him.

Dax’s mouth was hot and demanding, his lips firm and insistent, slanted over Chris’s, and a low, guttural sound ripped from Chris’ throat as Dax’s tongue swept in, tasting and taking with unapologetic hunger.

The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of them. Dax’s spiced rum pheromones, dark and intoxicating, swirled around Chris’s head. It was mingled with Chris’s own scent, the sharp, clean smell of fresh rain and the deeper, sweeter note of omega sweetness.

Dax’s hand slid from Chris’ waist, gripping the back of his thigh and lifting his leg up around his hip. The new angle pressed their bodies together from chest to groin until Chris could feel the hard, thick length of Dax’s erection straining against his trousers.

"Dax," Chris gasped, trying to find air even as his hands tightened in the thick silk of Dax’s hair. His voice came out ruined, half protest, half plea, his breath catching when Dax’s body pressed so firmly against his own that every inch of restraint either of them had left felt like it was being stripped away one breath at a time.

Dax pulled back only enough to look at him with an intensity that made Chris’s knees threaten mutiny if not already pinned to the wall. His pupils were blown wide, violet flickering at the edges, his chest rising and falling like holding himself together took actual effort.

"You have no idea," Dax rasped, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating through both of them. "How long I’ve wanted to do this. Right here. Against this wall."

He didn’t wait for a reply. He sealed his mouth over Chris’s again with a hungry, possessive kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperate need. The hand on Chris’s thigh tightened, pulling him far closer, grinding their hips together in a slow circle that had Chris seeing stars. The bond was a wild, untamed thing, a current of pure pleasure arcing between them, amplifying every sensation until it was almost too much to bear.

Dax didn’t give him a chance to breathe. He dragged his mouth down Chris’s jaw, along the curve of his neck to where the mark lay hidden beneath the collar of his shirt, teeth grazing that sensitive point just enough to send another shiver through Chris’s entire body. Chris clutched at him helplessly, overwhelmed, the bond burning between them with a heat that felt almost scorching. Dax’s hands moved, skimming along Chris’s torso as if committing every line to memory.

"The shower," Dax whispered, breath hot against Chris’s throat, each word a possessive command wrapped in reverence. "It’s close. And we don’t have time to waste."

Chris’s breath shuddered. "You’re insane."

"Yes," Dax murmured, brushing their foreheads together, voice low enough to tremble inside Chris’s bones. "And you like me this way."

Chris tried to glare, but the bond betrayed him, heat blooming under his skin, pulse quickening, body leaning in even when every rational thought screamed ’don’t encourage him.’ Dax caught the subtle shift immediately and let out a soft, satisfied sound that made Chris want to hit him and kiss him simultaneously.

Then Dax slid his hands beneath Chris’s thighs and lifted him effortlessly, pinning him more securely to the wall. Chris’s breath caught, fingers digging into Dax’s shoulders.

"Put me down," Chris whispered.

"No," Dax answered simply, already turning and carrying him like he weighed nothing, his stride purposeful, unhurried, and absolutely certain of the outcome. "You’re not walking right now."

"Dax..."

"You’re not walking," Dax repeated, tightening his hold with a quiet, possessive hum, "until I let you."

The corridor blurred past them. Guards were posted far behind, cameras were disabled in the private wing, and doors were sealed. The scent of steam drifted faintly from the bathroom as they neared it, mixing with the heady storm of pheromones still thick in the air.

Chris’s heart hammered. "You have forty-five minutes."

Dax laughed, the sound dark and slow and full of wicked promise. "Then we’ll make it the longest forty-five minutes of your life."

He pushed the bathroom door open with his shoulder, warm light spilling across marble and glass, and set Chris down only long enough to press him back against the nearest surface, hands braced on either side of his head, body crowding his, heat radiating like wildfire.

"Shower," Dax murmured again, voice almost reverent now. "Now."