Chapter 92: Chapter 92: Confuse the alpha

Arion’s thumb brushed Dean’s cheek again, almost absent. “You could have.”

Dean stared at him, his annoyance growing into something more complicated. It was true. Dean had had a dozen ways to escalate. A dozen ways to make this ugly. He hadn’t. Because the line was there, and Arion always stopped at it.

Even now, with his arm around Dean’s waist and his scent thick in the blankets, Arion was still not crossing into what Dean didn’t allow.

Which, inevitably, made Dean want to push harder.

Dean’s lips thinned, eyes bright with mischief. “So your proof of your moral superiority is that I didn’t commit assault.”

Arion’s gaze darkened with amusement. “It’s proof you trust me.”

Dean scoffed, but the sound lacked conviction.

Arion’s arm around him loosened, transforming restraint into invitation.

“If you want to go,” Arion said quietly, “go.”

Dean paused.

He expected the tug. The refusal. The barnacle logic.

It didn’t come.

Arion simply lay there, watching him, touch light, expression open, like he was giving Dean the choice on purpose. Like he wanted Dean to understand that the hold wasn’t a prison unless Dean decided to treat it as one.

Dean stared at him for a long beat, then narrowed his eyes. “That’s also a trap.”

Arion’s mouth curved. “Everything is a trap. You’re still in my bed.”

Dean’s cheeks warmed again, and he hated that he liked the way Arion said ’my,’ like it didn’t need to be defended.

Dean leaned closer, just enough to put his face within Arion’s space, just enough to make Arion’s pupils tighten slightly.

“Do you know what’s funny?” Dean murmured.

Arion’s brows lifted. “Tell me.”

Dean’s smile turned sweet. “You’re acting like you’re in control.”

Arion’s eyes flicked over Dean’s mouth, then back to his eyes. “I am.”

Dean made a thoughtful sound, then shifted his weight, sliding his knee more comfortably over Arion’s hip, pressing down on his lap.

Arion went still for a heartbeat.

Dean watched the reaction with bright satisfaction.

“Mm,” Dean hummed. “Are you?”

Arion moved his hand slowly to Dean’s lower back, resting there as if he were regaining his composure.

Dean leaned down until his mouth was near Arion’s ear again, voice quiet and wicked.

“I said moan,” Dean whispered, “because you looked too pleased, and I wanted to see if I could make you lose that pretty composure.”

Arion’s breath caught, small and real.

Dean smiled into the victory.

Then he pulled back enough to look at him, eyes gleaming. “Congratulations. It worked.”

Arion’s lips parted as if to answer, but Dean shifted again, stretching languidly like he’d slept all night instead of spending it as a human sedative. He leaned in, his movements fluid and confident, no longer testing the waters but diving in headfirst. He raised his hand, his fingers tracing the line of Arion’s jaw before tangling in the thick, soft black hair at the nape of his neck.

Dean’s smile was pure, unadulterated sin. He tightened his fingers in the dark silk of Arion’s hair, and then he yanked.

The prince’s head snapped back, and a low groan rumbled in his chest. His golden eyes watched the omega through his dark lashes, curious to see what he was planning.

Dean leaned in close enough that Arion’s breath hit his mouth.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Dean whispered, like a warning and a promise at once. “You’ve been pulling at my patience since sunrise.”

Arion’s hand flexed once at Dean’s lower back, still giving Dean the choice even while his body clearly wanted to keep him. His voice came out rough. “Dean…”

Dean hummed, pleased by the way his name sounded in Arion’s mouth when Arion wasn’t trying to be clever. Then, without any hesitation left in him, Dean closed the distance and kissed him.

It was firm, hot, and unapologetically possessive in the way that only an omega could be when he decided to stop pretending he wasn’t dangerous.

Arion went still for a heartbeat, caught by surprise that Dean had stopped circling and finally struck.

Then Arion responded like instinct had been waiting for permission.

His hand tightened at Dean’s back, holding as if Dean’s body was the only stable thing in the room. His mouth opened under Dean’s, a low sound catching in his throat, and Dean felt it as much as he heard it, a vibration that made his own pulse trip and his satisfaction sharpen.

Dean broke the kiss just enough to breathe, lips still brushing Arion’s. His smile was bright and wicked.

“See?” he murmured. “I can act on my own behalf.”

Arion’s eyes were darker now, gold burning through the haze, and there was something in his expression that looked like hunger trying very hard to behave.

Dean kissed him again, this time in a shorter, insulting kiss. Then he shifted, angling his mouth to Arion’s lower lip.

And bit hard enough to punish him for earlier and reward him for never crossing the line at the same time.

Arion made a sound that was not dignified.

Dean pulled back, still holding Arion’s hair, watching the reaction bloom in real time. The prince’s mouth was slightly parted, his breathing heavier, his gaze locked on Dean like Dean had just become a problem Arion would gladly suffer.

Dean’s grin was sharp with victory.

“That,” Dean said softly, “was out of spite.”

Arion’s voice came low, ruined at the edges. “I noticed.”

Dean released Arion’s hair slowly, letting his fingers trail out as if he was being generous. He slid his knee back off Arion’s hip with infuriating calm, like he hadn’t just set something on fire and then decided to walk away from it.

Arion’s hand followed him for a second, hovering at his waist, every muscle locked in, controlling himself to let the omega go.

Dean looked down at that hand, then back at Arion, amused again.

“Don’t,” Dean warned lightly.

Arion’s throat worked. His hand dropped to the blanket.

Dean stood, smoothing his beyond-salvation shirt like a man who had not just committed treason in a royal bed.

He leaned down one last time, pressing a quick, almost innocent kiss to Arion’s mouth.

“Stay,” Dean said, sweet as poison. “Barnacle.”

Arion’s eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth lifted.

Dean turned and walked toward the door with controlled composure, heart beating a little too fast, pride held together with spit and stubbornness.

Behind him, Arion’s voice followed, rough and quiet.

“Come back.”

Dean paused at the threshold, hand on the handle. He didn’t look back, because if he did, he might not leave at all.

Instead, he let his pheromones soften, just a fraction, like a parting gift.

“I will,” Dean said, and the promise landed in the room like something real.

Then he opened the door and slipped out, leaving Arion in bed, staring after him like a man who had just been kissed into silence and was now going to spend the rest of the morning pretending he wasn’t smiling.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep