Chapter 134 A deep tasty kiss

Chapter 134: Chapter 134 A deep tasty kiss

The door clicked shut behind Rose, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Lamia sat in his chair, body aching, face still wet from tears he’d tried to hide. Oliver stood by the table, the bowl of water and cloth still in his hands, watching him with an expression that made Lamia’s chest tight.

Neither of them spoke.

Lamia’s pheromones shifted—he didn’t mean for it to happen, but his emotions were raw, scraped open from the conversation about Noah, about fear, about wanting to keep everyone alive. The scent filled the room, thick and heady, and he watched Oliver’s pupils dilate in response.

Oliver’s jaw tightened. "Lamia."

"What?"

"Your pheromones."

Lamia blinked, then noticed it himself—the way the air had grown heavy, the way Oliver’s breathing had changed, the way his own body had started to warm despite the pain.

"Oh." He shifted in his chair, and the movement sent a jolt of pain through his ribs. He winced.

Oliver was at his side in an instant, kneeling again. "You need to rest."

"I’ve been resting."

"Not enough." Oliver’s hand hovered near Lamia’s ankle, not quite touching. "Let me—"

"I don’t need you to fix me, Oliver."

The words came out sharper than Lamia intended. Oliver’s hand stopped, his expression flickering with something that looked almost like hurt before he masked it.

"I know," Oliver said quietly. "That’s not what I’m trying to do."

Lamia stared at him. At the way Oliver knelt on the floor despite being one of the most powerful beings in the room. At the way his hands trembled slightly, like he was holding something back. At the way his eyes kept dropping to Lamia’s lips before darting away.

"You’re staring," Lamia said.

Oliver’s gaze snapped up. "I’m not."

"You are."

"I’m checking your injuries."

Lamia’s lips curved. "My injuries are on my ankle. You’re looking at my mouth."

Oliver’s face flushed—actually flushed, which was a sight Lamia had never seen before. The Phoenix witch, the alpha, the man who had burned enemies to ash, was blushing like a teenager caught staring.

"I—" Oliver started.

Lamia leaned forward, ignoring the protest from his bruised ribs. "What are you thinking about?"

Oliver’s throat worked. "Nothing."

"Liar."

The word hung between them, soft and dangerous.

Lamia reached out, his fingers brushing against Oliver’s jaw. Oliver went completely still.

"You’ve been taking care of me all night," Lamia murmured. "Cleaning my wounds. Holding me while I cried. Telling me I was wrong and I needed to hear it."

Oliver’s breath hitched. "Someone had to."

"Mm." Lamia’s thumb traced along Oliver’s cheekbone. "But you didn’t have to be so gentle about it."

Oliver’s hands curled into fists on his thighs. "You were hurting."

"So you decided to be soft with me?" Lamia’s voice dropped, low and intimate. "That’s not very alpha of you."

Oliver’s eyes flashed. "You think I care about being alpha right now?"

"I think you care a lot more than you admit."

They stared at each other, the tension crackling like static.

Lamia’s pheromones pulsed—stronger now, deliberate. He watched Oliver’s nostrils flare, watched his pupils blow wide, watched the way his entire body seemed to lean toward Lamia like a plant reaching for sunlight.

"You should stop," Oliver whispered.

"Why?"

"Because I—" Oliver’s voice cracked. "Because I don’t know how to say no to you."

Lamia’s heart stuttered.

He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected Oliver to admit something so raw, so honest. They hadn’t talked about this—whatever this was between them. They hadn’t confessed anything, hadn’t defined anything, hadn’t done anything except dance around each other with sharp words and sharper glances.

But in this moment, with Oliver on his knees and Lamia’s hand on his face, the truth was impossible to ignore.

Lamia leaned closer. "Then don’t."

Oliver’s breath caught. "Lamia—"

"Don’t say no." Lamia’s voice was barely a whisper. "Not tonight."

He closed the distance.

The kiss started soft—just a brush of lips, tentative and questioning. Lamia was giving Oliver a chance to pull away, to push him back, to end this before it started.

Oliver didn’t move.

So Lamia kissed him harder.

His other hand came up to cup Oliver’s jaw, tilting his head back to deepen the angle. His tongue swept across Oliver’s lower lip, tasting, asking, demanding. And Oliver—the powerful, stubborn, infuriating Phoenix witch—opened for him without hesitation.

A sound escaped Oliver’s throat—something between a gasp and a moan—and Lamia swallowed it greedily.

He licked into Oliver’s mouth like he was starving, like he’d been waiting for this since the moment they met. Oliver’s hands finally unclenched, flying up to grip Lamia’s shirt, pulling him closer even as he made that helpless noise again.

Lamia broke the kiss just long enough to breathe. "You taste better than I imagined."

Oliver’s eyes were glassy. "You imagined this?"

"Every night." Lamia’s lips brushed against Oliver’s as he spoke. "Every time you opened your mouth to argue with me. Every time you looked at me with those eyes." He kissed him again, quick and hard. "I imagined shutting you up like this."

Oliver groaned. "You’re—"

"What?"

"Stubborn."

Lamia smiled against his mouth. "And yet you’re still here."

He kissed Oliver again before he could respond—deeper this time, slower, his tongue curling against Oliver’s in a rhythm that made the alpha’s hips jerk forward involuntarily. Oliver’s fingers tightened in Lamia’s shirt, knuckles going white.

Lamia pulled back just enough to look at him. Oliver was wrecked—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with something that looked like hunger and terror all at once.

"You’re shaking," Lamia murmured.

"I can see that the fuck!"

"Do you want me to stop?"

Oliver’s answer came immediately. "No."

Lamia’s chest tightened. He stroked his thumb across Oliver’s cheek, feeling the heat of his skin, the slight tremble beneath his touch.

"We haven’t talked about this," Lamia said quietly. "About what this means, haven’t told you how I feel. And you haven’t told me either."

Oliver’s eyes met his while Lamia waited. The silence stretched, heavy with things unsaid.

Then Oliver leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Lamia’s. "I can’t," he whispered. "Not yet. I don’t—" He swallowed hard. "I don’t know how to say it without sounding—"

"Stupid?"

Oliver laughed—a broken, breathless sound. "Yeah."

Lamia closed his eyes. "Then don’t say it." He tilted his head, catching Oliver’s lips in another kiss—gentler this time, almost tender. "Just show me."

Oliver’s response was immediate.

He surged forward, pushing Lamia back against the chair, his hands sliding from Lamia’s shirt to his shoulders to his neck. He kissed like he was trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips—all the fear, all the want, all the desperate, terrifying need.

Lamia let him.

He let Oliver take control, let him deepen the kiss, let him lick into his mouth with a hunger that matched his own. He let Oliver’s hands roam across his chest, his shoulders, his jaw. He let Oliver pull back just enough to bite his lower lip, then soothed the sting with his tongue.

"You’re so fucking amazing that it’s so sexy" Oliver breathed against his mouth.

Lamia smiled. "Good to know."

Oliver kissed him again, and Lamia forgot about the pain in his body, forgot about Noah and Lysander and the entire world outside this room. All that mattered was Oliver—his taste, his touch, the way he moaned when Lamia’s fingers tangled in his hair.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Oliver’s forehead dropped to Lamia’s shoulder.

"We should stop," Oliver mumbled.

"Why?"

"Because if we don’t—" He lifted his head, and Lamia saw the conflict in his eyes—the desire warring with something that looked almost like fear. "—I won’t be able to."

Lamia understood.

This wasn’t the time. Not with Noah’s situation unresolved, not with the Emperor and the Purebloods and the entire supernatural world hanging over their heads. They were in the middle of a war, in the middle of a mission, in the middle of everything.

But gods, he wanted.

"Wide aware" Lamia said softly, the same stupid words he had been repeating. He cupped Oliver’s face, pressing one last kiss to his forehead. "Later."

Oliver nodded. "Later."

Neither of them moved.

They stayed like that—Oliver kneeling on the floor, Lamia’s hands in his hair, their foreheads pressed together—for a long, quiet moment.

Then Oliver pulled back, clearing his throat. "We should—"

"Check on the others," Lamia finished. "Yeah."

Oliver stood, offering his hand. Lamia took it, letting Oliver pull him to his feet. His body protested, but he ignored it.

They walked to the door together, shoulders brushing.

Oliver reached for the handle, then paused. "Lamia."

"Yeah?"

"I—" Oliver’s jaw tightened. He shook his head. "Never mind."

Lamia studied him for a moment. Then he smiled—soft, warm, real.

"When you’re ready to say it," he said, "I’ll be here."

Oliver’s eyes widened. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—the first genuine smile Lamia had seen from him all night.

Lamia reached for his hand, squeezing once before letting go.