επιθυμία [epiθimiːa], n – craving, longing, desire
I could feel his eyes on me from across the room, the open desire in them taking my breath away. He lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips, slowly, tasting the drink as though it were my skin, rolling it in his mouth before swallowing thickly, his gaze never leaving me, leaving us. A tremor coursed through my body, making my knees weak, and I held tight to my partner to steady myself. His strong arms held me close, supporting me, and I forced myself to focus on the man gripping me tightly. Looking up, I saw his blue eyes peering down at me, the hint of a smirk playing at the left corner of his mouth; surely he’d noticed my attention was elsewhere tonight.
“You are distracted, my Queen,” Liam said playfully, swinging me around to the strains of the waltz played by the orchestra. I stayed silent, wondering if there was any point in denying his claim. A small sigh escaped my lips as I looked up to meet his gaze.
“I am, Your Majesty. I apologize,” I murmured, the honorific intended to appease the man in front of me.
Liam shook his head and smiled fully, never missing a step of the complicated dance. “I see the way he looks at you, Charlotte, and I see the way you look back. Do you think I miss anything that happens in my palace?” Liam’s grip tightened on my back, his fingers pressing roughly into my flesh. My heart sped up. “Do you think I don’t know that my wife and my best friend want to bed one another?” The song ended and the crowd of nobles gathered on the dance floor applauded softly for the musicians, while Liam offered me his arm. Whisking me through the double doors to the balcony, the cool night air whipped against my heated face. He abruptly turned me to face him, his eyes flashing, blue ice; Liam was furious.
“Answer me, Charlotte. Do you take me for a fool? The two of you aren’t discreet; you eye-fuck each other every chance you get.”
I gasped at his coarse words. Liam was the epitome of decorum; he rarely used language like that, at least outside our bedroom. I had obviously pushed things too far. “I don’t think you’re a fool, Liam,” I told him honestly. “I don’t know what you think-”
He pressed a searing kiss to my lips, cutting off my words. Crushing me to his body, Liam kissed me thoroughly, claiming my lips as his own. His tongue pressed against the seam of my mouth and I moaned, granting him entrance. There was nothing soft or loving about the way Liam’s mouth moved over mine. He bit my lower lip, hard, then laved the spot he had injured with his tongue. I moaned, heat from my core gushing out to soak my panties, and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, my hands up tangling in his dark blond hair. Liam’s hands traveled down around my ass, grabbing and kneading the flesh through my dress. I could feel his erection pressing against me, insistently, and I leaned into him fully. Then, just as quickly as he had begun, Liam pulled away, leaving me cold and wanting, reminding me who was in control. He stepped to the stone railing of the balcony, crossing his arms casually.
“What an interesting turn of events, my love,” Liam said lowly, eyes appraising me as he spoke. I tried to calm my breathing, not wanting to give away how turned on I was, how his touch inflamed me, how much I wanted him in that moment. Because I did want Liam. I wanted Liam over and over, for the rest of my life. That’s why I married him, despite the fact that he was King. I truly loved Liam.
But I wanted to fuck Drake.