You Owe Me a Kiss

Amara Cross POV

“Mr. Dorian? Why did you invite me to this party?” I whispered, still trapped in his arms. My head tilted back slightly, trying to escape his overwhelming pull, but my body betrayed me, leaning fully into him, craving to cling closer.

He didn’t answer me right away. His eyes pierced mine from behind the mask, reading me like an open book.

Then he spoke in his deep, velvety voice, “You ask too many questions, Amara… and unfortunately, you won’t find an answer to this one tonight.”

He continued the dance as if nothing had happened. His hands held me gently, his steps steady, as if the music itself had been composed to match his rhythm. When our eyes met in a magical moment, he leaned toward me slowly, close to my neck. My heart thudded violently, threatening to tear out of my chest.

I inhaled his scent deeply, feeling him draw my soul in with his breath. Then, unexpectedly, his lips brushed my heated skin. It was a delicate kiss, soft like a warm breeze across bare flesh.

I shivered violently, breathing in the intoxicating scent that scrambled my mind. A strange heat surged from deep within me, rushing downward in rebellion. I was certain my femininity had answered the call of his kiss, betraying my flustered state.

I lifted my gaze to him in astonishment, and a faint smile curved his lips. He murmured softly, “You owe me a kiss, don’t you?”

My mind flashed instantly to that morning… the moment I had pressed my lips to his cheek. But now, I didn’t just want to remember it. I craved to relive it, deeper, clearer.

I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. He leaned slightly toward me, bridging the height difference. His hand on my waist grew warmer, moving slowly as if memorizing the curves of my body. His other hand supported my back as if I were a fragile diamond.

“You really are something, Amara…” He murmured in a rough voice wrapped in hidden warmth, watching my reactions. His eyes burned with a mysterious flame.

“You make wonders happen in me… and I don’t like it.”

His husky voice brushed my ear, sending a soft shiver down my spine. His silence afterward spoke louder than any words. One kiss from him made my womanhood pulse with feverish desire, as if his mere presence was an open invitation to sin.

The first song ended, and a faster, livelier tune—“Fairytale”—slipped through the hall. Dorian moved with more confidence now, broad shoulders commanding the rhythm, his steps perfectly timed.

I… stumbled. My long wine-colored dress tangled around my feet. Each time I tried to match his steps, I tripped, my eyes glued to the floor in embarrassment. He noticed my struggle. He paused for a second and pulled my arms around his neck, the position that made me feel safe.

This time, I dared more. My fingers found his damp hair at the back, resting my body against him. I wandered, sometimes in his mask, sometimes at his lips.

Suddenly, without warning, my body lifted off the ground! I gasped in fear as my feet left the marble. He lifted me lightly, setting me on his shoes, his hands circling my waist like a soft iron chain.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, terrified.

He didn’t answer, just fixed the edge of my slipping dress in an exaggerated motion, then gave me a fleeting, intense glance. “Lean on my shoes… I’ll dance with you.”

I clung to him like a drowning woman. My limbs trembled, but he started moving again. My heels rested on his shoes, his hands around me, leading me like a doll in a private ballet.

I closed my eyes and let him dance with me, whispering softly, “Am I bothering you with my lack of skill? Am I too heavy on your feet?”

His face moved closer, our masks nearly touching. His voice was warm, with a hint of playful teasing. “You are light, as if made of wind, yet annoying as if made of questions.”

My eyes widened in astonishment. I couldn’t tell if he was complimenting or scolding me, but he continued in a husky voice that settled deep inside me.

“Stop thinking… let your body speak.”

I felt as if under a dark spell, moving entirely to follow him. We swayed, my feet on his, his hands holding me with careful calculation.

I watched his face closely until he murmured, “Even in high heels, standing on your feet… you are still small.”

I blinked in surprise. He whispered softly against my ear, “And that… makes me want to trap you in my arms.”

I felt his warmth seep into my neck and chest. I swallowed nervously. He smiled faintly, his grip on my waist tightening. I bit my lower lip in tension, but his hand rose to gently hold my chin between thumb and forefinger, freeing my lips from my teeth. He said firmly, “Don’t bite your lips like that… someone is eager to taste them.”

My stomach clenched violently. A delicious sting rose in my core. Suddenly, the music’s rhythm escalated. Dorian set me lightly on the ground, grabbed my right hand and lifted it, while placing his other hand behind his back with regal poise.

“Let go of your tension… live with the music, just as you live with my presence.” He whispered, spinning me suddenly in his hands.

I felt as light as a butterfly, my dress swirling in wine-colored circles, my heart spinning with him. He twirled me gracefully until I rested in his arms with the last note, my arms around his neck, breath quick and shallow from the spinning and his overwhelming closeness.

A soft silence fell. I felt the gaze of everyone in the hall focused on us, as if we were the only spot of light on this dark yacht.