Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 161: Warm day

Dax’s lips were warm and soft under his, parting just enough when Chris leaned in. The kiss deepened slowly, neither of them willing to be the first to break away. Dax’s breath brushed Chris’s cheek, warm and faintly sweet with iced tea and peach, the taste of it lingering into their kiss.

Their scents eased together, Chris’s clean, rain-warm calm threaded through with heat, meeting the steady spice-and-rum warmth that clung low in Dax’s skin. The air between them thickened with their scents.

Chris’s hands slid from Dax’s jaw into his hair, fingertips skimming the rough stubble before finding the softer strands at the nape. He curled his fingers there and tugged, just enough to draw Dax in.

Dax answered with a low sound in his throat, a quiet rumble that traveled through Chris’s hands and down his spine like a warm current. His hands settled at Chris’s waist, guiding him closer until their bodies fit together fully.

Chris pulled back moments later, only an inch, just enough to see him.

Dax’s eyes were half-lidded, almost lazy if it weren’t for the full focus on him.

Chris spoke first, voice steady again.

"There. That’s better."

Dax’s thumb moved once along his hip.

"Yes," he said. "It is."

Dax shifted.

It was smooth, planned, and somehow unhurried even as it left Chris breathless. One of Dax’s knees pressed between his thighs, angling him back until the edge of the sofa caught behind Chris’s knees.

The cushions gave beneath them.

Chris landed with a soft sound, half-surprised, half-aware that Dax had clearly wanted him here from the start.

Dax followed.

His palm braced beside Chris’s head, the other still anchored at his waist. For a moment, their breaths matched again. Their lips didn’t quite meet this time, just hovered close enough for heat to pass between them.

Then Chris blinked, remembering where they were.

The terrace.

There were sheer curtains and shadows, yes, but also guards posted discreetly at the edges of the garden, palace staff pretending not to look, and a kingdom that liked to gossip about its dangerous king and his omega.

"Dax," Chris murmured, one palm pressing lightly against his chest. "We’re still in public."

Dax didn’t move.

Instead, he made that sound again, a low, indulgent rumble that vibrated in his chest and through Chris’s skin. Something between a laugh and a growl, but clearly possessive.

"I know," Dax said, without even pretending to be sorry.

Chris narrowed his eyes, but the way Dax’s thumb was tracing slow circles at his waist didn’t help.

"Don’t you care?"

Dax’s gaze flicked to his mouth. "Only that they’ll see exactly who you belong to."

Chris made a soft scoffing noise. "This feels like déjà vu. Do you like pinning me down?"

He realized his mistake the moment Dax’s smile widened into something that never stayed innocent for long.

"I like when you stop running," Dax murmured. "This just happens to be the most effective method."

Chris huffed, unamused. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re not denying it."

Dax shifted again, this time easing back, though his arms stayed wrapped around Chris like they had no intention of letting go. He settled beside him on the sofa, close enough that their legs stayed tangled, close enough that Chris could feel the warmth of him even in the quiet.

Chris didn’t pull away.

Dax glanced toward the terrace rail, where the curtains fluttered lazily in the afternoon breeze. "They’ll pretend they didn’t see anything."

Chris arched an eyebrow. "Because you’re king?"

"No," Dax said, gaze flicking back to him. "Because they’d rather survive the week."

Chris let out a reluctant laugh, but Dax didn’t smile this time. He studied him for a breath longer, then said, casually, almost too casually...

"Sahir wants to meet you."

Chris stilled, the shift in mood sharp and immediate.

"Sahir, as in your Prime Minister?" he asked. He had learned from Serathine and Cressida about the important figures he would meet at the dinner next week and Sahir was close enough to Dax to ask for this.

Dax nodded, thumb brushing lightly against Chris’s hipbone. "He asked this morning. Said I’ve made enough of a mess already, and he deserves his turn."

"His turn? What am I, a museum exhibit?"

Dax huffed. "He is... pissed that I let Cressida meet you first. They have... a small personal war."

Chris blinked. "Define small."

Dax looked at him with a straight face. "There was a fruit knife incident at a gala once."

Chris just stared.

"She started it," Dax added quickly, like that would somehow make it better.

"I’m meeting the man who once tried to disarm Cressida with cutlery," Chris said flatly. "Fantastic."

Dax looked sheepish now, his thumb still making slow, apologetic circles at Chris’s waist. "He’s not dangerous. Not to you. But he’s old-school. If I had introduced you the right way, with time, context, and a proper suit, he would’ve shown up with lemon tea and a speech about dynasties. Instead, I’m going to have to walk you in like I’m bringing home contraband."

Chris gave him a long look. "Do I at least get breakfast before being interrogated?"

Dax grinned. "You get lunch. It would be tomorrow at lunch, if you want."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Tomorrow?"

Dax nodded. "Private lounge. There would be no cameras, aides, or seat charts. Just you, me, and Sahir."

Chris leaned back slightly, just enough to study his face. "And what exactly does he want from me?"

"Nothing," Dax said, surprising him with the quiet honesty in his voice. "He just wants to see you. Before the court does. Before your name gets printed on gold-stamped cards and hung off the edge of a state dinner table."

Chris’s mouth twitched. "How romantic."

Dax smiled faintly. "You know what I mean."

"I do," Chris admitted. "He wants to understand what kind of mistake you’re making."

Dax hummed amused. "More like who made me human in the last two months."

Chris tilted his head. "So I don’t even get pancakes before being emotionally audited by the nation’s most terrifying grandfather?"

"You get lunch," Dax repeated, voice still amused. "Sahir’s exact words were: ’I want to know him before the wrench ruins him with her manners.’"

Chris made a face. "That sounds incredibly fun."

Dax bit back a grin. "He’s exaggerating. Mostly."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "You say that like I’m the unpredictable variable."

"You are," Dax said easily. "But it’s your unpredictability that scares them less than Cressida’s predictability."

Chris blinked. "That... actually makes sense. Which is concerning."

"Exactly what Sahir said," Dax replied. "Only with more sighing and dramatic pacing. He said if he had to read about you in a press release before hearing your voice in person, he’d start leaking policy memos to the opposition."

Chris snorted. "Tell him to start with the tax code."