The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

"Oh but I don't want to stop, Kian," Isabella said, licking her lips slowly as her eyes gleamed with mischief.

Her voice was low—silky, teasing, the kind that wrapped itself around your ears and settled somewhere deep in your chest. And the way she stood there, so unbothered, so completely in control, with her arms folded and her chin tilted up, it was maddening.

Kian didn't move.

His jaw tightened. His hand, still buried gently in her hair, flexed as if torn between pulling her closer or letting her go.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he said, voice low and raspy now, something shifting in it.

Isabella took a single step closer, her body brushing against his. Her head tilted just enough to keep her lips near his jawline.

"Oh, I'm not playing," she whispered, her breath hot against his neck. "You think I'm trying to fluster you, Kian? Baby, I came here flustered."

He blinked down at her, and for the first time, there was something different in his gaze.

Not amusement.

Not tolerance.

But heat. Real, honest-to-gods heat.

Isabella's lips curled into a slow smirk.

"Why are you so quiet now?" she whispered. "I thought you liked to tease me."

"I'm trying to be the reasonable one," he muttered, barely getting the words out as she trailed her finger up his chest again.

"Ugh," Isabella groaned dramatically, tossing her head back, "why are the hot ones always like this?"

She paced in front of him like a storm trapped in a tiny body, her fingers combing through her hair, her feet stomping as she grumbled under her breath.

"'Ooh, Isabella, let me hold you.' Okay cool. 'Ooh, Isabella, don't tempt me.' Then maybe don't be so tempting?! 'Ooh, Isabella, I'm not made of stone—' WELL THEN STOP ACTING LIKE YOU ARE!"

Kian just… stared.

Then blinked.

She looked like a furious goddess in a muddy dress, glaring at the sky as if it was the reason she couldn't kiss him more.

"Are you… yelling at me or yourself?" Kian asked after a moment.

"Both!" she snapped, hands on her hips. "Because clearly I have no self-control and you have too much. We need to balance it out."

Kian couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped him. But he tried to hide it—poorly.

"Oh, you think this is funny?" Isabella said, whirling on him. "You think it's funny that I'm out here losing my mind trying to act cool when you're just—ugh—you're just standing there like a damn statue with perfect cheekbones!"

"That's a new one," Kian muttered, lips twitching.

She stalked toward him again, her expression suddenly softer.

"But really…" she sighed. "Do you not feel it, Kian?"

He hesitated. "Feel what?"

"This thing," Isabella whispered, eyes wide and dramatic, hand flopping to her chest like she was in a stage play. "Like I'm drawn to you, and I don't even know why. It's so annoying and stupid and probably a terrible idea—but ugh, it's real."

She rolled her eyes for effect, as if the entire concept physically pained her. Honestly, she was half-joking—being dramatic the way she always was, using flair and sarcasm to cover up the smaller, more confusing parts of her heart.

Was it true? Maybe. Did she mean to say it so seriously? Absolutely not.

But Kian froze.

He looked at her like she had just dropped a stone into still water, watching the ripple slowly reach every corner of him.

Isabella blinked.

Uh oh.

Wait.

Did he think she was being serious-serious?

Because she had said it like a wine-sipping queen mourning her ex on a balcony, not like a woman spilling real feelings.

She opened her mouth to backtrack—maybe toss in a snarky, "Kidding! Don't look at me like I just proposed"—but then Kian stepped toward her, something intense and vulnerable in his gaze.

And just like that, the joke caught in her throat.

Kian didn't speak for a moment. He just watched her—his expression unreadable, but his breathing had definitely changed. Slower. Deeper. Like he was trying to calm something rising inside him.

"You think I don't feel it?" he finally said, almost a whisper. "You think I don't wake up wondering why you're the first face in my head? You think I don't notice how my whole day tilts sideways when you smile at me like I'm not dangerous. Like you actually see something worth trusting.

That silenced her.

For the first time in their entire chaotic exchange, Isabella had nothing to say.

"…Oh," she said quietly.

He stepped toward her. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a predator approaching a flame it couldn't help but touch—even if it knew it'd get burned.

"You make me feel too much, Isabella," he murmured. "It's overwhelming."

She looked up at him, and for once, she didn't smirk. She didn't sass. Her lips parted just slightly. Her eyes softened.

"So what are you saying?" she asked, her voice smaller now. "That it's better if I stop?"

He exhaled through his nose. "No. I'm saying… maybe I don't want you to."

A long, heavy pause stretched between them.

Then—slowly—Kian reached out and touched her cheek, his hand warm and steady. Isabella leaned into it without thinking.

His thumb brushed along her jaw, and then he leaned down.

Not for her lips.

But for her forehead.

He kissed it—soft, lingering, and full of a thousand unspoken things.

Isabella's eyes fluttered shut.

It wasn't hot like fire. It wasn't wild or chaotic like her usual style.

It was soft. Still. Safe.

But it left her heart thundering in her chest like a war drum.

When he pulled back, she was still standing frozen, blinking up at him.

"…What are you doing?" she finally asked.

Kian smirked. "You asked me not to stop."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't get smug. That wasn't me asking for forehead kisses."

"No?" he teased. "Could've fooled me. You melted."

"I did not!"

"You literally sighed and leaned in."

"I was adjusting my neck."

"Oh yeah?" he stepped closer, lowering his head. "Want me to help you 'adjust' again?"

Isabella shoved him lightly in the chest, cheeks flaming. "Ugh! You're impossible."

"And you're exhausting," he said with a straight face.

They stared at each other for a beat—then both broke into reluctant smiles.

She huffed and crossed her arms. "You're lucky I like you."

"I know," Kian said, tilting his head. "It's very hard being this lucky."

A pause.

Then Isabella looked away, suddenly remembering why she came out here in the first place.

"…I still need to make shampoo," she muttered.

He nodded. "I know."

She flicked her hair and shot him a glance. "You're going to help me, right?"

Kian's gaze warmed again, softer now. His lips quirked into the smallest, fondest smile.

"I'll help you make shampoo," Kian finally said after her words.