Chapter 112: The Taste of Steel and Sweetness 18+

"King Maximus, what... what if somebody walks in?" Her tone shifted, her voice softer now, almost breathless. Her lips hovered right before his, close enough that every word brushed against him, while the heat in her body kept rising.

"Nobody will. I have this place locked up."

Max’s finger lit up with purple ice flame. A small flicker flew toward the door, spreading frost across the wood and freezing the lock shut.

Clotilde’s eyes moved to the door for a second, her breath catching in her throat. But she did not pull away.

Max’s lips brushed against hers, barely touching, teasing her with that small contact. A strange spark ran through her body, making her fingers tighten against her own skirt. She did not understand where that feeling came from, but strangely enough, she liked it. It awakened something deeper in her, something she had been trying to bury behind her armor and proper words.

She wanted him to continue.

Max’s fingers moved to her chin, gripping it slightly stronger as he turned her face back to him.

This time, Clotilde did not look away.

He pulled her into a kiss.

Her movements were awkward, her eyes half-open while his were fully closed. She did not know how to respond properly at first, but her lips still softened against his. Max could taste how sweet they were, and it drove his desire higher.

And the way she slowly yielded under his touch made it even harder for him to stop.

Max’s palm moved over her thigh, his fingers brushing slowly across her warm skin as they slid closer to the armor still hiding the most private part of her. A rougher part of him wanted to rip it open, tear it away, and watch her reveal everything before him. But he held back. He waited, not because he lacked desire, but because he wanted to feel the moment she stopped pretending she did not want this.

He kissed her deeper, his tongue slipping past her lips and brushing against hers. At first, it felt awkward. Clotilde was tense, her body stiff, her tongue unsure and shy as if she did not know whether to respond or retreat.

But Max did not rush her. He kissed her slowly, steadily, guiding her with each movement until the tension in her mouth began to melt. Her tongue softened against his, and soon, the two of them were exchanging hot breaths and wet kisses that made her fingers curl against his sleeve.

Max broke the kiss first.

Clotilde stayed there for a second, suspended in the heat he had left behind. Her eyes flickered, dazed and needy, her lips still slightly parted as if she had forgotten the kiss was over. She leaned closer again, chasing him without thinking, but Max raised his fingers and blocked her lips.

Neither of them spoke.

Only a low, helpless whimper slipped from her mouth.

Max moved to her exposed neck, brushing her long white hair aside before lowering his lips to her skin. He kissed her slowly at first, then a little deeper, letting his teeth graze just enough to make her shoulders tense. The scent of her hair and skin drove him mad. Her hair was smooth, cool, and silky between his fingers, and every time he pushed it aside, more of her neck opened for him.

He was starting to realize how much he enjoyed women’s necks.

There was something about the way they reacted there. The sharp breath. The soft moan. The way their bodies betrayed them before their mouths could say anything. Clotilde was no different. Her fingers quickly found his hair, digging into it as a shiver ran across her skin. Every kiss he left on her neck felt like molten heat brushing over her body, making her head spin and her thighs press together without her even realizing it.

Max felt that small movement.

And his fingers on her thigh paused for a moment before slowly tightening.

He liked the way she clenched without meaning to. It told him everything her proper knightly pride still refused to admit aloud.

Clotilde’s breath hitched. She wanted to deny it, but the lie would not come. Instead, her fingers only tightened harder in his hair, pulling him closer as if her body had already made the decision for her.

Max smiled against her skin. He kissed lower, slowly, tracing the line where her neck met the hard black plate of her armor. The metal was cool, but beneath it her pulse beat hot and frantic. He found the first buckle at her collar, fingers working it open with practiced ease.

The pauldron slid free and dropped to the floor with a muted clank. He did not look at it. His mouth was already on the newly bared skin of her shoulder, kissing the faint red line the armor had left behind.

She tasted like salt and steel and something sweeter, something that was only Clotilde. He sucked lightly, then harder, until a soft, startled sound escaped her. "Maximus..." It was half protest, half plea. He answered by dragging his tongue along the same spot, soothing the faint mark he had made.

Another buckle. Another piece. The gorget came away next, exposing the delicate hollow at the base of her throat. He kissed her there too, open-mouthed and hungry, feeling her swallow hard beneath his lips. Her chest rose and fell faster now, pushing against the remaining plates that still shielded her breasts. He could see the flush creeping downward, painting her pale skin pink.

"You keep wearing all this iron," he said, voice husky as he worked the next strap loose, "but every inch I uncover is softer than the last."

He kissed the slope of one breast as the armor plating shifted aside, lips brushing the upper curve that had been hidden all day. Clotilde’s back arched without her permission. A helpless little whimper left her again, and this time she did not try to swallow it.

Max’s hand slid higher under her skirt, fingertips grazing the edge of her smallclothes, but he did not go further yet. Instead, he kissed lower, finding the sensitive skin just beneath her ribs as another segment of black armor clattered away.

Each new patch of bare flesh drew a fresh kiss, until her breathing had turned ragged and her thighs were pressing together once more, seeking friction she did not yet know how to ask for.

He was in no hurry. He wanted every piece of her armor gone, and he wanted her to feel exactly when she stopped caring that it was gone.