ANGEL'S POV
I wasn't running away.
I told myself that as I tiptoed down Lisa's driveway at dawn, shoes dangling from one hand, bag slung across my shoulder like some guilty thief. The cool morning air brushed my skin, sharp and awakening, and I pressed my arms close as if shielding myself from the world. I needed space. A moment to breathe without him dominating every thought, every pulse, every heartbeat.
I needed distance from King Alexander—my best friend's older brother—the man who could erase my name from my own mind with a single look. The man who had made me tremble in ways I couldn't rationalize.
I wasn't running.
My car waited under the tree, its surface gleaming faintly in the dawn light. Relief surged as I shoved the keys into the lock. Freedom—sweet, fleeting. Until…
A voice cut through the morning like a whip.
"Going somewhere, Angel?"
I froze. Keys clattered to the ground. Heart hammering. No. No. No.
I turned slowly.
King stood there. Sweatpants clung to his lean frame, a black fitted T-shirt outlining every muscle I had imagined a thousand times. His hair was damp, like he'd just returned from a run, and his jaw—clean-shaven, sharp—could cut glass. His eyes—dark, unreadable, infuriating—dragged slowly from my face to my bag and back.
He looked…annoyed. And worse, fully awake.
"I—uh—I have something to do at home," I stammered, trying to sound composed.
"At six in the morning?" His eyebrow lifted, precise, calculating. "Try again."
I swallowed hard. "Maybe I didn't sleep well."
"You slept enough to sneak out," he said, stepping closer. His quiet tone wasn't calming—it was dangerous, a weight pressing against me, commanding my attention.
"I didn't sneak," I argued, my voice weaker than I intended.
"Angel."
Just my name. A whisper. A warning. A command.
The keys lay between us. I bent to pick them up, only for his hand to shoot out—warm, firm, unyielding—closing around mine. His grip was deliberate, precise, claiming.
"Leave them," he said.
"I need to go—"
"No, you don't."
He released my wrist only to crouch and pick up the keys himself, slipping them into his pocket. I stared, incredulous.
"Give those back," I demanded, pulse racing with a mixture of fear and… something else. Something hotter.
"Not a chance."
Anger, frustration, desire—they tangled inside me, impossible to separate.
"King, you can't just—"
"You think you'll drive home half-asleep when you can't even look me in the eye without forgetting your own name?"
"I know my name," I muttered, heat flooding my cheeks.
"Then say it."
My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
His eyes darkened. "Exactly."
I stepped back instinctively—but the car door stopped me.
King advanced, closing the distance like a predator. His arms braced on either side, caging me gently but unmistakably against the car.
"Why are you avoiding me?" His voice was low, private, dangerous.
"I'm not—"
"You are."
His breath brushed my cheek—warm, soft, devastating. My knees nearly gave out.
"This isn't fair," I whispered.
"What isn't?"
"You. Being like this."
"Like what?" His smirk teased me, a mix of sin and satisfaction.
"Intense. Controlling. Hot."
I slapped my hand over my mouth, horrified at the confession.
"Hot?" He dipped his head, close enough to see the terror and longing in my eyes. "I think you mean… irresistible."
"I said nothing," I protested weakly.
"You did." He leaned closer, deliberate, each movement calculated to unsettle me. "And you're right."
My heart stopped.
I should have run. I should have pushed him away. I should have said something clever.
Instead, I stared at his mouth like a fool.
His fingers lifted, brushing a stray curl from my temple. Gentle. Possessive. My body responded instinctively, arching toward him, pulled by a force I couldn't name.
"Tell me again you weren't running," he whispered, gravelly, intent.
I shivered. "Fine," I breathed. "I was running."
A pause. "Happy now?" His exhale was sharp, satisfied.
"No," I murmured, heat crawling up my neck. "But at least I'm honest."
"What do you want from me?" I whispered, the weight of the question heavy, dangerous.
His hand slid to my jaw, tilting my face to meet his gaze. "Everything," he said, the word slamming into me like a physical blow.
My breath caught. His lips hovered an inch from mine—close enough to feel the warmth, too close and not enough at the same time.
"King…" I whispered, warning and plea tangled together.
"Say it again," he demanded softly.
"What?"
"My name."
The magnetic pull between us was unbearable. I couldn't resist.
"King…" I breathed.
His thumb traced my cheek, slow, deliberate, claiming. "Good girl," he whispered.
I shuddered visibly, shame and longing colliding in a storm I couldn't control.
His head dipped slightly, and I felt the ghost of his lips brush mine—a trembling, almost-kiss that set my entire body on fire.
Then...the sound of the door opening behind us shattered the moment.
Lisa's voice pierced the tension. "Angel? King? What are you two—oh—oh my gosh!"
King didn't flinch. Didn't step back. Didn't look guilty.
He only lifted his head slightly, eyes locked on mine. His voice, low and rough, barely audible: "This isn't over."
And then.Deliberately,he stepped away, leaving me trembling and breathless against the car.
Lisa stood on the porch, wide-eyed, clutching her cereal bowl.
"Oh. My. God," she mouthed silently.
I wanted to melt into the ground.
KING'S POV
I should have walked away.
I told myself that as I climbed the porch steps, ignoring Lisa's stunned squeak. I should have let her go home. Let her avoid me. Let the irrational, dangerous feelings fade.
But Angel…
She looked at me like I was dangerous. Like she was drawn to that danger. Like she feared it.
I couldn't stop myself. Not when she turned in the driveway with sleep-soft eyes and trembling lips. Not when she tried to lie to me—voice cracking as if she already knew she couldn't win. Not when she called me hot—and nearly melted against the restraint I kept.
A single breath. That's all I needed. And if Lisa hadn't interrupted… I would have crossed the line.
I wasn't proud of the loss of control, but I wasn't sorry either. I stopped at the top of the stairs, jaw tight, rubbing the back of my neck.
What the hell was she doing to me? Why was I acting like a man starved?
My phone buzzed. The camp coordinator. Dates moved. Perfect. No more running for her.
When Angel stepped back into the house, cheeks flushed, eyes wide, I knew exactly how the chapter would end.
I met her gaze.
"You're coming to that camp," I said calmly.
"And you and I..."
I stepped closer, deliberately invading her space.
"—aren't finished."
Her breath hitched. Good.