Caught by the Mad Alpha King Chapter 86: Shared bed

The suite was dim when they entered, lit only by the soft glow along the floor and the faint city light slipping through the tall windows. The air slled faintly of spice and sandalwood, a clean, grounding scent that always followed Dax wherever he went.

Chris paused just inside the door, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The room was too large for two people, all stone and glass softened by fabric and warmth, a private world carved out of everything the palace wasn’t. The hum of the climate control was barely audible, blending with the steady rhythm of Dax’s breathing behind him.

"I thought you’d have guards waiting here too," Chris said, half under his breath.

"I don’t need them," Dax replied simply, setting the dessert plate down on the low table near the couch. "Besides, they’d stare, and you hate being stared at."

Chris glanced at him, uncertain whether to take that as consideration or arrogance. "You notice too much."

"I have to," Dax said, shrugging off his jacket. "The world gets quieter that way."

Chris moved toward the couch, lowering himself with care. His body still ached, muscles too aware of their own healing, but the cushions sank around him like they’d been waiting. Dax followed a mont later, taking the opposite end, sleeves rolled, collar open, posture relaxed but eyes sharp.

"You should be in bed," Chris said, watching him.

"You first."

Chris rolled his eyes. "You can’t command soone into resting."

"Then I’ll bribe you." Dax reached for the dessert plate again, the honey catching the light as he held it out. "One bite, and then you lie down."

Chris eyed him, the fork, and the golden layers between them. "You really think that works on ?"

"It’s worked on entire parliants," Dax said dryly. "Don’t flatter yourself; you’re just easier to negotiate with."

Chris raised a brow with a nonimpressed look. "Let’s do it differently; I take a bite only if you get to bed at the sa ti with ."

Dax stilled, the plate balanced between his hands, expression unreadable. "You’re negotiating with a king," he said at last, voice low but edged with amusent.

Chris tilted his head, black eyes catching the faint city glow. "And you’re avoiding sleep. I’d say we’re both overstepping tonight."

The pause that followed was heavy enough that Chris almost regretted saying it. Almost.

Then Dax huffed out sothing halfway between a sigh and a quiet laugh, setting the dessert down on the table with particular care. "Fine," he said, rising from the couch. "But if I fall asleep before you, I’m blaming the sugar."

"You’d be the first man in history to overdose on kindness," Chris murmured, pushing himself up to follow.

He didn’t expect Dax to reach out, but he did, steadying him with a hand at his elbow, firm but careful. It was an instinctual move that made his touch linger half a heartbeat longer than it should have.

"Careful," Dax said, softer now.

"I’m fine," Chris replied, though his balance said otherwise.

"I know," Dax murmured. "You just look fragile when you lie."

Chris shot him a narrow look, but Dax only smiled faintly and guided him toward the bedroom. The motion sensors brightened the lights automatically as they entered, painting the space in soft amber. The bed was turned down already, the sheets a pale cream that caught the glow like quiet heat.

Dax stopped beside the bed and loosened the cuffs of his shirt, his long, elegant fingers moving without thought. The faint sound of fabric sliding over skin filled the space. Chris hesitated by the edge of the mattress, caught between exhaustion and the sharp self-consciousness that ca with being seen.

"Go on," Dax said, voice low and warm. "You’ll feel better lying down."

"I hate being told what I’ll feel," Chris muttered, but he sank to the mattress anyway. The sheets were cool, the scent of them clean with that trace of spiced sandalwood that seed woven into Dax’s presence.

Behind him, Dax’s belt slipped free with a soft click; the king folded his clothes with military precision before pulling on a dark cotton shirt and loose trousers. He looked different that way, less like a ruler and more like a man who had run out of ti to fight.

Chris toed off his shoes, then peeled out of his own clothes until he was down, and changed to the soft undershirt Nadia had insisted he wear.

The mattress dipped as Dax sat down beside him, the heat of him imdiate. Chris didn’t move, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away.

Dax noticed, of course he did. A slow exhale brushed Chris’s temple; then a hand, careful and warm, settled at his waist.

"Breathe," Dax said quietly.

Chris let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The alpha’s hand stayed where it was, its heat threading through the thin layers of clothing. He turned his head just enough that their foreheads almost touched. The faintest contact, skin to skin, and sothing in the air shifted.

Dax’s scent deepened, curling through the room in slow waves, settling against the ogas’s skin like a blanket. Chris’s pulse tripped, his body reacting before his mind caught up. Every sense he’d been fighting all day beca sharper; he could feel Dax’s heartbeat through the air, and the weight of his presence wrapped around him like gravity.

"Too much?" Dax asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"No," Chris said, and it was the truth even if he was also surprised by it.

He reached out, fingers brushing Dax’s shirt, aning only to calm himself. Instead, Dax moved closer. The small distance dissolved, breath eting breath. For a long second neither of them moved, suspended there in the quiet. Then Dax’s hand ca up, slow, tracing the side of Chris’s neck, thumb grazing the line of his jaw, a silent question that didn’t need words.

Chris answered it against his better judgnt, leaning in, closing the distance with a soft, unguarded kiss.

Chris’s lips were warm and soft, the touch of them a surprise that sent a jolt of pure pleasure through Dax. He had expected resistance, a pushback that would have been both familiar and frustrating. But this... this was unexpected. The softness of Chris’s mouth and the tentative way he leaned in were vulnerabilities that Dax had never seen in him.

When he finally pulled back, it was with a sigh that trembled between restraint and need. Chris’s eyes were half-open and unfocused, his lips parted like he was trying to find words and failing.

Dax’s scent lingered, warm and spiced, and Chris could feel it everywhere, threading through the air, through his pulse, and through the tremor in his hands.

The first kiss had been hesitant, almost testing. The second wasn’t. It was deeper, slower, until thought started to blur at the edges.

When Dax shifted closer, the air around them seed to tilt. His hand found Chris’s jaw, thumb tracing the corner of his mouth, the line of his throat, moving lower. Chris leaned into it without aning to, every instinct pulling him toward warmth and contact. His body had already decided before his mind caught up, muscles loose, heartbeat loud, the old discipline he lived on falling apart with every quiet exhale.

Dax’s touch was slow, reverent almost, as if he was trying to morize rather than claim. Chris’s breath hitched when fingertips brushed his ribs through the thin fabric of his shirt. For a mont, he didn’t want to. He felt light, suspended sowhere between wanting and warning.

Then Dax’s mouth found his shoulder, the faintest press of lips over the place where his scent gland was and Chris felt his world tilt.