Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

Chapter 81

Maldives is fucking awesome.

The sun is sinking lower, casting streaks of gold and crimson across the horizon.

I stretch out on the lounge chair, my damp skin still warm from the ocean, sunglasses shielding my eyes as I soak in the last rays of the day. The rhythmic crash of waves and the faint laughter of distant beachgoers blend into a lazy soundtrack of paradise.

And then, a shadow moves over me.

I lower my sunglasses just enough to peek over the rim, and holy hell.

Enoch strides out of the water. It's some goddamn scene out of a wet dream. His dark hair is slicked back, droplets cascading down his sharp jawline, tracing the ridges of his abs before disappearing into the waistband of his black swim shorts.

His muscles flex and shift with every step, the setting sun igniting a golden sheen on his tanned skin. He drags a hand through his hair, shaking out excess water, and I swear my mouth goes dry.

I whistle low, because what else am I supposed to do? "Damn, King. You sure you don't moonlight as a cologne model?"

Enoch's head tilts slightly, amusement flickering across his face before he lets out a low chuckle. "That's the best you got?" His voice is husky, deep, sending a shiver down my spine.

He doesn't wait for an answer-just bends down, one hand bracing the side of my chair as his lips find mine in a kiss that's way too casual for the way it makes my body react.

His mouth is warm, teasing, his tongue flicking over my bottom lip before he pulls back like he didn't just set my nerve endings on fire. And then he's gone, flopping onto his own lounge chair beside me, grabbing a towel and dragging it over his body in a way that should be illegal.

I sit up properly, shaking off the lingering heat, and snatch the brochure from the table beside me. The glossy pages crinkle as I flip through them, my enthusiasm ramping up as I spot exactly what I'm looking for.

"Okay, so hear me out," I announce, flipping the brochure around for dramatic effect. "We're going out tonight. Apparently, this place has a whole nightlife scene-bars, bonfires, cocktails that look like they could knock out a Lycan-"

Enoch hums in response, but he's watching me, towel abandoned, his elbow propped on the chair as he lets me ramble. His lips twitch slightly, that infuriatingly amused expression locked in place as I continue yapping about the possibilities. "-and there's this thing called a fire dancer show, which sounds badass, and-"

I don't get to finish my sentence.

One second, I'm mid-sentence, and the next, a strong hand has tangled into the back of my hair, fisting it just enough to tilt my head back. The sudden movement knocks the air from my lungs, my body locking up as Enoch leans in, his breath fanning against my lips.

Then he kisses me.

Hard.

His mouth is demanding, all tongue and dominance, swallowing whatever smart remark I was about to make. A surprised gasp escapes me before I melt into it, my fingers clutching at his forearm for balance. He doesn't just kiss-he owns. He devours. His teeth nip at my lip, his tongue sweeping inside to taste, to take, to consume. And 1-

Oh, fuck. I like this.

By the time he pulls back, my pulse is hammering, my breath coming too fast. His eyes-dark, smoldering-search mine as if waiting for something. Maybe permission. Maybe a reaction.

"Glad you thought of this," he murmurs, voice raw. "Glad I brought you here: Still catching my breath. I manage a small, breathless smile. “Yeah. Me too."

He watches me for a second longer, something unreadable in his gaze, before turning away, grabbing his towel like he didn't. just completely unravel me. As he casually runs the cloth over his chest, he says, "It's a break for me too. Hate the paparazzi"

My head jerks up at that, brows furrowing. "Paparazzi?"

Enoch smirks, clearly entertained by my surprise, but instead of answering right away, he stretches, rolling out his shoulders like this is a casual conversation and not something that just flipped my entire perception of him upside down.

says, "After my

don't even let him finish. My voice is soft but firm.

that, the

flickers, something guarded settling into place. But

lacing my fingers through

sky painted in fiery hues as the sun dips

for now,

completely at ease. That lazy, arrogant smile tugs at his lips-one that's quickly becoming a fucking problem for me. Because I like it. Because I like him. Because I want him. And I'm pretty sure he knows

I swear he's doing it on

he says, but

voice is calm, his face composed, but I've seen what

rage. The grief. The absolute fucking

elbow up as I eye him. "You still have a shit ton

it, though."

I

technically paparazzi too, you know. A journalist. Does that mean you're afraid of

amusement flickering in his eyes. His fingers tap against the armrest as ha considers

a perfectly serious tone, he says, "You're my mate. The only person made for me. So I'm trying to

towel and

it effortlessly, shaking his head as he

amusement comes, it's gone. That

to mourn. They were there for their fucking headlines. Every

left"

Ifreeze

of quiet that carries weight, that

throne now that I was too young, too broken. No one gave a shit that I'd just lost my family. They only cared about

make a hell of a story

gut clenches, and shame burns up my spine.

with him sitting right in front of me, raw and exposed. I shake it

it belongs. I

the sand soft and warm beneath my feet. The world narrows to just him-the sharp line of

my barely-there bikini pressing against his chest as his hands immediately settle on my ass, fingers tightening. His

the hard press of his erection against me. His breath catches, a sharp inhale through his nose, but his hands stay steady, fingers digging into my ass as if to hold me

voice rough, but I can

"What? You

column of his throat. It takes everything in me not to sink my teeth

I can take it further, before I can tease him to

me, pressing me into

gasp before his mouth

not soft. It's not careful. It's raw, hot, needy. He's trying to brand himself into me-trying to chase away the ghosts of his past with my taste. I

my stomach, skimming

him most,

comes

have any read of what's

Miss, your car is

I

pulls back slightly, eyes burning as he stares