Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King Chapter 23

As soon as those words left his mouth, the tension in the room skyrocketed. It was so thick, it could be cut through by a knife.

"And what do you mean by serve you?" I asked but he just kept looking at me and then suddenly he did it; he bit his lower lips with his teeth and my breath hitch.

There was just something about the way he looked at me, it made every rational thought fly out the window.

It shut that voice in my head that kept telling me he was dangerous.

That he was a beast and I couldn't let my guard down. Because if I did, that meant death.

"Come here," His voice commanded.

I should have refused, especially the fact that he was still covered in blood, but it was like my feet had a mind of its own.

One step became two, just like that, until I was standing in front of him.

His gaze burned into me, heavy, suffocating, and yet... intoxicating.

One heartbeat. Two.

Then his hand shot out, gripping my wrist and yanking me forward so fast I gasped. My balance faltered, and before I could find my footing, I was falling into him—literally into him. My knees landed on either side of his thighs, my dress riding up, my palms braced against his blood-streaked chest. I could feel him. All of him. The hard, unyielding length pressed perfectly between us.

A sound rumbled from his chest—low, guttural, and so primal it sent a shiver down my spine. A moan. A fucking moan.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, my tone sharp, biting. I wanted it to sting, to snap him out of whatever the hell this was.

But then I saw it.

That look.

Dark desire, thick and molten, flooding his irises. It wasn't just lust—it was possession. Hunger.

And before I could even form the next word, his mouth crushed against mine. No warning. No softness. Just raw, consuming force.

My first instinct was to fight—my hands pushed at his chest, my head turned, but his grip only tightened, dragging me closer, trapping me there. His tongue swept into my mouth like it belonged, like I had no say in the matter. My fists pounded once against him, but then...Then I felt it. Him. The sheer heat of his body, the way he pressed me down against that thick, hard length, rubbing me against him as if he wanted to mold me to his shape. My struggles faltered, my breath coming faster, uneven. My body was betraying me.

"Get off me," I panted against his lips before sinking my teeth into his lower one. Hard. Copper flooded my mouth, and he growled—deep, dangerous—before pulling back just enough to lick the blood I'd drawn.

His hand snapped to my ass, a sharp slap that made me jolt and hiss.

"You fucking bastard," I spat, anger boiling inside me like a volcano about to explode.

His only answer was to grip my waist in those strong, merciless hands and drag me forward along him, making me grind against him. The friction was sinful, maddening, and my head tipped back before I could stop it, my lips parting in a sound I didn't want him to hear.

One of his hands slid up my spine, over my shoulder, before wrapping around my throat—not squeezing, just holding, claiming—and then his mouth was on mine again, devouring, taking.

There was nothing soft about him. No hesitation. No patience. Just this overwhelming, consuming demand that swallowed me whole.

I didn't even know when I'd stopped resisting and started moving against him on my own, my hips finding a rhythm that made my pulse pound in my ears. My nails dug into his shoulders, dragging against muscle so tense it felt like stone.

I told myself I shouldn't be doing this, that I had experienced first hand what it was like for him to completely turn against you.

I reminded myself what could become of me if this goes too far.

Buy his eyes—goddess, those eyes—flashed between black and blue, each shift more intoxicating than the last. A growl ripped from him as his fingers dug into my hips, guiding me harder, faster, as if he couldn't get enough of the way I moved on him.

The tension in him was a living thing. It coiled through the air, seeped into my bones. My breathing matched his, ragged and desperate, heat pooling low in my stomach.

And then—suddenly—he stopped me.

I froze, panting, my hands still clutching him. His chest heaved beneath my palms, the veins in his forehead and neck standing out like it was taking everything in him to control himself.

Those eyes locked on mine again, black and blue swirling like a storm.

"If you keep doing that..." His voice was hoarse, dangerous, "...I might not be able to stop."