Chapter 63 Stolen Kisses
Malia's POV
We move across the bed, textbooks and notes falling to the ground with muffled thuds that neither of us pay any mind to. His hands are everywhere, twining in my hair, running along my waist, bringing me impossibly closer. Through his shirt, my own hands travel the planes of his back, as the muscles flex under my palm.
It doubles everything up. My body quivers, sends off sparks. Every single kiss sends shocks through my body. Every caress seems to be electric, meaningful, and just right in a way that defies logic and reason.
He exhales, leaning down to kiss me again, “Malia,” he breathes between kisses, my name a prayer. When he says, “God you don‘t know what you do to me.”
And I think I’ve got some idea, with the way his heart is pounding against my chest, the way he’s breathing ragged, and the way the bond is practically buzzing with lust and need and maybe something even more intense than that that neither of us have quite been able to put to words just yet.
His lips find mine again, and this kiss is different-slower, deeper, almost reverent. He’s like drinking in every second, etching every sensation into his memory.
When we’re not kissing, the world seems to shrink around us. His lips press against mine again—soft, deliberate, then with hunger. The initial press of their lips is tender and hesitant, but sparks fly. A surge of heat jets through the bond, acute and fluid—and the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears drowns out everything else.
His tongue runs along the seam of my lips, persuading me to part, and bringing him inside feels like electricity—dragging strokes that taste like desire, coffee, and him.
My stomach flutters, my thighs clamping as jolts shoot down my spine. With every slide of his lips, every soft suck on my bottom one, I have fresh waves of molten need pooling my lower stomach.
The bond thrums louder, syncing our heartbeats, making every touch intense, divine, filthy-sweet.
I melt against him, my fingers twining in his shirt, wanting more, suffocating in the sizzling perfection of being desired this ᥴompletely.
We remain tangled like that for long minutes, exchanging lazy, lingering kisses that seem like promises until the previous intensity eventually turns into something gentler, warmer.
When we finally pull away, breathless, he leans his forehead against mine.
"We really do need to study," I say, but there's no conviction in my voice.
"I know." He doesn’t move, he doesn’t pull away. "Five more minutes?"
"Five more minutes," I say, because how can I say no when he's looking at me as if I'm the most important thing in the world?
He rolls onto his back, and pulls me along so I’m pressed against his side, my head resting on his chest. His heart is still pounding beneath my ear, slowing gradually as we both come down from the moment’s intensity.
“You’re distracting,” I tell him but there’s nothing heat in my voice. "I’m going to flunk my exams because of you."
“You’re going to come out on top in your exams,” he tells me, his hand running soothingly through my hair. “You’re so bright, Malia. Even when I’m being distracting.”
"Confident."
“Correct." He kisses the top of my head. "Besides, if you do fail somehow—which you won't—I'll just have to tutor you. More study sessions. More stolen kisses. It sounds horrible.'’
The smile in his voice can be heard on this end, and I find myself smiling as well. "You're impossible."
“You like it.”
“Maybe.” I lift my head to look at him. "But really, we'd better actually study now. For at least another hour."
He groans dramatically. “Fine. But I’m holding you to those stolen kisses as motivation. Every chapter we get through, I get a kiss.”
“That's bribery.”
“That's our incentive.” He sits up pulling me with him, then reaches down to gather up our scattered textbooks. “Come on. The earlier we do our homework, the earlier we can quit pretending like we’re focused on anything other than each other.”
We settled back down to our books, notes in order. But now there’s a new energy between us — lighter, warmer, charged with the memory of heated kisses and wandering hands.
Aiden keeps his promise about the incentive system. Every time I successfully answer one of his quiz questions, he leans over and kisses me. Sometimes just a quick press of lips, sometimes longer, deeper, until I lose my train of thought completely.
"You're cheating," I protest when he gives me a particularly distracting kiss and I forget what I was saying about the territoriality principle in law.
"That's motivation," he scoffs with a smirk.
By the time we actually get through another chapter, the sexual tension is almost unbearable all over again. But there’s also something sweet about it — how we’re figuring out how to temper the intensity of that bond with the everyday reality of studying for tests.
How we can be both mates and students, both of us entangled in something cosmic and stuck in the daily grind of college stress.
“Okay,” I say at last, slamming my textbook shut. “I think my brain is full. If I learn one more date or treaty clause, something important is going to come out.”
Aiden laughs and dusts off his own work. “Fair enough. We have been at this for—” he peeks at his phone, “—four hours. That ought to be enough for one night.”
“Four hours?” I gape at him. “It felt like thirty minutes.”
“Time flies when you’re kissing your girlfriend between study questions,” he says with a big smile.
I toss a pillow at him. He catches it without any trouble, still grinning and I’m struck by how young he looks like this. So unlike the serious, commanding alpha heir that everyone else seems to get. This is the Aiden that I alone gets to see — playful, relaxed, genuinely happy.
“Come here,” he says, spreading his arms.
I go willingly, and allow him to tug me back against his chest as we plop down on the pillows. His arms hold me tight, solid and secure, and I feel the tension of the day finally melt away.
"Thank you," I whisper in the silence.
"For what?"
"For this, for making studying almost fun, for ... for being ... " I look for the right word. "For being you."
His arms are tighter around me. "Thank you for being mine," he says simply. "For choosing to be here in this moment with me."
“Always,” I breath, and feel him smile against my hair.
We lie close in the quiet, the textbooks tossed aside on the floor, the exam pressure on hold. Just two people in a perfect moment dancing away from the chaos of everything else.
The actual studying can wait.
This—us—is more important.