The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 175: Maybe you’re the one trembling and pretending you’re not

Chapter 175: Chapter 175: Maybe you’re the one trembling and pretending you’re not

The moonlight poured like liquid silver over the steamy surface of the hot spring, catching the edges of the rising mist and scattering light in delicate halos. The steam wrapped around them like breath—cloaking, revealing, hiding secrets only to whisper them back into the night.

And Isabella? She stood with one hip cocked and her chin lifted high, not a single drop of hesitation in her tone.

"Take it off."

Kian’s blue gaze locked onto hers. A long, unreadable silence stretched between them.

Then, with calculated confidence, he reached for the ties of his hide skirt.

No shame. No hesitation. Just slow, practiced movements as the material slid down and was discarded like it meant nothing at all.

And stars help her, Isabella didn’t mind. Not even a little.

She had been meaning to touch those abs since the first day they met. She was only being honest with herself now. And tonight? Tonight felt like the stars finally aligned.

She dipped her fingers into the warm clay bowl, swirling the soap, letting the lather coat her palms. The moment her feet moved forward, something inside her clicked. That earlier flustered energy? Gone.

Kian had challenged her—and she’d risen to meet him like she always did.

The water lapped gently around her thighs as she stepped close. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. The steam curled between their bodies, but not enough to hide the hard lines of his torso. Moonlight gleamed off the slick surface of his chest.

She lifted her hands and placed them on his chest—bold, sure.

And holy stars.

Her fingers stilled briefly over his skin, heat blooming in her palms like a secret.

So. Toned.

It was one thing to see him like this—half-naked in battle, in passing, after a shift—but touching him? That was something else entirely. His chest wasn’t just muscular, it was sculpted, cut like it had been chiseled by divine hands with far too much time. The warmth of his skin seeped into her fingertips, and she swore she could feel the power thrumming beneath, restrained and coiled like a storm waiting to snap.

She swallowed, heart thudding far too loud in her ears. Her thumbs brushed over the ridges of his abs. One, two, three—how many did he even have? She lost count. Her breath hitched as her hands wandered, slowly, deliberately, tracing the sharp dips and lines like an explorer with a map she’d memorized but still wanted to touch, just to be sure it was real.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, even. His body was still beneath her touch, and yet she could feel the tension—the way his muscles twitched slightly, reacting to every stroke of her fingers.

She lathered more soap onto her palms, but she wasn’t fooling anyone anymore. Her hands weren’t cleaning. They were exploring. Testing boundaries. Letting her get drunk on the heat of him.

And then... her touches shifted.

She gave a single, playful poke—right above his navel.

Nothing.

Another.

Still nothing.

So she did it again, but this time, her fingers glided sideways, grazing along the defined edge of a muscle. Her nails barely scratched the surface, feather-light.

Kian’s body gave the faintest jolt.

Oh.

Her eyes flicked upward, searching his face. "Wait..." she whispered, smile curling, "does that tickle?"

He said nothing.

Didn’t even blink.

But his jaw twitched—tight.

A challenge.

She grinned, bright and mischievous.

Another graze. A little slower this time, like she was testing how far she could push.

And there it was again—his abs contracted ever so slightly, like he was trying to suppress a reaction and failing.

Isabella’s grin turned into a full-blown smirk. "Oh my gods, you are ticklish."

He didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t deny it either.

She did it again.

And again.

A soft drag of fingertips over the most sensitive parts of his stomach. Her hands were barely touching him now, just grazing with the tips of her nails and fingers, playful and teasing. She loved how he tensed under her, how his controlled exterior cracked in tiny, delicious ways.

And then, out of nowhere—

He laughed.

A sharp, startled laugh that burst from him like he hadn’t meant to let it out. It was short, rare, but real.

Isabella’s eyes widened. "Was that a laugh? Did I just make the cold Lion King laugh?"

Her voice was giddy with victory. She poked again—harder this time—like she’d just discovered treasure and wanted more of it.

"Stop it."

The words were low, firm, and edged with something unfamiliar.

Not anger. Not quite.

But it made her freeze.

Her hands hovered midair. Her breath caught.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, heart fluttering wildly, the heat between them suddenly shifting—charged, dangerous, intimate. And for the first time in the last minute, she realized how close she was. How naked he was. How one tiny movement could turn everything upside down.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward.

It was electric.

"Okay!" she blurted. "Okay, sorry. Got carried away. That was... a little embarrassing."

But she was grinning, even as she forced herself to resume with some form of dignity.

Focus mode. Soap. Circles. Breathe.

The pads of her fingers glided over the slick warmth of his skin. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath her touch, but he said nothing. Didn’t shift. Didn’t flinch this time.

He just watched her. His eyes, always sharp, tracked every movement like a beast watching prey—patient, unreadable.

Isabella swallowed. But she refused to back down now.

"Beast kings like you should be washed like royalty," she said airily, trying to ease the tension creeping into her spine.

Kian’s lips curled ever so slightly.

"You’re trembling again. I thought you were bolder than this."

Her gaze snapped up, fingers pausing mid-stroke. "I am—," she paused her sentence midway, narrowing her eyes. "Maybe you’re the one trembling and pretending you’re not."

A beat.

His brow ticked.

They both smirked.

And then their gazes dropped—to lips. Just a flicker. A brush of want that shimmered between them like the surface of the spring.