Sensing the weight of his thoughts, Anastasia broke the silence, her voice gentle but intentional.
"Where are your favorite beaches?"
Malvor exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake something off.
"Ah, my darling Annie, you ask the right questions."
He let his head fall back against the chair, staring up at the illusory sky. His tone was lighter—but something heavier lingered underneath.
"The white sands of the Maldives. The water's so clear you can see the ocean floor beneath your feet."
A pause.
"The black sand beaches of Reynisfjara, Iceland. Cold, dramatic, absolutely breathtaking. A place where you could disappear into the waves and never be found."
Another pause, shorter this time.
"The hidden beaches of the Philippines. The ones tourists don't know about. Where the jungle kisses the ocean, and the world feels untouched."
His golden eyes flicked to hers. There was something unplaceable in them.
"But if we're talking memories… there's a little stretch of rock and sand in Greece. No name. No mark on a map. Just a quiet place I used to go. The water's perfect. The wind is always warm. And at night, the sky's so clear you feel like you could fall into it."
His lips twitched—not quite a smirk, not quite a frown.
"I haven't been back in a long time."
He stretched, forcing his usual grin back into place.
"But I suppose I could make an exception. If you'd want to see it."
A playful tone. But the offer was real. Quiet. Unspoken.
"I want to go to the beach with you."
Malvor stilled, watching her closely.
She meant it.
"I would love to go to the beach with you."
Not out of obligation. Not playing along.
She wanted to.
Something in his chest tightened. Warm. Frustratingly warm.
"Annie, I want to take you to the beach."
His voice came out softer than he meant.
"I want to take you everywhere. You deserve to see the world for good reasons."
She smiled.
And damn it all, he felt it.
Then—
"Sometimes, Mally, I think you're a good guy."
He winced like she'd slapped him.
"Ugh, Annie. Disgusting. Take it back."
She laughed, shaking her head.
"Nope. Too late."
Malvor groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"Gods above, I need to commit a heinous act of mischief immediately to undo this."
Anastasia just sipped her drink, utterly unconcerned.
"Too bad. You already said you're taking me to the beach. No mischief today, Mally."
He gasped.
"Annie, you monster."
She laughed. Bright. Unguarded.
And damn it, that laugh had become his favorite sound.
It was real. She was more real when she laughed.
Not the unreadable woman she usually was—but someone alive, light, free.
And gods, he wanted more of it.
Then she caught him looking.
Not with a smirk. Not playful.But something else.
Something deeper.
His smile dropped the moment their eyes met.
Annie's breath hitched.
She swallowed—audibly.
Malvor's fingers twitched. His throat tightened.
He liked the way she looked at him.
And that… was dangerous.
But dangerous was literally his middle name.
Malvor Danger Theóskakó.
And the way she was watching him?
Breathtaking.Spellbinding.Something unspoken and utterly consuming.
Anastasia's gaze drifted over him.
The silly outfit. The tousled hair. The living tattoos.
Oh gods.
It was adorable.
And sweet.
He tried.
He probably did it just to be dramatic, to annoy her, to fluster her.
But damn… it was doing things to her.
The longing looks lasted too long.
Neither of them moved.Neither of them spoke.
The space between them crackled.
Thick with something undeniable.
Something neither wanted to name.
Someone had to move first.
Annie inhaled sharply—and that was all it took.
Malvor moved first—but only by a breath.
Only just closing the gap before her hands shot up, tangling into his hair, pulling him the rest of the way in.
Their mouths collided—no hesitation, no teasing—just heat.
His hands gripped her waist. Strong. Firm.
Fingers pressing into her skin like a silent claim.
She kissed him hard.
No practiced movements.
No performance.
Just need.
His lips moved with hers—open, searching, devouring.
A low sound rumbled in his chest.
His tattoos flickered with energy beneath her touch.
Her nails scraped against his scalp.
He groaned, tilting his head, deepening the kiss.
Tongues met.Teeth grazed.
It was urgent, messy, hungry—
And gods, it felt good.
Like neither of them could get close enough.Like the rest of the world had blurred to nothing.
Malvor's hands roamed—waist to hips—pulling her closer, needing her closer.
Anastasia pressed into him, fingers tangling in his shirt like she wanted to rip him apart or pull him in deeper. Maybe both.
His tongue traced her bottom lip—demanding.
She gave in.
The kiss turned hotter. Deeper.
A war of want.
Neither one willing to back down.
Her hands wandered—tracing his tattoos, feeling his heat, the strength beneath.
He growled when her nails scraped down his chest.
In response, his grip tightened.
Her thighs.Her back.Her waist.
As if he didn't know where to touch first.
They were testing the edge.
And neither wanted to stop.