Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King novel Chapter 81

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.

Then he says, “After my parents died-

I don’t even let him finish. My voice is soft but firm. “You don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to.

And just like that, the moment shifts.

His expression flickers, something guarded settling into place. But he doesn’t shut down. Not yet.

I reach over, lacing my fingers through his. A silent promise. A reassurance.

The waves crash softly in the distance, the sky painted in fiery hues as the sun dips lower.

And for now, that’s enough.

Enoch leans back on his lounge chair, his eyes half–lidded, 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 it.

He stretches, long legs spread out, and I swear he’s doing it on purpose. “It’s not a big deal anymore,” he says, but I don’t believe that for a second.

His voice is calm, his face composed, but I’ve seen what lurks beneath that control. The rage. The grief. The absolute fucking hatred.

I shift, propping my elbow up as I eye him. “You still have a shit ton of anger about it, though.”

His brows lift like I just stated the obvious.

I suck in a slow breath, hesitant. “I mean… I’m technically paparazzi too, you know. A journalist. Does that mean you’re afraid of me?”

Enoch’s expression barely shifts, but there’s amusement flickering in his eyes. His fingers tap against the armrest as ha considers me, dragging out the silence just to fuck with me.

Then, in a perfectly serious tone, he says, “You’re my mate. The only person made for me. So I’m trying to tolerate you.”

I don’t think. I just grab my towel and chuck it straight at his face.

He laughs, catching it effortlessly, shaking his head as he tosses it aside. But just as fast as the amusement comes, it’s gone. That darkness is back, creeping into his voice. “When my parents died, the so–called journalists weren’t there to mourn. They were there for their fucking headlines. Every flash of a camera was a fucking grave robber digging into what little I had

left”

Ifreeze

His voice is quiet, but it’s the kind of quiet that carries weight, that fills a room even when it barely rises above a whisper.

He keeps going. “The cameras didn’t stop. Not when I stood over my father’s body, not when my mother’s dress was soaked in her own blood. They snapped their pictures while my relatives whispered behind my back about who would take the 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 what they could gain.”

Something cold slips into my stomach, spreading through my limbs like ice water.

A thought, a disgusting thought, slithers into my brain before I can stop it.

This would make a hell of a story Liam needs.

My gut clenches, and shame burns up my spine. I can’t believe I even considered it. Not with him sitting right in front of me, raw and exposed. I shake it off, shove it deep down where it belongs. I refuse to be like them.

I push up from my lounge chair and move toward him, the sand soft and warm beneath my feet. The world narrows to just him–the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers drum against his thigh, the tension in his shoulders.

I straddle his lap, my barely–there bikini pressing against his chest as his hands immediately settle on my ass, fingers tightening. His pupils expand, darkness swallowing the gold.

I grind against him slowly, teasing, feeling 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 there, to stop me from torturing him further.

“Taryn,” he warns, voice rough, but I can hear the struggle in it.

Inip at his jaw, smirking. “What? You don’t like my idea?”

He groans, head tilting back slightly, exposing the long column of his throat. It takes everything in me not to sink my teeth into it. “It’s a fucking great idea,” he mutters, one hand sliding up my back, fingers pressing into my spine.

A small victory. But before I can take it further, before I can tease him to the point of snapping, he grips my hips and flips me, pressing me into the lounge chair as his body covers mine.

I barely get out a gasp before his mouth crashes down onto mine.

It’s 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 meet him head–on, fisting his hair, yanking him closer. He groans into my mouth, pressing me deeper into the cushion.

I feel his fingers trailing down my stomach, skimming dangerously close to where I want him most, when—

Someone suddenly comes beside us.

Holy shit. Does she not have any read of what’s happening right now?

“Sir, Miss, your car is ready.”

Enoch growls into my mouth. I bite his lip in retaliation.

He pulls back slightly, eyes burning as he stares down at me. “We’re not fucking done.”

I smirk, breathless. “We’ll see.”