The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 172: ...How do we use the soap?

The air clung thick between them, the rising steam from the hot spring curling around their bodies like a curious serpent. Isabella stood frozen as Kian took one more deliberate step forward—his tall, toned frame casting a shadow over her flushed skin.

Too close.

Too much.

Too hot.

And it was definitely not because of the water.

His white hair glowed faintly beneath the silver moonlight, glistening at the ends with mist. Those sharp cheekbones, the hollow of his throat, the muscles along his arms and chest—he looked carved from a god’s fever dream. A walking temptation. A deadly one.

Isabella’s throat dried instantly. She felt every nerve spark to life, like they were suddenly in a competition to feel everything. Her eyes dipped—just for a second—down to his bare chest, the ridges of his abs catching droplets that slid lower, disappearing beneath the band of his furred waist cloth.

Oh dear. She was looking again.

He stopped barely a breath away from her. "You’re noisy today," he said lowly, voice gravel and shadow.

Her heart kicked. "Excuse me?" she blinked up, hating the way her voice came out weak. "I’m always noisy. What do you mean today?"

He tilted his head slightly, gaze tracing her face like it was something to read—no, memorize. His hand came up, slow and deliberate, and for a second Isabella forgot how to function.

"You talk like you don’t breathe between sentences," he murmured.

She gasped. "That’s called charisma!"

His fingers brushed a stray lock away from her cheek. "It’s called chaos," he corrected smoothly.

"Same thing." She stood straighter, though she could feel her knees wobbling beneath her. "Anyway, if you hated it, you would’ve walked away already."

"I never said I hated it."

And just like that, she stopped breathing.

His fingers didn’t leave her cheek. Instead, they skimmed down, trailing a featherlight path across her jaw, then beneath her chin, tilting her face up ever so slightly. Her lips parted on instinct. Her brain turned to mush.

The moon hung low, swollen and watchful, casting a silver glow that shimmered over the mist-wrapped spring. Crickets sang somewhere in the trees, but their chirping faded into the background—swallowed by the slow, searing thrum of tension that built between them.

The steam coiled around Isabella’s damp skin, but the warmth sinking into her bones didn’t come from the spring. It came from him.

From Kian.

He stood so still, yet she could feel him—like the air itself had thickened with the weight of his presence. Her pulse quickened, breath shallowing as her eyes traced the shadowed planes of his face, the sharp cut of his jaw, the solemn fire burning in his eyes. Her toes curled against the smooth stone beneath her feet.

Swallowing, she inched closer. The water sloshed softly around her hips as she rose up slightly on the balls of her feet, her chest brushing against his when she whispered, "You know, if you’re going to stare at me like that, the least you can do is say something poetic."

His gaze didn’t waver. "Like what?" freeωebnovēl.c૦m

She blinked up, lips curling. "Like... I don’t know. ’Isabella, you’re so ravishing, the stars weep when you frown.’" She batted her lashes with dramatic flair, tilting her head like some village temptress from an old tale.

Not even a twitch of amusement. Kian stared down at her like she was something sacred, something dangerous, something he wasn’t sure he should touch or worship.

She cleared her throat, eyes darting to the side, suddenly aware of how loud her heartbeat was. "Okay, maybe not that dramatic."

Still, silence. But not a cold one. It pressed against her skin, thick with the things unsaid.

"You could at least compliment me on my skin," she said, her voice softening into something sly. "It’s smooth as flower oil. I worked hard, you know."

That was when his gaze dropped.

She felt it sweep down her shoulders like a caress, slow and deliberate. Over the curve of her neck, the dip of her collarbone. It wasn’t a leer—it was worse. He looked like he was memorizing her. Like she was something rare, something secret.

A warm tingle rushed over her limbs. Her knees weakened beneath the water.

His eyes finally returned to hers, and his voice came out like embers. "Your skin..." he murmured, "does look soft."

Isabella’s lips parted, but her thoughts scattered like startled birds. She stood there, rooted in place, blood thrumming beneath her skin like a wild drum.

He was supposed to be quiet. Brooding. Boring.

But now he was staring at her like he was imagining things she shouldn’t dare say out loud.

Not fair.

And then, he moved.

A single step forward—but it changed everything. His body brushed against hers, and her breath caught, eyes snapping wide before softening in a slow, involuntary flutter.

She felt the shape of his muscles under the water, the strength of him, and for the first time in a very long time, Isabella forgot every clever thing she was about to say.

His hand lifted—not fast, not hesitant. Slow, like he already knew she wouldn’t stop him. Calloused fingertips grazed her waist. Just a touch. But it was enough to make her heart leap into her throat.

"Kian," she whispered, not knowing what she was asking for. Not knowing if it was a warning or a surrender.

He hummed, low and unbothered, the sound curling between them like smoke.

"I—" she faltered, panic slipping through her expression. Her eyes darted down and back up, flustered. "Your... your aura is... very... very..."

His brow lifted, just a little. "Very what?"

Her words tangled in her throat, heat prickling the back of her neck. She glanced away in false indignation and mumbled, "...very male."

A rumble of laughter vibrated from his chest—deep and quiet, the kind that rolled over her skin and straight to her belly. "And yours?" he asked.

"Mine is... radiant," she said quickly, recovering with a smirk.

"Radiant," he echoed, deadpan.

"Yes," she insisted. "Glowing. Feminine. Desirable."

"Modest," he added, voice dipping as his eyes flicked down again.

She gasped. "Excuse you! I made the soap. I deserve to show off my—my—glow!"

"You made more than soap." His voice was so low now she barely heard it. He leaned in. His breath touched the shell of her ear. "You created something with scent, texture, balance. That’s not just bathing. That’s power."

Her entire body shivered.

"I—" Her lips brushed his cheek as she turned her face toward him. Her lashes lowered, heavy and slow. "Well... if you notice it... maybe you should... reward me."

His touch moved up her side, a slow drag of fingers that stopped just beneath her ribs. Her pulse kicked so hard she could feel it between her thighs.

She leaned forward. Just a little. Just enough.

Their breaths tangled. Her hands hovered at his chest, uncertain—wanting to touch, not daring to. Her eyes slipped closed, lashes brushing her cheeks, lips parting ever so slightly as her heart screamed for contact. Just one kiss. One little—

He exhaled, soft and warm against her mouth.

Then, a whisper. So close she swore she could taste the word.

"...How do we use the soap?"

Her eyes flew open. Her jaw dropped.