Maxwell was a total menace when he’d been drinking. A clingy, relentless menace.

Arianna felt her throat go dry, a strange, frantic heat rising in her chest. She shifted in his arms, her voice barely a whisper. "I need to get some water."

Maxwell didn’t let go. His knee stayed firmly wedged between her legs, pinning her in place. At her words, he let out a reluctant sigh, his grip loosening just enough for him to stand up.

Arianna blinked, confused. "Where are you going?"

"To get water."

"Oh," she said, trying to sound casual. "Are you thirsty too?"

"No," Maxwell replied, his expression entirely too earnest for someone who had just finished a bottle of bourbon. "I just wanted to keep you company."

Arianna stared at him. She honestly couldn't comprehend how he managed to say things like that with such a straight face.

Down in the kitchen, Arianna opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of ice-cold water. Room temperature wasn't going to cut it tonight. The frigid liquid slid down her throat, dousing the wildfire in her veins. She polished off half the bottle in one go, then turned to grab another, offering the unopened one to him. "Do you want some?"

Maxwell nodded, but he didn't reach for it. He just stared at her, his gaze heavy and simmering with a tenderness that made her knees feel weak.

"Can I have the one you're holding instead?" he asked.

Arianna froze. That was the bottle she’d just been drinking from—the one still damp with her lip print.

His eyes were glazed, the corners reddened from the alcohol, and his hair fell softly across his brow. He looked like a giant, obedient golden retriever, all soft edges and expectant eyes, with the kitchen light casting long, gentle shadows across his face.

She felt an overwhelming urge to reach out, to card her fingers through his hair, to touch his ears. She killed the thought instantly, crushing it before it could take root.

She couldn't let things go further. If this continued, she was going to end up doing something she’d regret by morning. They were a dangerous mix: a tipsy, seductive siren and a gullible fool who couldn't resist a shred of temptation.

She stepped back, her resolve hardening. "No. You drink the new one."

Maxwell didn't argue. He obediently took the unopened bottle and tried to twist the cap. But with his coordination shot, he fumbled with it, his fingers slipping uselessly against the plastic.

Finally, Arianna couldn't take it anymore. She snatched the bottle from him, twisted the cap off with a sharp snap, and handed it back. "There. Drink."

"Thanks," he murmured.

Watching him, a sudden, inexplicable laugh bubbled up in her chest. It was so surreal. She had never seen this side of the cold, untouchable Maxwell King—the side that pouted, complained, acted unreasonable, and clung to her like he was afraid she might evaporate. She regretted not having her phone on her to record it all, just so she could play it back for him in the morning.

Maxwell took a few gulps, capped the bottle, and handed it back to her. "I finished my water."

Arianna took it. "Good for you."

"Is there a reward?"

Arianna paused. "A what?"

"I drank the water, just like you asked," he said, his voice thick with a mixture of mischief and sincerity. "Do I get a reward?"

"..." Since when had she asked him to do anything?

Arianna let out a helpless laugh. "What kind of reward do you want?"

Maxwell looked at her, his eyes dropping straight to her lips, which were still glistening with water. His voice dropped, low, magnetic, and rasping with alcohol. "Can I kiss you again?"

Arianna was mid-sip. She nearly choked, forcing herself to swallow. "You want to what?"

"Can I kiss you?" he repeated, his tone identical—earnest, calm, and maddeningly direct.

Arianna wanted to scream. Was he actually drunk, or was this some kind of sick joke?

"No," she said, refusing him flatly. "Absolutely not. No more kissing."

"Why?" Maxwell tilted his head, watching her with agonizing patience. "You seemed to enjoy it earlier."

Arianna was speechless. She scrambled for a defense, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I did not enjoy it! How could you even tell? Stop saying ridiculous things, Maxwell. You’re drunk, and I’m letting this slide, so don't you dare push your luck."

Maxwell smiled, a faint, lopsided thing. "But you closed your eyes."

A direct hit.

Arianna went silent. Under his mocking gaze, she steeled herself. "And? That doesn't mean anything. Can't I blink?"

"Sure you can."

"Exactly," she muttered, though she couldn't stop the memory from flooding back: his lips, soft and warm, the way his breath had tangled with hers, that electric, feather-light sensation that left her skin tingling. It wasn't a kiss with an agenda; it was a kiss that dripped with pure, unfiltered yearning.

By the time she snapped back to reality, Maxwell had crossed the gap between them. He stood before her, looming slightly, but he didn't feel threatening. He looked at her with such gentle, doting devotion that it felt like he was the one serving her.

He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing. Are you tired? Do you want to go to bed?" She blurted it out, desperate to change the subject.

Maxwell didn't let her off the hook. "Is it okay?"

"What?" she played dumb.

"To kiss you." His fingertip traced the shell of her ear, slow and deliberate. "Is it?"

Arianna stopped breathing. She could feel the heat radiating off her own earlobe. She forced a steady tone. "And what if I say no?"

Maxwell paused, his finger stilling. He leaned in, studying her face for a long, silent moment before he spoke. "Arianna, you're blushing."

"..."

He gave her earlobe a soft, playful tug. "And here, too. Your face is giving you away."

Arianna closed her eyes in defeat.

This time, Maxwell didn't bother asking for permission. He bent down, his cool fingers sliding to the back of her neck, and pressed his lips firmly against her eyelids.

Arianna’s eyes flew open. *Did he just... kiss my eyes?*

She didn't dare move. She felt the warmth of his lips against her skin, a soft, slow pressure. Then, he moved to her nose, her cheek, and finally, he settled on her lips.

It was slow and careful, as if he were handling something fragile, something priceless. To keep her from tensing up, his fingers gently traced the edge of her ear, over and over again. It was a more patient, more agonizingly slow rhythm than before.

The kitchen was dark, lit only by the distant, glittering glow of the chandelier in the living room. He had her cornered against the counter, but he didn't use any force. She could have shoved him away at any moment, yet her hands hung uselessly at her sides.

Maxwell kept his eyes closed, pressing his lips to hers, then drifting to her cheeks and brows, only to return to her mouth, again and again.

He let out a soft, contented sigh, his lips brushing against her ear. "Arianna, you're so sweet."

Arianna was dizzy, her voice trembling. "What?"

"You," he whispered.