Page 103 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
The realization floods me like cold water. I’m sprawled half on top of him, my leg somehow threaded between his, my bodymolded against his side like I belong there. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me close, while his other leg is thrown possessively over mine.
We’re completely entwined, our bodies fitting together with an intimacy that makes my breath catch.
He’s shirtless.
The morning light filtering through the inn’s window casts shadows across the planes of his chest, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every scar that speaks of violence survived. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, all sharp angles and raw power even in sleep.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I take in how intimately we’re situated. When did this happen? The last thing I remember is dancing in the town square.
I should get out of this compromising position. I should untangle myself and put distance between us before he wakes up and sees me staring at him like some lovesick fool.
But I don’t.
Instead, I lift my head slowly and let myself drink in the sight of him. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my palm. The way his dark hair falls across his forehead. The sharp line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips that have kissed me with such devastating hunger.
It has been a week since Andrew died. Seven days since Lucian ended the man who betrayed me without hesitation or remorse. And in all that time, I haven’t felt a single moment of grief for the human I once believed I loved. No sadness, no regret, nothing.
Instead, thoughts of this mercenary with his arm around my waist consume me at all times. Lucian has forced his way into my every waking thought. He is everywhere I look, his voice always in my ears, his touch constantly lingering on my skin. This infuriating, insufferable man who dotes on me openly, whocalls me precious and appears to mean it, who looks at me like I’m important to him, like my wellbeing matters to him. Does he even understand what he’s doing? Does he really not have an ulterior motive?
I study his sleeping face, and my heart tightens painfully in my chest. Last night, we danced under twinkling lights to festive music, and I laughed so much. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed like that before. I don’t remember if I’ve ever felt so lighthearted. In those few hours, I wasn’t Astra, the despised latent wolf that everybody spits on. I was just a girl having fun with the man who treats me like he cares about me.
“If you’re going to leave me,” I whisper almost inaudibly, my fingers tracing Lucian’s jaw, “you should kill me before you do. I don’t think I’ll be able to survive.” Suddenly I feel suffocated, terrified, along with a plethora of emotions I don’t want to think about. “I wish you would be cruel to me so that I could hate you.”
I know he has his motivations for doing what he’s doing. I wish he would just tell me the truth. My pack spent years drilling my worth into me, and Andrew finally cemented it. Now, I wonder if I even am somebody who can be loved. What Lucian is doing terrifies me because I’ve never been treated like this before, and it makes me want to believe that he really does care about me.
But how can he, when nobody else ever has? And if he truly does care, when will he change his mind?
I trace a finger along the edge of a scar that cuts across his collarbone, marveling at how warm his skin is, how firm the muscles are beneath my touch. He is pure strength and power, and yet he holds me like I’m a delicate blossom.
“I could get used to this,” I continue to whisper. “And that’s dangerous.”
The thought terrifies me more than anything Andrew ever did. This feeling growing in my chest, this need for Lucian’stouch and attention and the way he makes me feel like I’m the center of his world—it’s going to destroy me when he inevitably realizes what everyone else has.
That I’m not worth it.
I start to pull away, to disentangle myself before I can fall any deeper into this fantasy, but the moment I try to move, Lucian’s free hand swings over and wraps around my wrist.
My breath catches as he turns both of us in one fluid motion, rolling me beneath him and pinning my hands against the bed. His eyes are sharp and alert, no trace of sleepiness in their blue depths.
“Do you know you’re playing with fire?” His voice is rough with sleep and something darker that makes heat pool low in my belly.
I try to tug my hands free, my face burning with embarrassment at being caught. “Let me go.”
“If you touch me like that,” he says, his grip tightening just enough to keep me still, “then I should get something in return.”
I nearly choke on my own saliva. “In return?”
The corner of his mouth curves up in a smile that’s purely sinful. “A kiss.”
“You’ve already kissed me plenty of times.” The words come out breathier than I expected, my body responding to his proximity despite my protests.
“Not the same thing.” He leans down until his lips are inches from mine, his weight pressing me into the bedding. “You have to kiss me, or I won’t let you go.”
My heart is pounding so hard, I’m sure he can feel it. The logical part of my brain knows that if I really pushed him, really demanded that he release me, he would. He has never hurt me, never forced me into doing anything I didn’t want to do.
And right now, I don’t want him to let me go.
“You’ll really let me get up if I kiss you?” I ask doubtfully.
