Page 104 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
“I promise.”
“I don’t believe you.”
His eyes darken in a way that makes my skin feel too tight. “You’re the one who was trying to sleep with me last night. And I showed great restraint.”
I shudder at the reminder. I was completely drunk. The memory makes me want to disappear.
“I was—”
“Kiss me, Astra.”
The command in his voice, the way he says my name like a request and a demand all at once, undoes something inside me. To shut him up, to stop the knowing look in his eyes, and to silence the voice in my head that’s screaming warnings, I surge upward and press my lips to his.
It was meant to be quick, chaste, just enough to fulfill his demand so I could escape. But the moment our mouths touch, fire explodes through my veins.
His lips are warm and firm against mine, and when he makes a low sound in his throat, a primitive hunger awakens in my chest. My fingers run through his hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I open them for him with a gasp.
The kiss turns greedy, desperate. He tastes like morning and danger and something uniquely him that makes me want to devour him whole. One of his hands supports his weight while the other traces down my side, setting every nerve ending on fire.
I arch into him, my body moving on instinct, seeking more of his touch, more of this fire that’s consuming me from the inside out. When his teeth catch my lower lip, I make a sound I don’t recognize—needy and wanton and utterly shameless.
“Astra,” he growls against my mouth, and the yearning in his voice makes me shiver.
This is madness. This consuming need, this desperate desire for his touch—it’s everything I swore I wouldn’t let myself feel again. But I can’t stop. I can’t pull away. I can only kiss him back with everything I have, pouring all my confusion and craving and frantic longing into this slide of lips and tongues.
When we finally break apart, we’re both panting, our foreheads pressed together as we struggle for air.
“That,” he says, his voice rough and satisfied, “was worth the wait.”
My head falls back to the bed, and I stare up at him, my lips swollen and tingling, my body humming with need. The way he’s looking at me—like I’m a cherished thing he wants to protect and possess and never let go—scares me to my core.
Because I want to believe it.
“You said you’d let me go,” I murmur, making no attempt to escape.
His smile is pure male satisfaction. “I lied.”
Before I can reply, his mouth claims mine again—fiercely this time, demanding. The kiss burns through me, igniting something deep and dangerous, something I didn’t know was waiting to be awakened.
It’s hunger.
Raw, insistent hunger that coils in my belly and spreads like wildfire through my veins. My fingers curl into his hair and hold him closer, as if I can pull the heat from him and make it my own. Every stroke of his tongue, every graze of his teeth fans the flame higher, until I’m lost in it, in him.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice hoarse with desire, “and I will. But if you don’t…”
The rest of the sentence is lost as our mouths meet again, his kiss slow but deep, coaxing me into a rhythm that feels like it’s unraveling me.
His skin is warm under my palms, the ridges of muscle shifting as he moves over me. My fingers explore him in hesitant strokes, mapping the unfamiliar terrain of a man’s bare chest. I’ve never touched anyone like this. Never wanted to. Every kiss I’ve ever had has been a pale, lifeless thing compared to the fire he pours into me now. Even the other times Lucian has kissed me, they weren’t like this.
I know I should stop. The sooner he sleeps with me, the quicker he’ll get bored of me, and I’m not ready to be abandoned again. Not yet. Not—
Lucian’s hand slides into my hair, angling my head as his mouth explores mine with slow, devastating purpose. His other hand traces the curve of my waist, the pad of his thumb skimming just beneath the hem of my shirt. The contact is electric, my breath hitching as heat rushes through me.
I try to mirror his touch, letting my hands drift lower across his chest, but my movements are hesitant and awkward, testing the boundaries of something I’ve never done before. My fingertips graze his skin like I’m afraid I’ll break him, even though there’s nothing fragile about Lucian.
My hands tremble, unsure of where to go, outlining the hard planes of muscle and the faint ridges of scars without any real plan—just needing to feel him. He lets me discover his body, shifting subtly under my touch like he’s guiding me without words.
My thoughts scatter, slipping away until I can’t hold on to a single reason to stop. I know I should—that once this line is crossed, there’s no going back—but my body doesn’t care. It’s already his.
