Page 147 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
“Lucian, I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.” He lowers his head, brushing his nose along my jaw, and I shiver at the contact. “And you’re right. I’ve been working myself to exhaustion thinking about how to keep you safe, how to navigate the political mess your presence has created, how to protect you from threats I can’t even name yet.”
His confession makes my chest tight with emotion. “I didn’t know—”
“And every night, I come back to this bed, where you’re curled up in one of my shirts, smelling like my soap, looking so perfectly mine that it takes everything I’ve got not to wake you up and remind you exactly whom you belong to.”
The heat in his voice sets my skin on fire. “Lucian—”
“So, tell me, my future queen,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear, “do you really think I’m neglecting you? Or are you just missing me as much as I’ve been missing you?”
I’m trapped between his arms, between the solid warmth of his body and the soft mattress, and every rational thought in my head dissolves under the intensity of his gaze.
“I miss you,” I whisper, the admission torn from somewhere deep in my chest.
His smile is pure satisfaction and dark promise. “Good,” he says, and then his mouth is on mine, claiming me with a hunger that makes my toes curl.
This kiss is different from the others we’ve shared. This one is demanding and possessive, full of two weeks’ worth of restraint finally snapping. One of his hands tangles in my hair, angling myhead so he can deepen the kiss, and I melt against him with a soft sound that makes him growl low in his throat.
When he finally lets me breathe, I manage to say, “No more working until all hours.”
“No more sleeping in my shirts unless you want me to rip them off you,” he counters, his voice rough with desire.
I flush deeper, suddenly very aware that I am, in fact, wearing one of his shirts and pretty much nothing else.
“Deal,” I whisper.
His lips curve in a wicked smile. “Good. Now, stand up and take it off.”
Liquid heat pools between my legs at his command.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lucian
The shirt hits the floor, and I stop breathing for a moment.
“Good girl,” I murmur, letting the words slide out of my mouth the way that makes her shiver before I even touch her.
She’s been in my shirt all night, bare legs taunting me from beneath the bed sheets. Now, standing there with nothing but a thin scrap of lace between her thighs, she looks like she was made to be devoured.
I take my time gazing at her—slow, hungry, and unapologetic. “Stay just like that,” I order, my tone leaving no room for argument.
I circle her, deliberately brushing my fingers over the side of her waist as I pass behind her, letting my nails graze lightly over her skin. She tenses but doesn’t move. Perfect.
When I stop in front of her again, I tilt her chin up. “Do you know how hard I am for you?” I press forward just enough for her to feel the thick ridge straining against my pants. Her breath hitches. “And all I’ve done is look at you. Imagine what will happen when I decide to touch you.”
My hand skims over her stomach, then detours away from the place she wants me most. I watch her pupils blow wide, frustration already blooming in her eyes.
“You’re going to wait,” I say softly, almost kindly—though my smile is anything but. “You’re going to stand here and let me enjoy my view, while you get wetter and wetter for me.”
I slide my fingers under the lace at her hip, but I don’t move further, just holding her there, feeling the faint tremor in her muscles. Then, slowly, I trace a path along the inside of her thigh, stopping just short of where she’s burning for me.
She whimpers, and I catch her chin again. “Patience, Astra. I want to see you desperate.”
I finally let my fingers slide higher, brushing over her folds once, light as a whisper. She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for minutes. I do it again, a little firmer this time, watching her knees threaten to give out.
“Already soaked,” I murmur, withdrawing my hand just to hear her make that soft, frustrated sound again. “I think I want you to taste yourself before I give you more.” I bring my fingers up, slick and glistening, and hold them just in front of her lips. “Open,” I command.
