Page 24 of The Alpha's Lunar Crown

"Mess with me," I hiccup.

He smirks. "I don't have to mess with you, sweetheart." His fingers caress my cheek slowly. "You still feel it, don't you?"

A shiver runs through me, and I grab his wrist, pushing it away. "Don't."

His blue eyes darken. "How long do you think you can hold back or ignore it?"

"I held it back, Lucien," I say, gritting my teeth. "I survived for years."

He exhales, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

I blink. Lucien never apologizes, but the number of times he has apologized confuses me. Is it real?

His hands curl into fists. "I'm sorry," his voice is raw. His hand reaches for me, but I step back, my heart pounding in my chest. "I should have fought for you."

I swallow hard.

"You should have, but you didn't fight for me, Lucien," I whisper, shaking my head and fighting back tears. "You left me when I needed you most."

Lucien reaches for his pocket, slips his hand inside, and pulls out an alcohol flask. He always had the habit of carrying a little flask in his suit pocket. We used to joke about how he relies on alcohol to get through painful social gatherings at the pack. He unscrews the lid, tilts it back, and the churning scent of whiskey fills the air.

He swallows hard with his eyes shut and then offers it to me. I shake my head. I already have enough booze running in my veins. An extra sip will be the nail to my coffin. When I don't take the flask, his lips curl into a taunting smile, and he takes another swing, his eyes holding mine. I'm forced to watch as the alcohol rolls down his throat. The grimace on his face, the bob of his Adam's apple, every movement is suddenly magnified and sensual.What are you doing, Aurora?

I clear my throat and try to distract myself with a conversation. "Have you been drinking?"

"Do cocktails count?""I'm serious, Lucien. If you've been drinking, I don't think we should be having this conversation. You need to go home."

"But I hate his hands on you." He takes a step closer, carelessly discarding his flask to the side. "I hate how his smell still lingers on you. Heck, Rora, I hate the thought of you with another man. I was going to watch and make my move when he left, but his hands wrapped around your waist in a way only mine should, and I saw you look at him in a way you haven't looked at me in a long time, and I couldn't take it anymore."

Despite being in the open space of the rooftop, I find myself completely devoid of air. Heat that has nothing to do with the wine in my system spreads through me. My throat feels too tight to inhale, and my body itches with awareness.

I urge myself to say something and tell him that so much time has passed and I've moved on, but I can't seem to get the words out. I stand still, swallowing like an anxious prey while he stalks toward me. His every move is clothed in intent.Lucien finally stops in front of me. He has me where he wants me, and I don't stop him. I should stop him. My mind is hazy as my sight blurs out.

His hands wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him. "Aurora," he breathes on my face, opening my eyes.

I hate him so much, but my body remembers the feeling. His lips crash against mine, claiming me and exploring my mouth with his scorching tongue.I cock my head, responding to his intense kisses as his tongue slips in and out of my mouth. A sharp gasp leaves me, "Mmmph!" but I don't pull away.

The tears I try to hold back stream down my face, and Lucien pulls away, wiping my tears with his thumb.

"I'm here now." He places soft, wet kisses down to my neck and chest.

All the years of yearning, longing, and anger collide, and I clutch his shirt, pulling him closer and harder.

Lucien groans, his voice dominating and raw, his hands sliding down, grabbing my thighs as he lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around him.

Through the soft illumination of the silver of light slipping into the space, I catch a glimpse of his eyes, dark and dripping with so much lust I'm forced to avert my gaze. I'm certain if I look in the mirror, I'd be mirroring his look.

He twirls around, and my back hits the cold stone wall as his mouth devours everywhere: my lips, eyes, nose, forehead, jaw, throat, and chest.

I arch my waist, heat traveling through me. The whiskey makes it worse, driving me insane. His hands grip my hips, strong and demanding, fingers pressing deep as if he's terrified that I'll slip away.

My body burns, my heartbeat bangs in my ear, and every touch and breath between us is pure fire.

"You're mine," he growls, his voice rough.

I want to protest and tell him that he lost the right to claim me a long time ago. But when his hands slide up my thighs, and he spreads my legs open against the cold wall, my body betrays me, and the wanton moan that slips from my mouth is almost embarrassing.

His mouth crashes back into my mouth, claiming me, his teeth grazing my lower lip like he's punishing and worshiping me at the same time.

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