The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven - Chapter 448

Chapter 448: Small Sparks of Tension
[Meredith].

My heartbeat finally slowed.

The world had gone quiet, except for the soft rhythm of Draven’s breathing against my neck and the faint thrum of my own pulse still racing from everything we had just done.

His arms remained wrapped around me, heavy and warm, anchoring me against his chest as though he refused to let even air come between us.

I didn’t mind. I didn’t think I ever would.

His breath brushed over my shoulder, still uneven, still hot. When he finally spoke, his voice was low—a deep rumble that vibrated through me.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured.

I didn’t realize it until he said it.

“I’m fine,” I whispered, though my voice came out softer than I expected, almost shy.

His hand slid up my back, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing my spine as though memorizing every inch.

“Are you sure?” he pressed gently.

I nodded against him.

He exhaled, the sound full and satisfied, and pressed a slow kiss to the top of my shoulder, the kind that wasn’t heated anymore, but reverent, as if he was thanking the Moon Goddess for me.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

We simply lay there, tangled limbs and tangled breaths, letting the warmth between us settle into something softer, something peaceful.

Eventually, Draven shifted, brushing a few strands of my hair away from my damp forehead. When I lifted my gaze, he was watching me with a look I had never forgotten from the very first night we shared a bed as a real couple.

Tender, possessive and gentle in ways only I would ever see.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply.

My cheeks warmed traitorously, and I rolled my eyes in a pathetic attempt to hide it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered.

“And why not?” he asked, genuine amusement flickering in his expression.

“Because…” I stopped myself. ‘Because I will melt, I will blush, and I will never win against you.’

He smirked as if he had heard all of those unspoken confessions.

His thumb brushed my cheek. “We should get up,” he said softly. “It’s close to dinner time.”

I blinked, disoriented for a second. ‘Dinner? Already?’

“I don’t think my legs can move,” I whispered without thinking.

His expression shifted into something dangerously close to pride. “Then I will carry you,” he said, effortlessly smug.

I smacked his chest lightly. “Don’t you dare.”

He laughed, honestly laughed—a deep sound that vibrated against my ribs.

Then he slid out of bed first, grabbing the discarded sheet and wrapping it securely around my body before helping me sit up. His hands were gentle in a way no one would ever believe of him.

“I will shower first,” he said, still holding the sheet around me as if I’d fall apart without him.

“Then I will come help you.”

I caught his wrist. “You don’t have to help.”

He leaned down, kissed my forehead, and murmured, “I want to.”

Something inside my chest fluttered helplessly and warmly. Then, he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the room.

I touched my lips, my cheeks, my racing heart.

I had lost myself in ways my emotions had never taken me. I rode Draven. Tonight had been so intense.

And now, dinner awaited—dinner where everyone would see me and know.

I inhaled slowly. “It’s fine,” I told myself. “You are Draven’s mate. His wife. His Luna.”

But that image has refused to leave my mind.

Steam drifted out from the inner room door, carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and Draven’s warmth with it.

I tightened the sheet around myself, feeling ridiculous for how my heart was thumping again. After everything we had just done—the boldness I had shown, the way I had ridden him shamelessly. And now I was nervous?

But I knew why.

When Draven touched me during intimacy, it carried heat, hunger, and instinct.

When he touched me outside of intimacy, that tenderness made me far more vulnerable.

And if he touched me while bathing me?

The thought alone made fire roll low in my stomach.

Just then, I heard the water stop. A few moments later, the door opened and Draven stepped out, shirtless, with damp hair and a towel slung low around his waist.

He scanned the room briefly before his gaze found me, where he had left me on the bed.

One of his dark brows lifted. “Why are you still wrapped in that sheet?” His voice was calm, but the meaning curled underneath, amused.

I straightened my spine, trying not to look flustered. “I was waiting for you.”

He looked at me for a second too long, his gaze low and knowing. Then he extended a hand.

“Come,” he said.

I swallowed hard, but stepped forward.

His palm wrapped around mine, warm, steady, and grounding. He led me into the bathroom where the mirrors were fogged and the air was humid. It made everything feel… intimate. Too intimate.

“Sit,” he murmured, nodding to the bath stool he had set.

I obeyed, trying to calm the nervous fluttering under my ribs.

Draven then reached for the shower wand, adjusted the temperature, then knelt in front of me—the future Alpha King kneeling, without hesitation, to tend to me.

“Relax,” he said softly.

I tried, but the moment his hand brushed my shoulder to slip the sheet away, my breath caught—embarrassingly loud.

He froze for a heartbeat. Then his eyes flicked up, sharp with awareness.

“You’re tense.”

I looked away. “It’s nothing.”

“Meredith,” he said gently, brushing my damp hair away from my cheek, “you were fearless just minutes ago.”

Instantly, heat flooded my face. “That was different.”

A slow smirk curved his mouth, smug but soft around the edges.

“Ah! I see,” he said quietly. “You are worried I will touch you the same way.”

I pressed my lips together, refusing to answer.

He set the shower wand aside and instead cupped my face with both hands, tilting it up so I had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“I’m not here to make you lose your mind again,” he whispered. “Not unless you ask.”

My stomach flipped.

His thumbs stroked gently along my cheekbones, calming, warm. “I’m just here to take care of you.”

Something inside me loosened just a little.

When he slid the sheet down and the warm water brushed my skin, his touch was slow, measured. Not demanding. Not coaxing, just reverent. And I melted under it.

Every now and then, his fingers brushed a sensitive spot, and I shifted involuntarily. Each time, Draven paused, then smiled a little, like he couldn’t help himself.

But he kept his pace gentle and disciplined, even though I could feel the tension in him, the restraint, the hunger simmering right under the surface.

When he finished rinsing my hair, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“All done,” he murmured.

And my heartbeat—that traitorous thing, skipped.

Draven wrapped a fresh towel around me and lifted me from the stool, carrying me as though I weighed nothing.

When he set me down in the dressing room, his face was softer than I had ever seen it.

“Get dressed,” he said, brushing a thumb over my cheek. “If I help any further, we are not leaving this room tonight.”

A shiver ran through me at the promise in his voice.

I cleared my throat. “You are right.”

Draven’s smile widened, slow and dangerous. “Exactly.”