The Alpha Behind The Mask-Chapter 39: What Dream

Aurora’s POV

​I bit my lip, the playful atmosphere suddenly feeling charged with something else. The air in the room seemed to thicken, making every breath I took feel heavy. I leaned in just a little closer, the alcohol giving me a reckless sort of courage.

​"Okay," I whispered, my heart rate picking up. "One: I used to practice ballet when I was a child. Two: I’ve never been kissed. Three: I’m secretly terrified of werewolves."

​Oliver’s eyes darkened, tracking the movement of my lips. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he set the bottle down and crawled an inch closer on the carpet, his large frame casting a shadow over me.

​"The second one," he rasped, his voice vibrating through the floor. "That you’ve never been kissed. That’s the lie."

​"How do you know?" I challenged, my voice barely audible.

​"Because," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my mouth again, "it would be a sin for the world to have ignored those lips for this long."

​I felt a jolt of pure electricity shoot through me. The game wasn’t playful anymore; it was becoming intense. My skin felt too tight, and the oversized shirt I wore—his shirt—suddenly felt like a brand against my body.

​"My turn again," I whispered, my voice thick with a courage that was fifty percent liquor and fifty percent madness. "One: I’ve broken someone’s heart before. Two: I hate being touched. Three: I’m afraid of losing control."

​Oliver didn’t answer immediately. He studied me, his gaze traveling from my eyes down to where my pulse was thrumming visibly in my throat. He reached out, his hand hovering just an inch from my knee. "The second one is the lie. You don’t hate being touched. You’re just afraid of who might be doing the touching."

​I didn’t confirm it, but the hitch in my breath was answer enough.

​"Me now," he said, his eyes locking onto mine with a terrifying intensity. "One: I’ve never been jealous. Two: I don’t forgive easily. Three: I’ve never wanted something I couldn’t have."

​"The first," I countered, my heart hammering. "You were jealous of your brothers. And the third... that’s a lie too. You want things you can’t have all the time. That’s why you’re a King."

​He let out a low, dark chuckle that sent a shiver straight to my core. "Smart girl."

​The game was shifting. I could sense it.

​"Round two," I said, my voice trembling. "One: I don’t trust powerful men. Two: I’ve dreamed about you. Three: I don’t believe in second chances."

​Oliver froze. The hand that had been reaching for the bottle stopped mid-air. He didn’t look for the lie. Instead, he looked at me like I had just laid my soul bare. The silence stretched, long and suffocating, as he processed the second statement. He knew. He knew that even if it was the lie, the fact that I’d said it meant it was haunting me.

​"I don’t care about the lie," he whispered, his eyes searching mine. "I want to know about the dream."

​He didn’t wait for me to explain. He moved closer, his hand finally making contact with my lips. His thumb traced the line of my lower lip, dragging it down slightly.

​"You shouldn’t be this close to me," he warned, though his actions contradicted his words. "Not when I’ve had this much to drink. Not when you’re wearing my clothes and smelling like my skin. I’m a selfish man, Aurora. If I take a bite, I’m going to want the whole thing. I’ll ruin you for anyone else."

​Before I could even think of a retort, he moved. In one fluid, powerful motion, his hands gripped my waist, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh above my hips. He pulled me forward, lifting me easily off the carpet and dragging me onto his lap.

​I gasped, my legs falling on either side of his thick thighs. I could feel the hard arousal of him through his sweatpants, pressing right against the center of me. The friction sent a white-hot spark through my entire body.

​"Now," he rasped, his hands sliding up my back, bunching the fabric of his shirt until he was touching my bare skin. "Tell me about the dream."

​"The dream was the lie," I breathed, my voice shaking as I gripped his massive shoulders.

​"Lies," he rumbled, the word vibrating against my chest. His eyes were heavily hooded, the scent of the strong liquor rolling off him in waves. He was so drunk; it was so obvious.

​"It is," I insisted, but my heart was betraying me, thudding so hard he had to feel it.

​"If you lie to me one more time, Aurora," he whispered, his face dipping toward the crook of my neck, "I will have to punish you."

​I bit my lip, a spark of defiance and heat flaring up. "And how would you do that?"

​The answer came instantly. His hand moved from my back, and before I could blink, he delivered a sharp, stinging spank to my ass. I released a sharp gasp, my back arching as a shockwave of pleasure-pain jolted through my system.

​He smirked, a dark, drunken glint in his eyes. "Tell the truth."

​"There is... no truth to tell," I gasped out, but God, I was losing the battle. He was so incredibly hard beneath me, a solid, pulsing heat that I was instinctively grinding against.

​He didn’t hesitate. Another spank, firmer this time, landed on my ass. I moaned, the sound escaping me before I could catch it, and I rolled my hips helplessly against his cock.

​He groaned, a deep, guttural sound from the back of his throat. "Say it... tell me what you dreamt."

​"Nothing," I whimpered.

​The next second, he slammed his lips into mine. It wasn’t gentle; it was dominating. He kissed me with a desperate, drunken hunger that set my blood on fire. Fuck, he kissed so well. I kissed him back, my tongue tangling with his, and for a fleeting second, a sense of terrifying familiarity washed over me. This heat, this dominance... it felt like the club. It felt like him.

​In one fluid motion, he stood up, lifting me as if I weighed nothing while our mouths remained fused together. He carried me the short distance to the massive bed and dropped me onto the silk sheets. He followed me down instantly, his heavy frame pinning me into the mattress.

​He moved to my neck, his lips and teeth marking my skin, before coming back up to devour my mouth again. The alcohol in my system had turned my fear into a wild, reckless boldness. My hand slid down, finding the ridge of him through the sweatpants. I squeezed, and I didn’t care about the consequences. I didn’t care about who he was or what we were doing; I just wanted him.

​"Alpha Oliver," I breathed against his lips. "Please..."

​He leaned down, his face burying in the crook of my neck, his hot breath fanning over my skin. I waited for the next kiss, for the slide of his hands, for the moment he would finally take what we both wanted.

​But the movement stopped.

​The weight of him became heavy, limp. "Oliver?" I whispered, my heart still racing at a hundred miles an hour.

​I pushed against his broad chest, trying to see his face, only to realize his breathing had turned deep and rhythmic. The alcohol had finally won. He was out cold.

​I lay there for a long minute, staring at the ceiling, my body still humming with unspent desire and the feeling of his touch.

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