CHAPTER 61: EIRA’S FIRST KISS-II

Eira’s POV

My heart skipped a beat the moment I caught the full meaning behind his words—so bold, so deliberate. He didn’t even try to be subtle.

The cookie box in my hands trembled. It nearly slipped from my grasp, but he moved swiftly, his palms sliding beneath mine to steady it.

The moment his skin touched mine, a jolt of electricity shot through me. I gasped softly and pulled my hands back on instinct.

My mind spiraled, my heartbeat thundered in my chest, and my throat suddenly turned dry. I tore my gaze away from him, unable to hold it a second longer.

If I hadn’t already been sitting on the bench, I was sure my legs would’ve given out.

My hands trembled as I closed the lid of the cookie box, hesitating—should I give it to him, or put it back in my bag and pretend none of this happened?

"What is it?" he asked, still standing right in front of me, completely unfazed by the chaos he’d just stirred inside me.

I looked up, confused by his question, but before I could ask him what he meant, he was already leaning down.

His hand slipped into my bag swiftly, pulling out a book.

My eyes widened in panic.

"Give it back to me," I demanded, rising to my feet and trying to snatch it from him.

But he was taller—too tall—and faster. He lifted the book out of my reach like it was a game, and no matter how I jumped, I couldn’t grab it.

In that moment, I must have looked exactly like what he always called me—a little rabbit, scrambling helplessly.

Breathless, I finally gave up, arms dropping to my sides in defeat. Why did Alphas always have to be this damn tall and strong?

He quirked a brow, flipping the book in his hands to read the title.

"Oh?" His voice was laced with amusement. "I didn’t know my innocent little bunny was into books like this."

He began circling around me slowly, deliberately. Each step resonated with my heartbeats.

I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to remain composed.

"It’s for... for studies," I mumbled. "English literature class."

The excuse sounded pathetic the moment it left my lips.

He laughed softly, passing behind me. "Since when does English literature involve studying erotica?"

I refused to look at him, eyes locked on the ground.

"If I knew that, I would’ve never missed English literature class in my high school days. I believe I would’ve learned it even better than what I already know," he teased.

I pressed my lips into a thin line, gaze lowered, silently praying for the ground beneath me to open up and swallow me whole.

But he wasn’t done.

Completely unfazed, he continued circling me, the book still open in his hand. Then, without warning, he began reading aloud from a random page—his voice low, deliberate, dangerously smooth.

"His lips brushed against mine before he slowly captured them... savoring gently, like the sweetest delicacy, while his hands explored my curves... pressing my body into his... my soft breasts crushed against his strong, muscular chest..."

He passed in front of me, meeting my wide-eyed stare with a smirk.

"Are you sure you’re not mixing up your sex education class with English literature?"

I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. It felt like someone had torn open my private thoughts and laid them bare in the open air.

My cheeks burned hotter than fire. I wanted him to stop. I needed him to stop. But the words caught somewhere in my throat and never made it out.

He turned a few more pages, now passing behind me.

"...pressed beneath him, completely naked, I felt him move between my legs... his warm breath brushing over my—"

"Please stop," I whispered, desperate, my voice trembling.

I knew exactly what came next. I’d read that line. I’d read that whole scene. And hearing it come from his mouth was unbearable.

But he didn’t stop.

"His warm mouth between my legs, as if—"

"Stop!" I cried, lunging at him.

In my rush, my foot caught awkwardly, and I stumbled forward.

He caught me instantly, but the force of my fall sent us both staggering back until his back hit the tree trunk with a solid thud.

His arm slid around my waist, holding me close against him, the book still gripped in his other hand. My palms pressed against his chest, steadying myself.

The heat of his body bled through our clothes, sharp and consuming. My breath caught in my throat, heart stuttering violently in my chest as I looked up.

His eyes met mine. Steady. Intense. Unreadable.

"I... my foot..." I stammered, flushed with embarrassment, trying to pull away.

But he didn’t let go.

His grip at my waist tightened—not forceful, just firm, like he didn’t want me to move.

I swallowed hard, nerves fluttering in my stomach as I stood frozen against him, unsure what to do with the way his closeness made my skin burn.

He looked right into me—like he could see every thought racing through my mind—and asked, his voice soft, low, and unshakeably steady:

"Have you ever kissed someone?"

I shook my head, barely able to breathe.

"Want to try it?" he asked, his voice quiet but steady.

He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t smirking. He meant it.

My lips parted slightly, but no words came out. My eyes betrayed me, drawn helplessly to his—then to his mouth.

Those lips. Tempting, arched, smooth, and slightly parted as he waited for an answer I couldn’t give.

I had imagined this moment countless times. Especially while reading that book... every time my mind wandered, it was him I pictured—him holding me, touching me, kissing me.

But imagination was easier than reality.

He didn’t rush me. He just stood there, watching me with those intense eyes.

And then, slowly, he raised his hand and brushed his knuckles across my cheek. The touch sent a shiver down my spine. His fingers traced down to my jaw, grazing my skin with maddening softness.

"I won’t do anything you don’t want," he murmured, his thumb now tracing along my jaw. "Just a kiss. Only if you want it too....if we do, I will make sure you always remember it.""

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. But I didn’t pull away either.

And maybe that was answer enough.