Transmigrated Into The Body Of The Cursed Prince Wife-Chapter 332: Drawn to him

When they got to the hospital, the sun was already setting, and the City hospital building was cast in its golden rays. Lucian had been stretched into a VIP room she had called to be prepared for her very important, special patient.

She ran a few tests on him and was grateful that he would be fine after giving him the right dose for his allergic reaction. His face was no longer red, and his throat looked normal again, unlike when he first ate it and it looked quite swollen. He was now lying on the bed with his head propped up on a pillow, his features soft in sleep.

His lashes were black, thick, and long, and they cast shadows over his high cheekbones. She stood over his sleeping form on the bed, watching him, trying to figure out why she was suddenly feeling the way she was feeling now. She was feeling drawn to him in ways that were questionable knowing they were never even friends before.

His slightly pale lips were set in a line, and his long nose seemed to cast a shadow over the cleft on his upper lip that gave his lips a bow shape. His sharp, long jawline made his face look like it was carved by the finest artist. In short, he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever set eyes on. No wonder he could use his charm to get any woman.

However, his handsomeness wasn’t why she was suddenly drawn to him. It was his aura, his presence, the feeling she had when he was close. It was like being at home; he made her feel unbelievably complete in some kind of way.

This afternoon, when he got the allergic reaction, a memory had flooded her mind, but it wasn’t clear. All she knew was that she was panicking and crying over a man, whose face she wished she had calmed down to see at that time. But then, she could not calm down when Lucian could die without that injection.

Something was not right with this man; everything about him was different from Lucian Xander. They’d been at the same Christmas party just months ago, and they sat at dinner where one of the main courses was Truffle Chicken, a luxurious French dish that was cooked to perfection. And she faintly recalled Xander eating it because he sat across from her with Daniel that night. Nothing had happened to him then, but this time...

Another thing she was finding hard to believe was how it was possible that he had the same rare allergic reaction as her son. She would have considered it a coincidence if he had not claimed things that made her doubt her whole existence. Not to mention her dreams and the memories seemingly waiting to flood her but were held back by something. Something was blocking them and keeping them hidden.

She knew what she was about to do was completely absurd and stupid, but she needed answers and needed to know she wasn’t crazy, thus before he woke up or she talked herself out of doing it, she took actions.

Reaching out to the nightstand, she picked up the surgical scissors and carefully moved closer to him and leaned down. She ran her fingers into his hair gently before using the scissors to gently clip off the top strands of hair and carefully put them into a small plastic bag. She then tucked it into her hospital coat.

Looking down at his sleeping face again, he was still sleeping soundly. But, unable to help herself—or perhaps due to a natural impulse—she touched his lips with the tip of her fingers. Realizing they were somewhat dry, she retrieved a balm from the drawer next to her, kept for patients, and uncapped it. Touching her finger to the balm, she gently leaned down and rubbed it against his dry lips, letting her finger trace their contour and shape. He had sexy lips for a man, and touching them while he was sound asleep made her throat go dry. A voice in the back of her head wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by him again.

She had hated to admit it to herself when he kissed her in the conference room, but the truth was, that had been her first kiss in all her life. She’d never been kissed by anyone before—or to be more precise, she’d never allowed any man to kiss her or given them the impression that she wanted it.

He had taken her first kiss in the conference room. Realizing she was still rubbing his lips, she jerked her hand back and put the balm back into the drawer.

What was wrong with her?

Shaking her head, she decided to leave.

She turned to walk away when she stopped. Not because she wanted to but because the seemingly sleeping man had suddenly caught her wrist. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt his warm fingers wrapped around her wrist.

She turned back slowly to see that his eyes were open and were staring at her intensely, the amber in them seeming to burn brightly. He tugged her to him before she could say a word, and she lost her balance, falling over him on the bed, her head bumping painfully into his jaw. But he didn’t so much as flinch when she hissed in pain.

She felt his arm go around her waist, tugging her to lay half on him and the bed before he reached his other hand to gently rub her forehead where she had bumped against his jaw.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered, his voice thick and husky against her face as his hand moved in slow, soothing motions over her forehead.

She didn’t realize she had nodded yes because she was lost in his heated gaze and the sensation of his arm around her waist and his hand rubbing her head. His hand that was rubbing her forehead slowly slid down her cheek, then went to the back of her head and pulled her head down. He pressed his lips against her temple, causing her heart to quicken its rate and her toes to involuntarily curl as sensation stirred in the pit of her stomach at just the mere touch of his lips on her forehead.

He didn’t pull away and let his lips linger there. She knew she should push him away and leave, but she couldn’t. Her body refused to obey her as she remained half-pressed on his solid body and the bed, his arm a firm steel around her waist.

His lips left her forehead, trailing downward—soft, deliberate, torturously slow. A whisper of warmth against the tip of her nose. A fleeting press against one cheek, then the other. Each kiss igniting a spark, teasing her with a touch too light to satisfy yet too intoxicating to resist.

What was wrong with her? She asked herself for the fourth time today. She shouldn’t be giving him the liberty to do this to her, but why did everything seem so right? She felt like pushing him away would be cheating them both out of what they ought to be doing and enjoying. Her fingers clutched a handful of his shirt as she realized she didn’t want to push away from him.

He pulled back slightly, his breath fanning over her lips, their mouths separated by the barest distance. His amber eyes were dark, molten, nearly predatory as they locked onto hers.

"I want to kiss you, my heart," he murmured, his voice like a caress.

And before she could respond, before she could think, he captured her lips with his.

The first touch was soft, teasing—his mouth moving over hers in slow, languid strokes, as if savoring her taste. His tongue flicked out, tracing the curve of her bottom lip before he gently sucked it between his teeth, tugging with aching precision. Then, he did the same to the upper lip, tasting, exploring, branding her with every sinful motion.

But the moment she made the mistake of parting her lips, he took full control.

The kiss turned hungry. Ravenous. Demanding.

His tongue plunged into her mouth, stroking deep, hot, possessive. He didn’t just kiss—he devoured her. His lips molded against hers with a fervor that left no room for air, no space for thought. He licked into her, sweeping over her tongue, coaxing, claiming, tasting her like he’d been starving for years.

A deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest as he tilted his head, pressing harder, deeper. His fingers curled around her nape, keeping her there, locked in the heat of him. Their tongues tangled, slick and sinful, a dance of dominance and surrender.

His hand that was around her waist slid down, gripping her hips, pulling her flush against his hardness. He made her lie atop him completely, straddling him with both her knees bent on either side of his waist, her hands resting on his shoulders. She could feel every solid inch of his erection in that position, it directly pressed against her womanhood—hot, firm, and overwhelming. His thumb stroked slow, lazy circles against her hip, buttocks, and spine, all the while not breaking the kiss and the hunger in it.

Heat flooded into her until she couldn’t remember anything or be aware of anything in her surroundings. All she knew was that she wanted this man and liked the way he kissed and touched her. She ground her hips against his hardness, and he groaned deep in his throat, slowly thrusting his own hips upward to rub against the heat in her core, where despite the clothes between them, she felt the intensity of it. She felt his hands move upward, tugging and pulling at her hospital coat and then her blouse.

His mouth broke away just enough to drag his lips along her jaw, down the column of her throat. Then, as if he couldn’t stand the distance, he returned to her lips, kissing her again—deeper, darker, drowning her in pure, raw desire that left her utterly senseless. She didn’t realize he had discarded her hospital coat until she felt him pushing up her skirt and trying to reach for his trouser zip and button. She jerked away from his mouth quickly.

"My son is in the room," she whispered breathlessly as she looked to the left side of the room. Lucian followed her line of sight and saw Ian sleeping peacefully on the sofa, curled into a ball with a blanket around his body. His face was turned in their direction, and if he were to wake up, he would see them making out on the bed.

Blushing in embarrassment, Ave hurriedly began to slide down his body, but he reached out and stopped her by grabbing the side of her thighs and pressing her to him.

"Don’t leave yet," he rasped pleadingly as he stared up at her.

It was like he had hypnotized her—that was the only word she could think of for her strange behavior because when he told her not to leave, she laid back down on him with her head against his chest. His arm snaked around her waist and held her down. This was strange. How could she listen to him just like that?

They lay there in silence with only the distant sounds of the busy hospital and their breathing in the space, along with the serene sounds from the city. She could hear the loud beating of his heart against her ear and could feel his hard erection poking her without any signs of it going down anytime soon. They shouldn’t be lying like this, but she liked it too much to get away. She wasn’t disgusted by his manhood against her womanhood; instead, everything felt right the way it was.

"Why did you eat the food when you are allergic to it?" she asked after a prolonged moment of silently listening to his heartbeat against her ear. Her question seemed to make it change rhythm.

Lucian had known the food was something he wasn’t supposed to eat, and he had eaten it, not because she had served him with her own hands but because he missed seeing her show concern for him. He wanted to see if she would act like the first time in Pendragon when they ate out. But what he didn’t know was that the allergy would make him see the gates of hell and back. He had thought for a moment he would die when his throat felt like it was closing up and his lungs couldn’t take in air. It was worse than in Pendragon.

But the reward of it was worth it. She had held on to him tightly when they were in the car and he was slowly falling into the oblivion of unconsciousness. His wife still cared, and if that wasn’t proof that she still cared for him without her knowing, her rubbing his dry lips with a balm was another proof, and her enjoying his kiss was another.

But he dared not let her know that he had eaten the food on purpose. She could be caring and angry when she was made a fool of and forced into worry. He recalled the first time it happened in Pendragon; she had strangled him and hit his chest with her fists.