The Day I Lost You and Found Myself 182

< Chapter 182 A Very Special Breakfast

Chapter 182 A Very Special Breakfast

LUCIEN POV

My cousin, Lewis, adjusted his glasses and shot me a suspicious sidelong glance.

+25 Points

Everyone knew I had a reputation for avoiding women, which is why I have the cover story of a friend asking about first-time experiences in the dead of night. There was no way that Lewis would think I was the one having this issue. Right?

Lewis then seemed to snap out of whatever internal thoughts he had been lost in, clearing his throat and switching to his official pack doctor mode.

“So, this friend of yours, it was his first time?”

My jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before I gave a curt nod.

“Oh well, if that is the case, then it’s nothing to worry about. This brief moment of quick release does not mean anything,” Lewis’s words came quicker now, eager to reassure. “First timers always fumble. It is the nerves, unfamiliar territory, and poor coordination that all contribute to overstimulation. It is totally normal.”

Lewis then leaned in confidentially and dropped his voice. “Did they try for a second round to make up for it? First attempts at s*x are messy, but typically do-overs usually go much smoother.”

I sighed with a thought. ‘I tried to attempt a second. That was the intention after I washed up, but Claire was already asleep.’ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ find[ɴ]ovel.net

I shook my head at Lewis and gave a stone-cold reply immediately. “No. His girlfriend fell asleep.”

“Oh,” Lewis drew out the syllable, his eyes gleaming with unspoken implications. “And the normal function of your friend’s p***s? Is that working fine otherwise?”

“Yes, it is perfectly functional,” I clipped, my tone carrying an unmistakable hint of pride. Even my wolf puffed up at the response.

“Then it is settled. It is just nerves, Lucien. Tell your friend that he needs to relax. I guarantee that by trying again, it’ll go a lot more smoothly, and he should last longer. He needs to slow things down and not overthink so much.” Lewis’s tone then shifted into something slyer. “Though if they need any hands-on guidance-”

“That will be unnecessary,” My interruption brooked no argument. “He values his privacy. I will pass along your advice.”

Lewis wisely shut his mouth and reached for his whiskey.

My fingers tightened around my crystal tumbler, the sharp angles of my profile softening just fractionally.

A second attempt was not only advisable, but essential. And the sooner, the better. This was not merely

< Chapter 182 A Very Special Breakfast

about pleasure. This was a matter of pride for me.

+25 Points

Last night’s heat and timing had been perfect. It had just happened too fast, leaving me completely unprepared. Next time, I would be in complete control. As for last night, that had clearly been a fluke.

CLAIRE POV

At seven thirty in the morning, I groggily blinked awake and struggled to sit up in bed. The moment I moved, an odd ache pulsed through me with startling clarity.

Memories from the night before flickered through my mind like a malfunctioning projector. I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to piece together the hazy fragments and determine what was real and what was

illusion.

Then, as I swung my legs off the bed, my gaze landed on the corner of the room. A single, discarded pair of men’s briefs lay there amongst clothes strewn like battle casualties across the floor.

Ice shot down my spine, and I was instantly wide awake. It was not a dream. Last night, I was really with

Lucien. The groping, the grinding, all of it was real.

Shuddering, I scrambled barefoot to the closet, yanked on a sleep shirt, and then frantically dumped the incriminating pile of clothes into the hamper. Yet my damnable curiosity dragged my attention back to

those briefs.

‘This is catastrophic,’ I thought. Our relationship was already complicated, and now it was like a tangled

web of complications. Seemingly innocent, but once acted upon, the aftermath is one of uncertainty and

confusion in its wake. Nothing felt worse than a cold light of day reckoning with last night’s madness.

Groaning, I drove my fists into my temples, trying to will the images away. Then a floorboard creaked in the

living room.

Wait, what? He was still here?!

My heart lodged in my throat. I slid like a shadow to the door and cracked it just enough to peer through. The glimpse nearly short-circuited my brain.

In the kitchen, Lucien stood shirtless. His sculpted torso was drenched in honeyed morning light, his shoulders broad enough to eclipse the sunrise, his waist tapered to perfection. Below, he wore only criminally form-fitting gray athletic shorts.

The way they clung to him made my brain scream for me to stop looking. He was bent over a sizzling skillet, his biceps flexing with each flip of the eggs. The air hung thick with the smell of caramelized bacon and something far more intoxicating, a raw and unfiltered masculinity that made my pulse go haywire.

The sight hit me like a thunderbolt.

I jerked back, pressing against the door as my heart pounded like a jackhammer against my ribs. Fragments of last night came flooding back, the scorching heat of his skin against mine in the darkness, those domineering kisses that stole my breath.

< Chapter 182 A Very Special Breakfast

I had been desperately trying to dismiss everything as an absurd dream, but now my rebellious imagination kept conjuring up vivid replays against my will.

+25 Points

With my hand clamped over my racing heart, I found myself peeking through the door again at those perfectly carved arms and shoulders, those impossibly chiselled abs, and that perfect V cut trailing

downward.

Heat rocketed from the bottoms of my feet to the top of my head, setting every nerve ending on fire. My cheeks burned hot enough to fry those very eggs Lucien was flipping as I shook my head violently, trying and failing to dislodge the increasingly naughty visions.

It seemed a woman’s instincts operated on autopilot, overriding all common sense. After several useless deep breaths, I finally forced myself to open the door with a feigned calm.

In the kitchen, Lucien turned at the sound.

“You’re finally awake.” His voice was husky from sleep, a hundred times more devastating than it had been

last night.

I gulped. “Morning,” I managed, my eyes darting everywhere except his bare torso, finally locking onto the countertop like it was my salvation.

“You are making breakfast?” It was a stupid question. I wanted to die of embarrassment, wishing the floor

would swallow me whole.

“Sit,” Lucien’s voice was a low rumble, “It is almost done. I made your favourite things.”

My thoughts were in complete disarray when Lucien approached with the breakfast tray. He could have placed it on the table, but instead, with deliberate intent, he circled behind me.

He raised the tray above my head and leaned in close until his warm breath tickled the delicate nape of my neck as he slowly lowered the plate. The hard planes of his torso hovered mere centimetres from brushing against my slender back.

His cologne filled my senses, so potent that it momentarily drowned out the sizzling aromas of breakfast.

I inhaled sharply, my body tensing like a drawn bowstring. Through this heart-stopping closeness, I finally registered what lay on the plate.

Was this some not-so-subtle hint?

Lucia Morh

Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.