Chapter 28 Moonrise #3
I cupped his jaw, thumb brushing through the mess on his chin, and kissed him—slow, deep, tasting myself on his tongue. He moaned into my mouth, greedy, hands already reaching for me again.
“Sit on my face,” I said quietly.
The words landed heavy between us.
Michael froze for half a second, then his breath hitched. “Daniel—”
“I want you,” I said, firmer now. “All of you. I want to eat you. Want you riding my mouth until you forget your own name.”
His eyes burned. “You’re not gonna survive that.”
I smiled. “Try me.”
He didn’t argue. He shifted, climbing over me with unsteady hands, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of my head. I helped him, hands on his thighs, guiding him closer, breathing him in as his cock brushed my cheek, still wet and aching.
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You’re serious.”
I flattened my tongue and licked him from base to tip—slow, deliberate, tasting him fully. Michael gasped, hips jerking forward, hands flying to the headboard.
“Oh—shit—Daniel—”
I licked him again, longer this time, then sucked the head into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks just enough to make him groan. I took my time, alternating between slow strokes of my tongue and deep, wet sucks, letting him feel every second of it.
He was shaking now, thighs trembling around my head, cock leaking freely. I let my tongue drag along the underside, then flicked over the sensitive head, again and again, until his breathing turned ragged.
“Sit,” I murmured against him. “All the way.”
He obeyed, lowering himself slowly, carefully, until his weight settled more firmly over my mouth.
I flattened my tongue and pressed it up against him, lapping eagerly, letting him feel how badly I wanted this.
He rode the sensation instinctively, hips rocking, mouth falling open as he chased the friction.
“Daniel—fuck—I—”
I reached up and grabbed his ass, fingers digging in, pulling him down harder as I sucked him deep, saliva pooling, my mouth working him greedily. I let him set the pace, let him fuck my mouth slow and desperate, moaning around him every time he sank deeper.
He rode my face like he’d been waiting for permission all along—hips rolling, thighs tightening, breath coming apart with every thrust. Spit dripped down my chin now, slicking his cock as he used me, the sounds obscene and wet and perfect.
“You’re—this is—fuck—”
I hummed around him, sucking harder, tongue dragging slow and sinful strokes that made his knees wobble. He braced himself on the headboard, riding me deeper, needier, chasing that edge with reckless abandon.
And I let him.
I stayed right there, mouth open and eager, hands gripping his ass, eating him like he was mine—because he was—letting him grind and take and lose himself completely, knowing we had all the time in the world to fall apart together.
I pressed a last open-mouthed kiss to his thigh, licking him clean, and looked up—voice rough, full of want. “I want you to fuck me, Michael. I want you to take me apart. Need to feel you inside me—need it, need you.”
Something in Michael’s eyes went wild—darker, hungry, almost feral. All that restraint, all the patience he’d shown, snapped like a string pulled too tight. He grabbed me, big hands rough and sure, flipping me onto my back like I weighed nothing, spreading my thighs wide, exposing me to his gaze.
He didn’t waste time. Dropped between my legs, manhandling me into place, palms hot and heavy on my thighs as he pulled them open farther, bending me in half.
His eyes locked on my ass, my pretty pink hole slick and open, and he fucking growled—a raw, animal sound that sent a bolt of heat straight to my cock.
“Look at you,” he rasped, voice thick. “Open for me. Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this, Daniel—so fucking pretty, so ready.”
He dove in, mouth hot and desperate, tongue lapping over my hole, sucking, teasing, eating me out like a man starving. He used his thumbs to spread me wider, devouring every inch, tongue fucking me deep, making me writhe and gasp and curse, head pressed back into the pillows.
I moaned for him, helpless and shameless, grinding down onto his face, wanting it rough, wanting him everywhere. Michael groaned against me, spit dripping down my crack, his mouth messy, greedy, relentless as he rimmed me open, fucked me with his tongue, left me trembling.
“Michael—fuck, just like that—”
He looked up, eyes dark with heat, mouth glistening with spit and slick. “You want it, Alpha? Want me to fuck you now, make you fall apart for me?”
“Please,” I begged, voice breaking. “Want you inside me. Need it—need you to ruin me, Michael.”
He grinned, savage and sweet, and kissed my thigh, promising, “I’m going to wreck you. Gonna make you remember this every time you move tomorrow. You ready for me, Daniel?”
I nodded, wrecked and eager, and he pressed a last filthy kiss to my hole before grabbing the lube, ready to give me everything I asked for and more.
Michael didn’t waste another second. He popped the cap on the lube, squeezing a generous amount into his palm, slicking his fingers first. He spread my thighs wider, gaze locked on my hole, pink and fluttering, already open from his tongue.
He worked one finger in, slow and careful at first, circling and pressing, then a second, scissoring me open.
I gasped at the stretch, hips rocking down to meet him, greedy for more.
“Fuck, you take my fingers so well,” he growled, the praise making my cock throb against my stomach. “You love being opened up, don’t you? Love knowing I’m about to fill you, breed you until you can’t remember your own name.”
“Yes,” I panted, shameless. “Want you, Michael. Need it. Need you to make me yours.”
He leaned down, kissed me hard, tongue pushing into my mouth with the same filthy intent as his fingers.
I could taste myself on his lips, all salt and sweat and the promise of what was coming.
He worked his fingers deeper, twisting and curling, searching for that spot that made my vision blur—and when he found it, I choked on a moan, grabbing the sheets, shaking.
Michael pulled back just far enough to watch my face, thumb rubbing soft circles on my hip as he stretched me out. “You ready? Tell me you want it.”
“I want it, Michael. Want you to fuck me. Want you to fill me up. Please—” My voice broke, desperate and open. I’d never needed anything so much.
He grinned, slow and predatory, then pulled his fingers free, slick and glistening. He slicked his cock, long and thick and flushed dark with want, dripping precum onto my stomach. The sight alone was almost enough to finish me.
He lined himself up, head pressing against my hole, and paused—just for a heartbeat—making sure I was looking at him, making sure I knew exactly who was about to take me apart.
“Mine,” he said, voice rough and steady. “All fucking mine, Daniel.”
Then he pushed in, slow and relentless, the head stretching me wide, making me gasp, then groan as the thick length filled me, inch by inch. I tried to breathe, to stay loose, but the burn was so good—just on the edge of too much, just what I’d been craving.
He fed it to me, steady and unyielding, not stopping until his hips were flush with my ass, his cock buried deep inside. We both froze there, shaking, sweat-slick and panting, hearts racing.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed, voice breaking. “So fucking perfect—gripping me like you never want to let go.”
I clamped down around him, greedy, wanting every inch, wanting it to last forever. “Don’t ever want to let go,” I whispered. “Want you to fuck me, Michael. Want you to breed me—fill me up, make me yours.”
That snapped whatever restraint he had left.
He drew back, slow, almost gentle—then slammed back in, hips snapping, driving his cock deep with a force that made me cry out.
Over and over, he set a merciless rhythm, fucking me with everything he had, the bed creaking, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the dark.
“Take it,” he snarled, hands gripping my hips, holding me in place. “Take all of me. Gonna fill you up, Daniel. Gonna make sure you feel me dripping out of you for days.”
I was gone, lost to the feeling of him inside me, stretching me open, hitting every spot that made me see stars. My cock drooled against my stomach, untouched but aching, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure up my spine.
Michael bent over me, pressing his chest to my back, his mouth at my ear, teeth grazing the shell as he fucked me. “You love this, don’t you? Love being fucked open, love knowing I’m breeding you. Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped, voice barely more than a whimper. “Yours, Michael. No one else. Just you. Always.”
He kissed my neck, biting down, leaving a mark that would last for days, then pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, harder, deeper, relentless. I met him thrust for thrust, pushing back, wanting more, taking everything he could give.
He spat in his hand, smeared it over the place where we joined, making it even wetter, filthier. The sound of it—our bodies, the slick, the moans, the desperate slap of flesh—filled the room, made everything feel raw and real and alive.
Michael pulled my hips up, changing the angle, hitting my sweet spot over and over until I was nearly sobbing, begging for more, for everything. He didn’t let up—just kept driving into me, hips relentless, voice a rough litany of praise and filth.
“Gonna come inside you,” he groaned, voice breaking. “Gonna fill you up, Daniel, so full of me you’ll never forget who fucked you open, who made you his.”
I was so close, so fucking close, the pleasure a razor edge that left me raw and desperate, lost in him, in us, in the claiming that was everything I’d ever needed.
“Do it,” I begged, meeting every thrust. “Breed me, Michael. Fill me. Please—”
He grunted, snapped his hips one last time, buried himself deep and finally, finally let go—filling me, marking me, making me his, just like he promised.
And I came with him, the world going white-hot and endless, knowing that nothing had ever felt so right.
After, we lay tangled in sheets that smelled like us, breathing hard, and I felt more settled than I had in years.
“I love you,” I said roughly.
Michael's hand found my chest, pressed flat over my heart. “I love you too. Even when you're being an overprotective former Alpha.”
“Former Alpha. That's going to take getting used to.”
“You'll manage.” He yawned, exhaustion pulling at him. “We both will.”
I was about to respond when Michael went absolutely still. Not sleep-still. Alert-still. The kind that came when every sense focused on one thing.
“Daniel.” His voice was quiet, careful. “The wards. They moved.”
I felt it then. Not a breach—nothing violent or aggressive. Just a touch against the boundary. Gentle. Deliberate. Like something was asking permission instead of forcing entry.
We moved fast. I was dressed and out the door in seconds, Michael at my heels despite the exhaustion. The pack house stirred around us—wolves sensing wrongness through bonds that still connected us all.
Evan met us in the hallway, already in motion, Alpha authority settling over him like a second skin. “Moon Clearing?”
“Yeah.”
“I'm coming too.” Nate appeared beside Evan, jaw set with the same stubborn determination his father carried. “Don't even try to leave me behind.”
I looked at Evan, saw him nod once. His call now. His pack. His choice about who faced potential threats.
“Fine,” Evan said. “But you stay behind me. Both of you,” he added, looking at Michael and me. “I'm Alpha now. That means I'm first line of defense.”
Pride surged through my chest. “Understood.”
We entered in formation—Evan first, then me and Michael, then Nate flanked by Jonah and Sienna. The pack had come when called, and now they spread out around the clearing's perimeter with practiced efficiency.
Nothing moved. No corrupted wolves. No dark magic. Just silence and moonlight and the sense that something was about to change.
Then the ward-line opened.
Not torn. Not forced. Just opened, like it was welcoming someone home. And through the gap stepped a man I thought I'd never see again.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Moving with the confidence that came from absolute certainty about your place in the world. Dark hair shot through with gray at the temples, storm-gray eyes that tracked across the clearing and found me with laser focus.
Ronan.
My brother.
Who shouldn't be alive. Who couldn't be alive.
Who was standing twenty feet away looking at me like no time had passed at all.
“Daniel,” he said, and his voice was exactly how I remembered. Warm. Steady. The voice that had talked me through my first shift, that had stood beside me during our father's funeral, that had been there for every important moment until the day he wasn't.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Could barely breathe past the weight crushing my chest.
This is going to be a one hell of a family reunion.