11. Luna
Chapter 11
Luna
"And then she threw her other shoe at him!'" I finish telling Angel and Sophie about Saint and Abuela’s contentious relationship, sending them both into fits of laughter.
"Oh my god," Sophie gasps, wiping tears from her eyes. "Your grandmother is my hero."
“I love that woman,” Angel agrees, taking a sip of her wine.
Several days have passed since Saint brought Abuela and me here, and while she's still groggy and bedridden, Doc says the antibiotics are working. Her fever has broken, and her breathing is less labored.
The three of us are seated at a corner table in the clubhouse's main room. I can’t remember ever sitting around chatting, laughing, and relaxing like this. This is a first for me.
“She’s warming up to this place," Sophie says optimistically, cradling her wineglass between her palms.
"I think it helps seeing other women around," Angel adds thoughtfully. "Shows her we're not just some... "
"'Den of iniquity run by godless heathens?” I supply, unable to suppress a smile.
Angel snorts. "Right, that. Seeing Sophie and me probably helps her realize this place might not be what she imagined."
I nod, gratitude welling up in my chest. "I can't thank you two enough for how you've cared for her."
"Honestly, she’s a sweetheart,” Sophie says enthusiastically. “You’re really lucky to have her.”
The casual acceptance of Abuela—of me—by these women still feels surreal. Here, in this unlikely sanctuary, I've found something I never expected—friendship.
"So..." Angel's voice takes on a teasing lilt as she leans forward conspiratorially. "Speaking of men who throw themselves in front of flying shoes, how are things going between you and our fearsome Sergeant at Arms?"
Heat rushes to my cheeks immediately. "I, um...good, I think?"
Sophie and Angel exchange knowing glances.
"You think?" Sophie raises an eyebrow, her smile gentle but mischievous. “Except for club business, the man hasn't left your side for three days."
"And, I noticed he glares at any of the brothers if they so much as look at you,” Angel adds.
"That's just...he feels responsible," I suggest weakly, though my heart speeds up at their description of Saint's behavior. “You know, since he was the one who brought us here."
Both women stare at me for a moment before bursting into laughter.
"Oh, honey," Angel says, placing her hand over mine. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Know what?" I ask, confused.
Sophie leans forward, her voice dropping slightly. "Letting you ride on the back of his bike? Having you sleep in his room every night? Those are declarations. Calling you his ol' lady in front of the brothers? That's him claiming you."
My eyes widen. "But I'm not...we haven't even..." My voice trails off before I admit to them that we haven’t gone all the way sexually.
“Sophie’s talking truth," Angel explains gently, "an ol' lady isn't just a girlfriend or even a wife. It's something deeper. It means you're his partner. His equal. Under his protection."
"But I've only known him for a few days," I protest weakly.
Sophie shrugs. "I knew Blade for less than a week before he claimed me as his. When these men decide, they decide. They don't waste time."
"The question is," Angel says, eyeing me carefully, "how do you feel about all of this?”
I stare down at my wine, considering my answer. How do I feel about the dangerous man who swept into my life like a hurricane, destroying everything and building something new from the ruins? The man who touches me with surprising gentleness, whose eyes burn with possession whenever they land on me?
"I feel...safe with him," I admit finally. "Which makes no sense because he's probably the most dangerous person I've ever met. But when I'm with him, I feel like nothing bad can touch me."
Angel nods, understanding softening her features. "That's exactly how I feel with Ghost. Like he’s my shelter from the storm."
"Like home," Sophie adds softly. "Even when it makes no logical sense."
"Yes," I whisper, the truth of it settling over me like a warm blanket. "Like home."
Angel grins, lifting her glass in a mock toast. "Well then, welcome to the Shadow Reapers family, sister. Abuela too, whether she likes it or not."
The word “family” catches in my chest, bringing unexpected tears to my eyes. Since losing my parents, it's just been Abuela and me against the world. The idea of belonging somewhere larger, of being part of something, of people having my back, is both foreign and desperately appealing.
“Don’t look now.” Sophie gestures across the room to where the redhead, Cherry, has just sauntered in wearing painted-on jeans and a crop top that barely covers her enormous breasts. She leans over the bar top, sticking her backside in the air. “But someone’s showing off her ass -ets,” she says.
Cherry must sense us staring because her head turns and when her gaze lands on our table, her painted lips curl into a smirk. My body tenses automatically, remembering our previous encounter.
Angel notices my reaction and rolls her eyes. "Ignore her. She's just upset because we've been systematically eliminating her kind from the clubhouse."
"Her kind?" I ask.
"Club whores," Sophie supplies bluntly. "Women who hang around hoping to catch a brother's attention, or at least warm their beds for a night."
"Angel and I have been on a mission," Sophie continues proudly. "When we both became ol' ladies, this place was crawling with them. We've managed to get rid of all but Cherry."
"She's been around too long," Angel explains with obvious distaste. "Has her hooks in too deep. But we haven't given up hope."
"Why does she dislike me so much?" I ask. "She doesn't even know me."
"Because Saint never gave her a minute of his attention,” Angel explains. "And now here you are, his ol' lady after he’s only known you a few days. It's driving her crazy."
Cherry's path through the clubhouse brings her closer to our table. Her eyes zero in on me, hostility radiating from her like heat from a furnace. I resist the urge to shrink back.
"Just pretend she doesn't exist," Sophie advises under her breath. "That's what we do."
Cherry pauses near our table, making a show of looking me up and down. "Still here?" she asks, her voice saccharine. "I figured Saint would have gotten bored?—”
"Don't you have somewhere else to be, Cherry? Someone else to annoy?" Angel cuts in, not letting Cherry finish her sentence.
Cherry glares at me. She opens her mouth for another barb when a deep voice interrupts.
"Problem here?" Saint stands behind Cherry, his expression thunderous as his eyes move from her to me.
Cherry's face flushes an ugly shade of red and a sickly sweet smile replacing her sneer. "Just girl talk, Saint."
He stares at her with the most menacing look I’ve ever seen until she visibly withers and scurries out of the room.
Angel and Sophie both cover their mouths to hide their snickers.
Saint flashes me a grin so heated it dampens my panties as he holds out his hand to me. "I came to collect my ol' lady. If she’s had her fill of socializing for the day, that is.”
I place my hand in his, allowing him to pull me to my feet.
"Don't wait up," Saint adds, his meaning unmistakable.
Sophie and Angel exchange knowing looks that make my cheeks burn.
Before I can say anything, his mouth captures mine in a kiss that's clearly meant to show everyone I’m his. His hand cups the back of my neck, holding me steady as tongue darts into my mouth, moving against mine with confident possession.
When he finally releases me, I'm breathless, my legs wobbly. Angel and Sophie are grinning from ear to ear.
"Have fun," Angel calls cheerfully as Saint leads me toward the stairs that lead to the residential wing.
“Take good care of our Luna,” Sophie adds with a laugh.
Saint's room—our room, as I've come to think of it—is exactly as we left it this morning. The bed is still unmade, my few belongings mixed with his on the dresser. It feels intimate, this sharing of space, more so than the nights I've spent curled against him, his body a solid wall of warmth against my back.
He closes the door behind us, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet room. When he turns to face me, the hunger in his eyes makes my breath catch.
"I've been waiting all day to get you alone," he says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine.
"You have me alone every night," I remind him, though we both know those nights have been spent in chaste embraces, his restraint evident in the tension that radiates from his body until he falls asleep.
His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing my lower lip in a gesture that's become familiar. "Do you know what it does to me, sleeping next to you every night? Feeling your body against mine but not touching you the way I want to?"
My heart hammers against my ribs. "How do you want to touch me?"
The question hangs in the air between us, an invitation.
"Let me show you," he whispers, bending to capture my lips again.
This kiss is different from the one downstairs—slower, deeper, more deliberate. His hands slide down my sides to grip my hips, pulling me hard against his erection.
“Javier,” I gasp as his mouth travels from my lips to my jaw, then down the column of my throat.
"Say it again," he demands against my skin. "Say my name."
“Javier,” I obey, my hands clutching his shoulders for support as my knees threaten to give way.
He walks me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed. With gentle pressure, he urges me to sit, then kneels before me—this powerful man kneels.
“Tonight, I’m going to fuck you, to make love to you, preciosa," he says, his hands resting on my thighs. “I can’t wait any longer. I want you so bad I can barely stand it."
The desire in his eyes—it undoes me completely. "I want you too,” I whisper, the admission both terrifying and freeing.
A growl of satisfaction rumbles from his chest as he reaches for the hem of my shirt, lifting it slowly over my head. His eyes darken as they take in my lacy bra.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his hands skimming up my sides to cup my breasts through the lace. "So fucking beautiful."
His touch is reverent as he unclasps my bra, sliding it down my arms to reveal my bare chest to his hungry gaze.
"Perfect," he breathes, lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth.
I cry out at the sensation, heat and pleasure shooting straight to my core. His tongue circles the sensitive bud while his hand attends to the other breast, fingers pinching and rolling my nipple until I'm squirming beneath his touch.
When he lifts his head, his eyes are nearly black with desire. "Lay back for me, preciosa."
I comply, watching as he removes my jeans and underwear with careful efficiency. Despite our previous intimacy, being completely naked before him still sends a flush of embarrassment through me. My arms move instinctively to cover myself, but he catches my wrists gently.
"Don't hide from me," he says softly. "I want to see all of you. Every inch."
His eyes travel over my body with such intensity I can almost feel the trail they leave, like a physical caress. Then his hands follow the same path, exploring every curve, every hollow, as if memorizing my body through touch.
When his fingers find the wet heat between my thighs, I gasp, my hips lifting involuntarily to meet his touch.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs approvingly. "So ready for me already."
His skilled fingers work their magic, circling, pressing, sliding inside me until I'm a writhing mess on the bed, my hands clawing at the bedding. Just as I'm about to tumble over the edge, he withdraws his touch, leaving me teetering on the brink.
"Saint," I plead, not entirely sure what I'm asking for.
"I know, preciosa," he soothes, standing to remove his own clothes.
I watch through half-lidded eyes as he reveals his body to me—broad shoulders, muscled chest and arms covered in tattoos, the flat plane of his stomach leading down to...oh.
My eyes widen at the sight of his arousal, thick and hard and long. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him naked, but he's so large that a flutter of anxiety ripples through me.
He notices my expression and smiles reassuringly. “Don’t worry,” he promises, rejoining me on the bed. "I won't hurt you."
He settles between my thighs, his weight supported on his forearms as he hovers above me. The position brings his face close to mine, our breaths mingling as he searches my eyes.
“Once we do this, there's no going back. You understand that, right?"
The intensity in his gaze leaves no doubt about his meaning. This isn't just sex for him. It’s binding. A promise.
“Yes,” I whisper, reaching up to touch his face. "I want to be yours."
Something fierce and possessive flashes in his eyes before he kisses me again, deep and claiming. I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance, seeking permission.
"Relax for me," he murmurs against my lips as he begins to push inside.
The stretch is intense, bordering on uncomfortable as my body tries to adjust to his size. He moves with exquisite care, advancing by small increments, giving me time to accommodate him.
"Fuck," he groans against my neck. "You're so tight."
He thrusts hard and there's a slight pinch of pain as he finally seats himself fully inside me, breaking through the barrier of my virginity.
“Fuck...” He stills immediately, his body tense above mine. “You were a virgin," he says, surprise evident in his voice.
I nod, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. “I’ve never been with anyone before. I’ve never even kissed anyone else. You were my first kiss.”
“Fuuuck,” he breathes out resting his forehead against mine. “I thought..." he begins, then stops himself. “You worked at the spa. I thought..."
Understanding dawns. "That night was the first night I was supposed to work a party," I admit quietly. “I didn’t want to, but the pressure was intense. I felt trapped."
Fury darkens Saint's expression, his body going rigid above mine. "That fucking piece of shit. If he wasn't already dead, I'd kill him myself. Slowly."
“It doesn't matter now. You saved me." I reach up to touch his face, drawing his attention back to me. “Please don’t be angry. Don’t ruin this. It’s special. My first time.”
His expression softens, the rage receding though not disappearing entirely. "You’re okay?” he asks again. “Did I hurt you? Do you want to stop?”
“No! I don't want to stop," I assure him, shifting my hips experimentally and finding the discomfort has already begun to fade. “Please don’t stop.”
A shudder runs through his powerful body at my words. Slowly, with careful restraint, he begins to move, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back in. Each stroke is measured, deliberate, his eyes never leaving my face as he watches for any sign of distress.
But there is none. The initial discomfort gives way to pleasure, building with each slow thrust until I'm meeting him halfway, my hips rising to greet his.
"That's it," he encourages, one hand sliding beneath me to lift my hips at a new angle that has him hitting a spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. "Let go, preciosa. Let me feel you come."
His thumb finds my clit, circling in time with his thrusts, and that's all it takes to send me flying over the edge. I cry out his name as pleasure crashes over me in waves, my inner muscles clenching around his length.
"Fuck," he groans, his rhythm faltering as my body milks his cock. "I'm going to?—"
He pulls out at the last moment, his release spilling hot across my stomach as he groans my name like a prayer. The sight of this powerful man coming undone because of me is perhaps the most erotic thing I've ever witnessed.
Afterward, he cleans us both with gentle care before gathering me against his chest, my head resting over his thundering heart. His arms around me feel like the safest place in the world.
“No one else, Luna." he murmurs into my hair. “No one else will ever touch you like that but me.”