8. Luna
LUNA
Sawyer doesn’t look stunned. No disgust curls his lip. No fear hitches his breath. It’s as if I never spoke.
“Now, Dreg,” I snap. Heat rushes to my face—like it was Sawyer who gave the command. It was easier when it was Sawyer.
His lips curve into a crooked grin as he leans in close, nose swiping a path to my ear. I hold my breath. Close my eyes.
“Please, Head Keeper. Please let me fuck you.”
I wince (too much), but the discomfort is quickly quelled by a nip at the hinge of my jaw—four incisors closing just hard enough to pull a gasp from me, sharp edges leaving a damp heat where they scrape. His hands press on my thighs while he waits.
And waits.
And waits.
“Come on, beautiful,” he prods with a whisper. I shiver. My lips part as I tilt my head back to expose my neck.
He doesn’t take the bait.
“What should I kiss?” Breath ghosts the slope of my jaw.
I swallow. Breathe in: “Take off my sweater.”
He smiles against my neck. Hands slide to my waist and take the hem of my sweater.
The wool rasps faintly across my cheek as he lifts it, and I raise my arms to help him.
Cool air snakes along my torso with every inch the fabric raises until it’s tossed to the floor and I’m left in a thin, white bra.
No cushion, no lace. Fat straps curve up and over my shoulders all in the vein of two triangular pieces of cloth—cloth that two months ago, I wouldn’t have questioned.
Now, as Sawyer’s eyes dip to my breasts, to pink nipples pebbling through the white … it’s all I can think about.
“Kiss along my collar bone.”
Amused eyes glance at me. “Yes, Head Keeper.”
My heart skips at the seriousness in his voice.
Fake.
His expression is too full of humor for the respect to be genuine, but a wave of something warm and heavy sifts through my veins anyway. It sinks deep within my belly as Sawyer lowers to my collar bone.
My eyes close as he takes the curved path to the tip of my sternum, each press of his mouth knocking my pulse out of rhythm. Teeth clip the edge where bone and the hollow of my throat meet, and he stalls long enough to lick the delicate groove.
My chest lifts with a breath as my head tips back. An invitation I didn’t intend to send, but one Sawyer accepts as he kisses toward my breast.
“I did not tell you to move on, Dreg.”
When Sawyer flattens his tongue on the space just above my bra, my shoulder twitches with as little control as a marionette.
I could stop it.
But I don’t.
“Slave,” he says into the valley between my breasts.
“What?”
“Slave is sexy.” Peppered kisses dance up my sternum. “Dreg is demeaning.”
He moves to the neglected collar bone, and my lips part at the subtle graze of his teeth.
“You don’t get to choose.”
His mouth pauses in a sloppy kiss. Cool air skims the dampened flesh of my shoulder as he moves on.
Without warning, his bottom lip drags up my neck until his teeth lock onto my earlobe.
I gasp—surprise, not pain. He doesn’t bite down, just … warns.
He chews on the tender flesh before flicking it with his tongue. “You’re right… Sorry, Your Grace.”
“You’re forgiven,” I whisper, my mouth parting with my quaking breath. “You may move onto my breasts now … Slave.”
He does.
Without a beat passing, his hand snakes around my back and unclasps my bra in a single jerk. As material falls, I cover my chest on impulse but don’t fight when Sawyer takes my wrist and lays my hands at my sides. White cotton slips down my arms.
He tugs the material to my wrists and wraps a knot that I snap loose with a breath.
He looks into my eyes. No guilt. No apology.
We stare at each other long enough it’s hard to tell who is asking permission. But it’s granted as Sawyer slowly takes the material and delicately ties a knot that’s both secure and gentle. Too elegant to alarm.
Careful.
He pulls back to study me, eyes drawn to my bare chest. My nipples throb beneath his gaze; the phantom feel of his mouth is so vivid I ball my hands into fists to halt a tremble.
I bite my lip and wait… But it’s his thumb that touches me first. He circles one of the tender, swollen buds so slowly I taste copper.
Freeing my lip, I swallow and hold steady. My core grabs at something he hasn’t offered. Something I haven’t decided if I’ll command.
“You’re beautiful, Your Grace,” Sawyer says in an authentic tone that stabs the back of my throat. I flinch—subtle. Maybe he doesn’t notice.
“Thank you, Slave.” I breathe in sharply as he licks his thumb and wanders to my other nipple. “But save your compliments. I didn’t believe you the first time you said it, and I don’t believe you now.”
I brace for his argument. But Sawyer doesn’t respond.
His mouth latches onto my nipple, his tongue circling the erect tip while my eyes snap wide. I look down at his hands bracing my ribs, at the slow pull of his mouth against my areola.
When he sucks, I let out a squeak that makes my hands jerk toward my mouth.
They make it to my belly button before Sawyer catches my wrist, locks onto my eyes, and licks the peak of my nipple.
The tight bud aches and slicks beneath his tongue—while my hips roll forward in a delicious grind, the seam of my pants fitting in the soft cleft between my legs.
I try to look away but can’t. I watch as Sawyer sucks me. Rolls me between his fingers and nips me. My hips roll helplessly, stitched wool dragging across my swollen clit, the pressure relentlessly inadequate.
More.
Time stretches while Sawyer teases my body. Nothing enough, nothing satisfying, and nothing I dare stop.
It goes on so long, Sawyer’s tongue must cramp, and my body forgets what relief feels like. The ache in my clit sharpens. My bottom lip caves as I bite down, a moan crawling up my throat.
Touch me.
Touch me. Now.
“Fuck,” I moan as my core clenches. The word comes out bitter and strange—never spoken before Sawyer. Ugly and crude and exact.
I weave my fingers through his hair and pull him closer to my breast. My grip yanks viciously as I grind against the bench.
It’s coming.
So close.
“Yes!” My head falls back as I cry out, my grip on Sawyer so tight I could be suffocating him against my breast if it were larger. “Oh God, yes!”
My hands tremble when I finally let go; my hips melt as the tension snaps. I breathe heavily past my orgasm as my skin flushes hot.
But I’m not finished.
My eyes seek Sawyer’s crotch, shoulders hunched with my labored breathing.
Sick.
Siren.
Perverted.
Temptress.
Which am I?
I blink through my lust. The sight of Sawyer’s erection is such a relief, I nearly fall on top of him. But I don’t. I sit up tall; work to regain my composure.
“Take me to the bedroom,” I order.
Sawyer flicks his eyes to the door.
“The Keeper left… It’s just us.”
A look crosses Sawyer’s face that I try hard to ignore. A vicious consideration. An opportunity he may never get again.
My heart flutters as my hands tug at the makeshift binds.
The look fades. He scoops his arms beneath my knees and lifts me in one smooth movement, his lips latching onto mine.
I moan while lifting my bound arms around his neck and kiss him to his rhythm.
I let him lead, guide me, carry me to the bedroom with his even, exact gait.
He doesn’t stumble nor does he watch where he’s going, and for some reason, I’m filled with a sense of security. Like I could never be lost with him.
Wrong.
So dangerously wrong.
As we make it to the bed, he lays me down, and his lips find my neck while he situates himself on top of me. Pleasure builds as his hardened length presses between my clothed legs, making my heels dig into the freshly-washed comforter, my nails slicing his wounded back.
“Shit,” he hisses, jerking away.
I brush his shoulders while peering up at his pained face. “I’m sorry.”
After a moment of cringing, he shakes his head as if to dismiss my apology. When he goes back to my neck, I cup his face and force him to look at me.
“No…” My neck arches at the feel of his breath on my lips. “I mean I’m sorry.”
Eyes, full of lust and anger soften. His lips dip into a frown just before he kisses me. I don’t know if it’s forgiveness. Neither of us deserve it.
But it’s nice.
I part my lips for him and welcome his tongue inside my mouth while running my nails up and down his arms. Gingerly. Lovingly. No more pain. No more punishment.
He pops the button on my pants and slips his hand inside my underwear. As soon as his finger finds my clit, I moan into his mouth and grasp his shoulders.
Pleasure ripples through me and melts me into the bed. The cruelest thing he could possibly do is stop.
“Lick me.” The command breaks with need that slips into my tone, more of a whine than a demand.
His finger still massaging my clit, Sawyer kisses my cheek before the pressure leaves me so he can shift down my body and take off my pants. My underwear—painfully dry an hour ago—smear a path of arousal down my inner thigh as Sawyer slips them off and tosses them to the side.
Strong fingers carve dents around my knees as he splays me open, and all I can do is clutch my bound hands to my chest. And wait.
Exposed. Powerful yet powerless. No different than the first time I bared myself to him. My breath hitches just the same.
I study his face as if he might’ve changed his mind since the last time he saw me.
Of course he has. His eyes narrow as he swirls his finger around my opening, my arousal making his path slick. I suck in as my back arches.
“Is this cum?”
My mind blanks for a moment. When memory hits, I stiffen.
Oh.
I don’t say anything as Sawyer looks at me, but the guilt is clear in my expression.
“What does Thorne think of you being here?”
Thorne…
The hurt on his face.
‘Did you have to kiss him?’ he asked as Sawyer was dragged to the mines.
“I don’t believe in monogamy,” I say, voice not so deceptively steady. “But I do believe I gave you a command … Slave.”
His chest puffs with a laugh. “You don’t believe in monogamy…”
My eyelids constrict until I remember.
“The things Zephyr told you about me weren’t true. I’ve never been vengeful toward Thorne’s whores. He—”