Chapter 15 #2
Is she drunk? Did her grief over the hybrid drive her to alcohol? My fists clench. The Meyers have a lot to answer for.
She reaches the window and looks out, straight in my direction, before leaning down and snuggling the cat as her eyes scan the forest’s edge.
Is she looking for me?
I step out of the treeline, my footsteps measured and slow. The moonlight barely illuminates me, but she squints, tilting her head as if questioning what she sees.
I take another step forward, emerging from the shadows.
I’m here, little doe.
Her mouth opens in surprise, a gasp I can’t hear but imagine perfectly. She grabs the curtains, and every muscle in my body tenses.
Don’t you fucking dare close them.
The internal debate plays across her beautiful face, a conflict between fear and curiosity as she wrestles with which one she’ll let win. Her fingers grip the fabric, ready to shut me out, cut me off from this view of her private world, but she doesn’t. She steps back, dropping her hands.
Leaving the curtains wide open.
A smile spreads over my lips.
Perhaps she’s beginning to understand how this dance between us works.
Then her fingers find the hem of her shirt, playing with the edge. Testing. Teasing. Deliberating.
Is she really going to…?
She lifts the fabric, revealing skin inch by inch. The smooth plane of her stomach, the curve of her ribs, the swell of her breasts. Higher and higher until she pulls it over her head and tosses it aside with a casualness that belies the significance of what she’s doing.
Blood rushes in my ears. My body responds, and pressure builds behind my zipper, threatening to burst, steel fighting against swelling flesh.
This is different from when she dropped her towel. She knows I’m watching.
Is this a challenge? An invitation? Or is she testing how far she can push before I break?
I step closer, deeper into the yard and into the moonlight. She sees me now. Her posture shifts, shoulders back, and chin lifted. A new confidence emerges. She’s playing a dangerous game without understanding the rules.
If her friend wasn’t here, I’d storm that house and fuck her to within an inch of her life. Show her what happens when you tease a wolf.
Who knew she could be this bold? This fiery? It makes me want her even more. Not just her body, but her spirit. I want to capture that flame and keep it burning only for me.
She stands backlit by her bedside lamp, a silhouette of perfect curves and hidden promises. Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe her. She’s magnificent. A goddess who doesn’t know her own power.
Or maybe she does.
Because just when I think I can’t get any harder, she reaches up and flicks open the front clasp of her bra.
The fabric parts, her breasts spilling free.
Even from this distance, I see her chest expand and contract with each breath.
Then she shrugs, and the garment slides down her arms and onto the floor.
And I’m granted another glimpse of her exquisite perfection.
Her breasts are round, generous, and hard-tipped.
Luna cups herself, filling her own hands, thumbs brushing across peaks that respond to her touch.
Her neck arches back, lips parting in what must be silent pleasure.
Lightning races down my spine as she explores herself, her touch growing bolder with each caress.
The world narrows to this single window, my lungs forgetting how to work.
The mask clings to my face, too confining, the night air too thick.
My muscles tense with the urge to scale that balcony again or kick through her door regardless of who might hear.
Her friend can watch or run. I don’t care.
I want to discover every sound Luna makes when hands know exactly where to touch.
I want to map her body with my mouth, worship every inch, until she breaks apart beneath me.
Before I can act, she steps forward and, with one final challenging look, pulls the curtains closed.
She vanishes behind them, leaving me hollow, rooted to her lawn with hunger eating me alive from the inside. My jaw hangs open, catching night air, while my jeans have become a torture device.
And it’s all from the simple sight of her fucking tits. All from watching her hands claim what should be mine.
You’re playing with fire, little doe.
My feet carry me backward through the grass, each step a war between leaving and staying.
Her window holds me like a magnet even as the distance grows between us.
My hands shake with the need to claim what she’s offered, to teach her the consequences of this torture.
She’s started something tonight that won’t end with closed curtains and locked doors.
But the Meyers have expiration dates stamped on their foreheads, and I won’t let them slip away while I’m drunk on her performance.
The trees swallow me whole before my hands attack my zipper, releasing what she’s awakened.
Oak bark bites into my forearm as I brace against a tree, working myself with savage pulls, the image of her curves burned behind my eyelids.
Minutes blur together until release explodes through me, her name ripping from my throat, shattering the silence as I empty myself onto earth that will keep my secrets.
I stuff my cock back into my pants and drag out a handkerchief, wiping my hand as I head back to the SUV. The pressure has lifted. For now.
She’s dismantling me piece by piece, turning discipline into dust. The careful balance I’ve maintained for years tilts toward chaos with every breath she takes.
Dawn will bring her two new gifts. Then we stop playing games through glass and cameras.
But first, I have an appointment with Thomas and Bertha Meyers. They’ve been breathing borrowed air long enough.