Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Luna
“Turn around.”
His voice plummets to that low, authoritative register that makes my knees weak. It’s obvious he’s disguising it, but why?
I study his face, trying to see past that mask, desperate to glimpse the man beneath it, but all I see are eyes so dark they’re almost black.
My fingers curl at my sides. Every instinct screams run. My muscles tense, ready to bolt or strike. Instead, I stand frozen.
Goosebumps race across my skin, each hair standing on end. Fear slithers up my spine, coiling in my chest like a living thing. But underneath it, something else unfurls, and a deep-rooted carnal desire awakens.
“Don’t make me tell you again, Luna.”
The words sink into my bones, heavy and inescapable. My name on his lips sounds like ownership, like he’s claimed it as something that exists only in his mouth. My body responds with a rush of arousal that makes me dizzy.
Beneath that mask, his lips part, the bottom one fuller than seems fair. My muscles clench, and heat blooms between my thighs as I try to ignore how the mask makes his mouth look obscenely tempting.
He spins me. The world tilts, blurs, and when it stops, the kitchen table looms before me, its solid oak surface becoming the center of my world.
His palm spreads across my back, pressure building until I lean forward over the table. The wood is cool and smooth against my palms as I brace myself. My pulse thunders in my ears, each beat echoing through the silence.
He pushes me forward until my breasts meet the table. I gasp as my nipples press against the cold surface.
“Oh—”
His body cages me from behind, heat radiating through his clothes. His breath ghosts across my neck, then the silver mask touches my shoulder—ice against fire.
“Hands behind your back.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve shown you can’t be trusted.”
“I wasn’t going to pull your mask off. I just wanted to slide my fingers into your hair.”
“Well, you’ll have to earn the privilege of freedom. Let’s find out if your pussy can do that. Now, don’t make me tell you again.”
The rebelliousness I’ve worn like armor all night should rise to the surface.
I should fight, argue, and push back. Instead, his voice dissolves my resistance.
My wrists cross at the small of my back without conscious thought.
The position sends a thrill through me that I try to ignore but can’t.
I jump at the bite of cool plastic against my skin.
“What the—”
I twist against the table, my muscles straining. He pulls, one sharp motion, and a zip tie sinks into my wrists. Not enough to cut, just enough to mark. My pulse pounds against the plastic restraint.
I test the bonds, but my hands won’t budge.
My eyes widen. This isn’t his warm hands holding mine in place, pinning me down like I’d imagined. This is different. My throat closes. Air comes in short bursts, and a shiver of dread cascades over me. He could do anything. Anything at all. And I’m now completely at his mercy.
“Perfect.” He sweeps my long hair to the side, and his hand traces the length of my spine, possessive and reverent. “You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
Despite how my body is screaming to let him do whatever he wants to me, my brain catches up with the reality of my situation. I’m bent over my kitchen table, almost naked, about to get fucked by my masked watcher, and I have no idea if he’s going to kill me afterward.
“You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I’m not okay with this. Let me up. Untie me and get the hell out of my house.”
His chuckle is low and dangerous.
“It’s too late for that.”
Warm fingers grip the lace waistband of my panties, a flush of embarrassment replacing my panic as he pulls them down my legs.
His knee presses against my inner thighs a second later, a firm pressure pushing them apart.
I’m bound and vulnerable, unable or unwilling to resist whatever he has in mind, and my heart skitters, torn between dread and an undeniable ache of want.
His hot breath floats over me, tickling my sex, and memories of his skilled mouth slam into me. I want nothing more than for him to move closer. He pushes my thighs wider, spreading me open. I pull air into my lungs and hold it there, muscles tense, waiting for the first touch of his tongue.
But he just breathes. In and out. The exhale warms my slick flesh.
I squirm, trying to shift away, but his hands lock my thighs in place.
His gaze burns into me, focused and intense, studying every part of me I can’t cover.
He’s already spent hours with his face buried between my thighs, but this is different.
My heart pounds against my ribs, and my face heats.
Being open like this while he just looks—it strips something away that his mouth never touched.
The vulnerability scrapes me raw even as my body pulses with need.
I try to push myself up from the table, but it’s impossible with my hands bound behind my back.
“I’m serious. Let me up and get the fuck out of my house.”
The heat of his mouth vanishes, and he stands, gripping the zip tie with one hand and pushing down on my back with the other, keeping me still.
“Relax, Luna. As long as you don’t fight me, I won’t hurt you.”
“Please just let me go.”
“No. You need to let go. Let me show you what your body is capable of.”
He gathers my arousal on his agile fingers, torturing me with slow, flicking strokes, and a moan tears out of me I can’t suppress.
“Stop thinking.” There’s something almost tender beneath the command. “Stop fighting. Just feel.”
My forehead drops to the table. I gasp for air but can’t seem to pull enough into my lungs, and my legs tremble, threatening to give out.
“Oh, God.”
My hips push back against his hand, chasing more contact, more friction. I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper. I should hate this. Hate him and myself for responding. But my body arches into every stroke of his fingers, greedy and desperate.
The sound of his zipper fills the room. I turn my head just enough to see. His cock springs free, standing thick and heavy, his skin stretched tight and flushed almost purple. My core clenches, empty and aching, and fresh arousal trickles down my thighs as my body readies itself to take him.
“I can’t wait any longer, Luna.”
A raw edge of desire roughens his voice as he lines up at my entrance, his head teasing through my slick heat. I gasp, every nerve inside me coming alive.
Pain and pleasure collide, and a cry explodes from my chest. Everything else falls away. There’s only this. The shock of fullness and the burning stretch as he drives into me with one deep, possessive stroke.