Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
Luna
Icradle the heavy laundry basket on my hip as I climb the basement stairs.
It’s late, but I have no choice. I slipped on my last pair of clean underwear after my evening shower.
My still-damp skin clings to my pajamas—well, what passes for pajamas tonight.
I’ve had to resort to wearing a short babydoll nightgown I haven’t touched since I broke up with Caleb.
He gave it to me for our second anniversary, but I only wore it once before our relationship imploded a few weeks later.
I should’ve tossed it, but tonight, it’s all I have.
My laundry schedule is a mess, thanks to the chaos my life has become. I need to get back on track so I’m not hauling wet clothes around at midnight. But in my defense, things have been a little insane lately.
I push open the door at the top of the stairs and enter the hallway that connects the kitchen to the living room. Darkness swallows me whole. Though they were on when I went downstairs ten minutes ago, all the lights on the first floor are off.
Outside, a distant crack of thunder rattles the windows, followed by a bright flash of lightning that rips through the sky. Heavy rain lashes against the enclosed porch windows, blurring the world outside.
My eyes dart to the alarm keypad next to the back door. The solid red light blinks at me. The system is armed.
But he’s here. I can feel it in every nerve ending in my body.
I fumble for the wall switch, but when I press it, nothing happens. My throat constricts as I turn toward the living room. He’s there. Like he belongs here.
Like he has every right to be in my house.
His now familiar silhouette fills the front window, his broad shoulders blocking out the porch light with its irritating flicker.
Behind him, rain falls in silver curtains, drumming a frantic rhythm on the roof, while the thunder rolls across the mountains.
That damned silver wolf mask catches the lightning and throws it back at me in wicked flashes.
It’s a scene ripped straight out of a horror film. My heart vaults into my throat, and cold sweat beads on my skin. Terror and rage crash together in my chest.
How the hell did he get in?
Damien’s security system sucks.
My pulse hammers between my legs, desire and dread tangling into something that sets my skin on fire. The sight of him shouldn’t make my heart race like this. Not this way. Not with breathless, quickened heartbeats. But my body has a mind of its own.
I set the laundry basket on the floor.
“I don’t even know why I have a security system.” My voice shakes, defeat wrapped around the raw edge of panic. Wariness threads through the words because I’m not insane, but underneath it all coils this terrible, thrilling expectation that makes my skin feel too tight.
Lightning flashes through the window behind him. He takes several steps forward, each footfall heavy and measured, his body vibrating with raw power. I tilt my chin up to meet his gaze, my neck straining from the angle. His fingers flex at his sides, hands that could crush me.
He looms over me, breath sawing in and out of his lungs, rainwater dripping from his wavy hair. Tonight, there’s a tension radiating from him, a new, palpable, unsettling energy. He doesn’t speak, just stands there, chest heaving.
“What’s wrong?” Fear thickens my voice until it barely sounds like me. “You seem—”
He’s on me before I can finish. His fingers wrap around my throat in a vise-like grip, spinning me and pushing me over the sofa.
My stomach slams against the back, and he yanks my wrists behind me, snapping zip ties tight around my skin.
His hands are rough and demanding, yanking my nightgown up and tearing the delicate fabric.
He shoves my underwear down, and I fight, panic surging as the sofa digs into my stomach.
“What are you doing?”
The intensity isn’t entirely unexpected; he was rough and wild and completely consuming last night, but this feels different.
Angry. Punishing.
“Why are you so mad?” I gasp as he forces my legs apart with his knees.
He doesn’t answer, and the silence is more unsettling than any harsh words could be.
“I—what the hell?” My voice is raw, but the question chokes off as he silences me with his mouth, tongue relentless, focusing on extracting pleasure from my body, whether I’m ready or not. My fingernails dig into my palms as his tongue drives me toward the edge with single-minded determination.
Before I can think, my body surrenders to his relentless assault, and my orgasm crashes through me like a tidal wave, violent and all-consuming.
I cry out, the sound lost beneath another loud clap of thunder, my body convulsing as he holds me open, not letting me escape the intensity.
When I try to pull away, overstimulated and shaking, he tightens his grip on my thighs.
Only when I’m trembling and spent does he stop, rising to his feet behind me, hips pressing against my ass, and his intention is clear. I struggle, but it’s futile.
“Get the fuck off me.”
He ignores my plea, gliding his fingers through my already slick flesh, harsh and demanding, as pain and pleasure twist together until tears slip down my cheeks.
My body’s betrayal of my own desire makes me want to scream, but I bite my lip as the sound builds in my throat.
I swallow it back, refusing to give voice to this war between my mind and body.
His hand wraps around my throat, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft hollows beneath my jawline.
Panic flares under my ribs, and my pulse hammers against his grip.
My lungs strain, pulling in whispers of air as I force myself to breathe in shallow gasps, trusting him not to kill me. It’s the only choice I have.
The pressure on my throat heightens everything, and the faint sound of his zipper confirms that, like last night, he won’t bother undressing.
Then he’s inside me, hard and claiming, and my teeth dig into the sofa cushion to muffle my cries. It’s too much, too rough, but my body responds anyway, clenching around him even as I beg him to stop.
“Please.” The gasp escapes with what little breath he’s allowing me. “I can’t—”
He slows down, but his thrusts remain forceful and deep. His fingers rub my clit, teasing with ruthless determination, until my pain tips over into pleasure. I shudder, crying into the cushion as another climax rips through me.
The cool mask against the side of my face sends a shiver cascading down my spine. The combination of his fingers on my throat, his rough possession, and the way he takes what he wants—it’s intoxicating. My body surrenders, giving in to the ecstasy, the pain, and the fear.
It doesn’t take him long. Whatever’s got him so worked up catapults him to the edge of his own release. My body takes everything he gives me, jerking with the force of his thrusts, as bruises bloom on my throat and the front of my thighs. His thrusts become erratic, and I know he’s close.
“Fuck!”
The first word he’s spoken since he arrived is a roar that tears from his lips, close to my ear, as he comes inside me.
The sensation sends me spiraling over the edge again.
My pussy clamps down on his cock, a blazing third orgasm ripping through me as he releases his fingers and a blissful deep breath of air fills my lungs.
As the world comes back into focus, the storm outside rages, matching our ragged breaths.
“Get off me and get the fuck out of my house.”
I twist my body beneath him, feeling the coarse fabric of his clothes against my back. Warm breath blows against my skin as he sighs.
“Do you have something you want to tell me, little doe?” His deep voice growls in my ear.
“No. Now let me go. I’m done with this. And—”
His fingers clamp around my throat again, cutting off my words. Panic flares as I force myself to take short, shallow breaths. I choke out, “I said, get out.”
“How about we try this again? Do you have something you want to confess to me? A transgression, perhaps?”
“What… What are you talking about?” His grip on my throat is making it almost impossible to talk. “What do you want me to confess?”
His lips graze my skin with almost tender intent, and I shiver.
“Damien Wolfe.” The name sounds like a curse. “I know you agreed to go out with him on Friday.”
The words hit me like ice water, and I stop struggling. Damien and I were alone when he asked. Unless…
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I told you, Luna, I see everything.”
“Did you hack into my security system?”
His lips curve against my ear. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”
“That’s illegal.”
“So is killing, but that doesn’t stop me.”
He loosens his fingers, and I try to take a deep breath, but his weight pressing down on me makes it impossible.
“Let me up. I can’t breathe. The sofa is digging into me, and my hands are going numb.”
His compliance is surprising. He steps back and pulls me upright.
The rage that burned in him has simmered to embers.
I wish I could see his eyes better through the mask, and, almost as if the universe were listening, lightning lights the room again, but it’s not enough.
His eyes are still a mystery. Would seeing them help me understand the killer standing before me?
Do I even want to?
Right now, I want him gone. Erased from my life so I can return to the woman who didn’t crave a killer’s touch.
The torn nightgown barely covers me. My wrists strain against the restraints, come is dripping down my thighs, and my insides twist with desire and revulsion warring for control.
But I won’t shrink before him. He terrifies me, yet he knows what he does to my body.
There’s no hiding the way I respond to him.
“You have no right to invade my privacy. You have no right to come in here and take me against my will. Just because I let you fuck me last night doesn’t mean you own me.”