Chapter 35 #2
The sanctuary’s main building is quiet. I disable the door chime before slipping inside.
I’m earlier than usual tonight, having just finished a kill.
A dirtbag I picked up last night outside of Salt Lake City, Utah.
Cade was with me, his military buddy providing a discreet airstrip for the helicopter.
He’s handling the cleanup, but I couldn’t wait another second to see Luna.
I’ve been coming earlier lately because it’s clear my visits are exhausting my little doe.
My waking her in the middle of the night is disrupting her sleep cycle.
So, I make it a point to come earlier now so I can fuck her and tuck her into bed by a decent hour.
She’s in her office, bent over paperwork, her silky blonde hair falling around her face like a curtain. She hasn’t heard me yet. I pause, drinking in the sight of her, before I let the floor squeak under my boots.
Her head snaps up, eyes widening as they find me in the doorway. For a heartbeat, fear flickers across her features. Then recognition smooths it.
“You’re early.” Her voice trembles—relief, desire, and guilt all tangled into two simple words.
I step into the small office, closing the door behind me. In the dim light of her desk lamp, I appear more shadow than man.
I pull the silver belt buckle from my pocket and place it on her papers with a soft clink. The recessed horse in the center catches the light, its metal flanks gleaming.
Luna stares at it, her breath quickening as she recognizes the logo. Horror and turmoil wage war in her eyes—the healer battling the vengeful woman. Morality wrestles with darker impulses.
“Is that Odell Pearson’s?” Her voice is steady despite the way her pulse jumps at her throat.
I nod, watching her face tighten.
“Did you kill him?”
Another nod, and she narrows her eyes.
“Have you lost your ability to speak?”
A slow smirk stretches across my lips.
She stands, pacing the small space, fingers raking through her hair. “Do you know what you’re making me an accomplice to?”
“He hurt those animals. He would’ve hurt more. His life was forfeit the moment he threatened you.”
She stops, exhaling a sharp breath. She doesn’t ask how I know things anymore.
“Are you even listening to yourself? Who appointed you the arbiter of life and death?”
“I did.”
She runs a hand down her face, exhaustion seeping into her features. “You didn’t bring the body here, did you?”
“No. You told me not to. I do as you ask.” She arches a brow. “Sometimes.”
“Will they ever find his body?”
“Eventually.”
She drops her voice low, the words meant for herself more than me. “I guess I’ll be getting another visit from Karen.” Then she looks up. “Were those his cats I found outside the other morning?”
“Yes. They were the only other animals on his property. I couldn’t leave them to starve.”
Her eyes soften. “I hate that you’ve put me in this position.”
I know she hates it, but she crossed that line the moment she accepted my violence, my darkness, and my body inside hers.
Her gaze drops to the belt buckle. “Those horses. What he did to them. They were so afraid. So broken. Patches still jumps whenever the barn door slams.” Her hands clench. “Part of me is glad he’s dead. What does that make me?”
“Human.”
The rigid line of her shoulders slumps, and a tremor runs through her jaw, the last threads of resistance snapping. She closes the distance between us, hands fisting my shirt.
“I hate that I want you.” The confession hisses out as she presses her body against mine. Tonight I let her, because she’s having an epiphany, and it’s a brutal, beautiful sight. “I hate that I wait for you every night. I hate what you make me feel.”
My hands capture her wrists, and I back her against the desk. “No. You hate that you love how I make you feel.”
Darkness swallows her pupils, lips parting on a shaky exhale. Every logical defense her mind has built dissolves under her body’s honest response. I release her wrists and step back.
“Strip.”
She hesitates for only a heartbeat, then reaches for the buttons on her shirt. It’s an old flannel she wears sometimes, and I think it might have been her grandfather’s.
Her eyes never leave my mask as she works each button with careful fingers, and each revealed inch of skin is a victory. Her collarbone, the gentle swell of her breasts in a simple black lace bra, and the flat plane of her stomach. My blood roars through my veins.
The fabric slides from her shoulders and pools at her feet.
Her hands move to the clasp of her bra, and I watch the play of muscle beneath her skin, the way her shoulders shift as she reaches behind her back.
The bra follows the shirt, and then she’s pushing her jeans down over her hips, the soft rasp of denim against her skin filling the room.
When she straightens, completely bare, she doesn’t try to cover herself. Naked, she’s perfection, all curves and shadows, skin like cream touched with gold.
I cross to her in three steps and guide her to sit on the sofa.
My hand slides into her hair, blonde silk that catches on my rough fingers.
The strands are warm, and they smell of vanilla shampoo mixed with her natural peach scent.
I wind them around my knuckles, feel their texture and their weight, and force her to look at me.
“I’m not binding your wrists yet. You’re going to need them.”
Her eyes darken, understanding my intent.
I lean down, bringing my face close to hers.
The space between us shrinks to nothing but breath and heat.
My lips hover over hers, so close I can feel the whisper of her exhale.
I’m playing with fire. Her mouth is right there—soft, parted, and waiting.
My heart pounds with the temptation to kiss her, to taste those soft lips.
I’ve kissed women before, but not for a long time.
Not since I embraced the darkness inside me.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy kissing, but it’s too intimate, too much like offering a piece of my soul.
I prefer to just fuck, leaving the woman’s mouth free to cry and scream as I ravage her. I don’t need kissing.
Until Luna. I want to kiss her too much. That’s why I can’t allow it. If I lower my guard, I won’t be able to maintain the separation between her wolf and Damien.
I turn my head at the last second, my mouth finding her cheek instead. My lips drag along the curve of her jaw and find the shell of her ear. “I’ve thought about your mouth all day.”
A tremor runs through her. I release my grip on her hair, and she lifts her head. Her eyes are dark pools, pupils blown wide with want.
“Don’t make me regret not tying your hands, Luna.”
She nods, and her lips curve at one corner, a ghost of a smile she tries to hide but can’t quite manage. Her eyes spark with gratitude mixed with anticipation.
“Now, let me fuck that beautiful mouth.”
My thumb traces the soft curve of her lower lip.
She shivers, and I step closer until my belt buckle almost touches her chin.
Her fingers work to release me, the metal teeth of my zipper parting with a slow hiss that echoes in the quiet.
My cock springs free, hard and pulsing, a bead of moisture already gathering at the tip.
She pushes the denim down my thighs, then pauses, eyebrows lifting.
I shake my head. “No. It stays on. Just tuck it behind.”
A crease forms between her brows, but she complies, lifting the cotton hem and resting it behind where I stand rigid against my stomach. She doesn’t understand why I don’t undress. But the shirt is a shield, protecting her from what lies beneath. Ink that spells out my damnation.
“Look what you do to me, Luna? How hard you make me.”
Her tongue darts out, a quick flicker of pink, wetting her bottom lip.
Her fingers hover for a heartbeat before wrapping around me, tentative at first, then firmer as her breathing quickens.
My legs tremble, and my ragged breaths match hers.
One hand cradles my shaft while the other glides upward, collecting the moisture at the tip, her thumb circling the sensitive skin.
“How the hell does this fit inside me?” She whispers, her breath warm against me. She’s asked herself that more than once while close to my cock. I want to tell her we’re made to fit together, but I stay silent, fearing my real voice will emerge if I speak. I’m also afraid I might whimper.
She leans in, her tongue darting out. The first contact sends electricity up my spine, a jolt that buckles my knees. Her mouth curves into a smile against my skin as she traces a wet path up, then down, her tongue exploring every inch of me. My fingers find her hair, tangling in the silken strands.
“Take me in your mouth, Luna.” The command fractures, morphing into a plea. I tighten my fingers in her hair, and she retaliates by gripping my balls, a silent reminder that she holds power too.
She’s so fucking perfect.
When her lips finally part and envelop me, my heart stutters in my chest. She takes me deep, her mouth a warm, wet haven that threatens to undo me. She hums, a low vibration that resonates against my skin. The sensation is heaven and hell. Pleasure and torture.
For endless minutes, there’s nothing but the slick sounds of her lips and tongue and our mingled breathing filling the small room. The world narrows to the burning heat of her mouth, the flick of her tongue against that spot just beneath my crown that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Here it comes, Luna. Be a good girl and take all of me.”
Her whimper vibrates against my skin. My hips jerk forward of their own volition, my body chasing my release. Her throat constricts around me as she struggles not to pull away, her eyes watering at the corners, lashes clumping together like wet spikes.