Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Luna
Islide down his body when we enter his office again.
When his hands move to unbutton my shirt, when his mouth moves to my throat and he bites down just hard enough to make me gasp, all rational thought abandons me.
His touch is everywhere at once—one hand gripping my waist, another cupping my breast, then moving up to thread his fingers into my hair.
It’s desperate, almost violent in its intensity, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me in case I disappear again.
His tongue sweeps across my neck, heat and moisture leaving me dizzy, as he makes his way to my mouth.
I tilt my head back, opening to him. His kiss is fierce, a collision of tongues and lips and ragged breaths that quicken until my heart threatens to burst out of my chest. I taste mint and whiskey and something uniquely him, and my knees go weak.
My pulse hammers in my throat as warmth floods between my legs. Desire, lust, and love claw through me, lacing with longing, with the ache of nights spent apart. I need him inside me, claiming every inch until I’m his again.
“The desk.”
My voice trembles as the massive piece of furniture looms behind me, papers and expensive electronics scattered across its surface.
He doesn’t pause. He grips my hips and hefts me onto the desk’s slick surface in one smooth motion, scattering documents and pushing aside several very expensive computer screens like they’re nothing.
“Damien.” I breathe into his mouth as they crash to the floor.
“I’ll fucking buy new ones.”
I moan at the desperation in his voice, heat skittering across my skin.
“Do you know how often I’ve thought about this?” He breathes against my neck, his voice rough and broken. “How many times I thought about having you here on this fucking desk?”
His hands find my jeans, his fingers tugging at the waistband.
I lift my hips, and he peels the fabric down my legs as I shrug out of my shirt and bra.
The denim pools at his feet. The desk’s cool wood shocks my bare ass and thighs.
Then his hands return, trailing fire across my skin.
The space between us hums with tension, charged like the air before lightning strikes.
“Turn around.”
Heat spirals through my core at those two words.
He yanks me off the desk, and I spin, my body responding before my brain registers the command. This is our dynamic, the push and pull of dominance and submission that always leaves me breathless and wanting more.
I brace my hands on the desk, and he moves behind me. His body covers mine, pinning me in place, his chest flush with my spine, and the thunder of his heartbeat drums against my back.
I bring my arms behind me, crossing my wrists in automatic surrender. I wait for the bite of the zip ties, the familiar binding that transforms me into someone both helpless and cherished, trapped and treasured.
His palms stay planted on my hips. Nothing circles my wrists. His breathing changes, becomes uneven and ragged, and we both go statue-still. The question sits on the tip of my tongue.
“Can I touch you?”
His body shudders against my back. “I’m yours to touch however you want, Luna.”
My palms find the desk’s surface, fingers spreading wide for support.
His zipper cuts through the silence, then he drives into me, fast, hard, and desperate, exactly what we both need.
A cry scrapes past my lips as I arch back, the desk’s cold edge biting into my hips.
The gnawing emptiness from our time apart melts as he fills every starved inch of me.
“Christ.” He groans, his voice strained. “You feel—fuck, Luna.”
He sets a relentless pace, unleashing all the need we’ve both carried. His hands clamp on my waist with bruising force while I thrust back against him, matching his hunger with my own.
My hands scramble for purchase on the smooth surface of the desk, but then I remember I don’t need both hands to brace myself. I can touch him. My hand finds his thigh, wrapping around solid muscle that flexes beneath my grip. The connection unravels his control. His rhythm falters and breaks.
“Luna.” He breathes my name like a prayer, an apology, and a promise all rolled into one.
The frantic edge that drove us together dissolves, replaced by tenderness so profound it threatens to shatter me.
He curves his body over mine, a shelter of flesh and bone, while his mouth trails a path along my spine.
His lips find the curve where my neck meets my shoulder, and my breath catches.
Tears threaten, hot behind my closed lids.
My fingers find his on my hip, sliding between his until we’re tangled together. A broken and beautiful sound rips from his throat, and I squeeze our joined hands.
“I love you.” Three words, stripped bare of everything but truth, every barrier he’s ever built. “I love you so fucking much.”
My throat seizes, and words die before they reach my lips, crushed by the pressure in my chest. My pulse hammers against my ribs as I press back into him, my body saying what my voice can’t.
When he reaches around to touch me, his fingers finding my clit, I shatter. The orgasm hits like a collision. Sudden, violent, and devastating. My spine arches as I cry out his name for the first time since knowing who he is.
He follows seconds later, his body going rigid against mine, his muscles locking as my name spills from his lips. The sound sends tremors through me that leave my limbs weak and shaking.
My forehead presses against the cool wood of his desk. Neither of us moves, our chests heaving in unison, his ribs expanding against my spine with each breath, and tremors run through his fingers where they hold me.
When he withdraws, the emptiness he leaves behind swallows me whole. I press my lips together to trap the sound trying to escape. His palms steady me as I turn to face him. His eyes are wide and unguarded, like every wall he’s built has crumbled at once.
He’s still fully dressed, his pants still at his thighs, the evidence of our orgasms glistening on his length. The sight sends another hot pulse sliding between my legs.
He leans down to press his lips to mine again. “I love kissing you.”
This kiss is different, soft and gentle. His fingers caress my cheeks while his lips part mine with patient pressure. No rush, no desperation, just his mouth learning mine like he has forever to get it right. My knees buckle, and I melt into him, gripping his shirt to keep upright.
The kiss feeds a hunger deep inside me, an ache for closeness beyond the physical.
“I’m sorry I ever denied us this,” he whispers against my lips.
“Please never do it again.”
“Never.”
The need to touch him, to reassure myself that he’s letting me in, overwhelms me. I reach between us, wrapping my hand around his length. The way he arches into my fingers, groaning softly, sends a fresh pulse of triumph and tenderness through me.
He threads his fingers through mine, stilling my hand, as he releases my lips. He lifts his head and meets my eyes, and I see the worry in his.
I lift my hand to his face, my thumb tracing his cheek, loving that I can touch him now. “What’s the matter?”
“You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”
“Are you?”
“Never.” The word tears from him again.
He brings my hand to his mouth and presses his lips to my palm. The ache I’ve been carrying in my ribcage loosens, my breath flowing easier than it has in days.
“Good.” A real smile pulls at my mouth for the first time since this nightmare started. “Now, why don’t you take me upstairs and fuck me properly?”
His grin turns wickedly familiar, the same curve of his lips I know from all those nights beneath his mask. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him since everything went to hell, and it’s like watching the sun come out after a storm.
He steps closer, tilting my chin up so our lips meet in a soft, lingering kiss.
“I’m sorry, did I not just do that, little doe? I know it’s been a couple of days, but your memory is surely better than that.”
The sarcasm is so him, so perfectly my wolf. I laugh, breathy and light, and stand on tiptoes to brush my lips against his.
“I want you to make love to me, Damien.”
His eyes darken, and his fingers press into my flesh. He whispers my name as if it’s the most sacred thing he knows.
“Come on,” he murmurs with a half-smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I’m taking you to bed, little doe.”