Chapter Eleven
Luna
I don’t care how fucking gorgeous Dante “Shadow” Sylva looks with his new hairstyle and hot bod, he has no right to strut into my house in the middle of the night and ask me for details about my wet dreams!
His transformation is beyond incredible. Simply, utterly stunning.
Seeing his handsome face under the porch light, and with the traces of my orgasm still lingering inside me, I wanted to fling my arms around his neck and drag him upstairs.
I never got to inspect his body last time we met. Yes, I could see he was tall and well-built. And there were hints at the perfect bone structure beneath the beard, and the arrogant posture under his leather jacket.
But the man sitting next to me now is like the blazing sun compared to the dark side of the moon, if I were to compare Shadow to the man who saved me in the woods last week.
His hair is the sort of color I was taught to describe as dirty blond in art school. It’s a tousled mop of messy, tawny filaments, knotted from the wind. It is cropped below the neck like a mane of the best-looking bed hair ever.
On closer inspection, I notice his hair parts slightly to the left, so that it falls more over the right side of his face. It gives him a dangerously off-kilter appearance, like a pirate with hair flopping over his eye instead of an eyepatch.
The short sleeves of his t-shirt hardly hide the biceps and triceps bulging underneath.
When he moves his arm, the muscles ripple.
He’s like some delectable Greek god the way his body is sculpted.
Each muscle ripped, every tendon taut. The main veins under his skin—on his forearms and running up towards his shoulders—seem to etch out the way to his heart.
Even his skin has a healthy burnished glow now. Two tattoos stand out in stark contrast because of how black they are. The one on his left forearm looks like some kind of vial. The other one on his right bicep says “sanguis spurcus” or something like that.
“This is the second time we have met, Shadow. I hardly know you! So please stop asking me about my dreams.”
He smirks after my outburst, putting my other foot down before walking to the door. But he’s not leaving. Bending from those lean hips of his, Shadow starts unlacing his boots before pulling them off. His socks are white and clean.
I get a glimpse of the band of his underwear under his baggy jeans as he reaches for the box of dog biscuits at the top of the cupboard, and above that I get a quick peek at the happy trail of dark hair straggling down the lower part of his belly before it disappears below his briefs.
Whistling for Muohta, he gives the Samoyed a treat. Shooting a cocky grin at me, Shadow asks, “What gave me away?”
All I can do is huff. “Mu gives you away, Shadow. He’s only loving and accepting of you like that. But if you really want to know, I recognized your eyes.”
One stride and he’s back on the couch. Casually, he reaches for my feet again and lifts them back onto his lap as if I never took a stance against his intrusive questions at all.
You gotta love a man who doesn’t hold a grudge.
“I’m glad you are back.” There is so much I need to ask him! “Some of Tempest’s old mail got delivered. Are they all reservations?”
I am trying so hard not to be distracted by the way he’s running the tip of his finger over my toes in a slow, steady rhythm. It’s mesmerizing to the point where I could easily be distracted. Secretly, I give my thigh a hard pinch, hoping the pain will drive out the last remnants of my dream, too.
Shadow does not answer me immediately. His deep blue eyes fix on me as he considers how to respond.
“I’ll help you with the mail—and anything else you want to know about Landslide—but you have to do me a favor in return.”
My traitor mind thrills at the thought of him asking me for a blowjob… or maybe something even more intimate. Yum, so yum. I can’t stop myself from getting stimulated. I just had an orgasm in my sleep, for goodness sake! Even my dreams are trying to tell me I need sex.
“Name your price.” It comes out before I can stop it.
I would sell my soul for a chance to lie in bed with this man. The best way I can describe it to myself is this: I am a mermaid, trapped on a desert island, and he is the wild ocean where I long to be.
“Tell me about your dream. The one you were having before I came to visit.”
As he finishes what he’s saying, Shadow pokes one long, chilly finger between my toes and then slowly withdraws it again. It’s not invasive what he’s doing, but it still makes the blood rush to my cheeks. How can a foot rub be interlaced with such sexual undertones?
We have jumped out of the friend zone and into the fire without me even being aware of it.
He senses my reluctance and quickly tempts me further.
“Imagine it, Luna. No question you ask will be refused or denied. Is that not worth sharing your sexy dream with me?”
He has a point. But I’m not agreeing without a fight.
“You should answer all my questions regardless.” This will go down in my history book as “Luna’s Last Stand.” “And if you don’t, I can always turn to Ben Magoo or Celia.”
His blue eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth, Shadow challenges me. “I accept that. I’m sure the locals will be able to show you the ropes to your satisfaction. Perhaps I should go. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He makes a move to leave, but I pin him down with my feet. I do this by pressing them against the crotch of his pants.
“Let’s not be too hasty. I’ve read a bit more of Tempest’s diary. She writes that you are like the chalet inn’s manager, you and your motorcycle club helped her run the place.”
“Nothing on Landslide works without the MC’s facilitation, Luna. Believe me.”
I want to wipe that cocky smirk off his face! He’s got me over a barrel.
It looks like I am going to have to share my dream with him.
“Fine! Settle down and let’s get this over with.” Taking a deep breath, I try to ignore the gentle stroking on my feet no matter how delightful it is.
“A man comes into my room and… and it’s like I can’t resist him.
He’s the total opposite of the sort of men I am usually attracted to.
He’s not sensitive or poetic or good at long, meaningful conversations.
He’s dark, and he talks dirty. It—it feels as if he’s possessive of me without me giving him any reason to be. ”
It’s quite satisfying to see that Shadow is no longer smiling. He looks serious. He’s definitely not getting off on this, so I continue.
“I think I have dreamed like that before since I arrived here. But I can’t be sure. It’s like being stuck in a spiderweb every time I wake up, as if these sticky strands of the dream are still clinging to me before I can break away.”
Shadow’s fingers begin to stroke my feet and ankles as he listens. It’s very comforting and ever-so-slightly erotic, too.
“Now, before you came to visit tonight, I think I can remember some of what the dark man was saying to me. He… he called me names, like an insult. Tainted blood. And—” I close my eyes as I try to remember. “And vile descendent.”
The blush rises as I keep my eyes averted. It is such a relief to get this off my chest, like a heavy weight dragging me down.
“But his presence is intoxicating to me. It’s like I’m halfway to my own personal heaven just from him being there! I get turned on when he tells me he likes to watch… you know, me playing with myself. I think I must cry in my sleep.”
Shadow’s deep voice interjects into my ramblings. “Why do you cry?”
Opening my eyes, I lock my gaze on him.
“I want him to penetrate me. As a woman, I find that my orgasms are better—more intense—when I’m being penetrated.” Sighing, I have to turn away as a look of concern flashes over Shadow’s face. “I don’t expect a man to understand.”
For one morbid moment, I think he’s going to scoff at me and then walk out in disgust. I’m waiting for that humiliation to happen.
But he stays by my side.
Tears of relief slide down my cheeks. “That’s why I thought it was you in the dream, Shadow. Your hair was pitch black the first night we met. You might be that dark man in my dreams.”
I say it as if his hair color is some kind of an excuse for me to have such lavishly sexual dreams about him. Damn, but this is so not cool what he requested me to do. Dreams are private.
He leans closer and gently brushes the tears off my cheeks with one finger. He does it slowly and all the while he stares at my face, in the same way someone would if they were finger-painting a pretty picture.
“Doesn’t it feel better to share that with me? Would you like me to share some of my own sexual dreams? We all have them—at least those of us who long for intimacy with someone special do.”
His suggestion jogs my memory. Giving a small sniff, I shake my head.
“That would be a hard ‘no,’ but thanks, Shadow. I’ve just gotten out of a relationship and I’m in no hurry to start another one. Celia mentioned something about the Riders having wives and girlfriends on the mainland.”
The way I say it, he can tell it’s not a question.
One slanted eyebrow rises up. “Women on the mainland, yes. Wives, no. We ride free, coming and going as we please.”
“With the emphasis on ‘coming,’ I’ll bet.” That's typical of me, cracking a joke to lighten the mood. I plow on with my next question before he can protest against my assumption. “Why is your logo different now?”
The question catches him off guard. He looks down at his t-shirt and then pulls the hem to straighten the design.
“Different?”
“Yes.” Call me crazy, but I can’t resist. Scooching closer so that my knees are draped over his lap, I dare to trace the logo outline with my finger. The tip tingles as I feel the hard muscle of his pects underneath the soft cotton.
“This says ‘Midnight Son’ with the image of the mountain and the moon. But the logo on the back of your other jacket said something different.”
My belly flips when he lifts me up with no effort at all and then places me on his lap.
Here I am, as comfortable as can be, straddling Shadow Sylva as if he’s some sexy motorcycle!
Our faces are only inches apart. We are so close that I notice the slight flare of his nostrils as he inhales. His dark lashes, so good at hiding his emotions, lower over his electric blue eyes.
I cannot resist touching his disheveled, dirty-blond hair. He lets me run my fingers through it, and the image of a tame lion flashes through my mind. As fascinating as I found Dante to be when he had black hair, I am loving this new, improved version even more.
But he wants us to get back to business.
Using my torso like a drawing board, Shadow starts to outline a logo.
“You’re talking about the MC full colors.
That’s what I was wearing on the night we met.
We don’t call it a logo. It’s a patch on the back of a ‘kutte’”—he spells it for me—“those are the leather vests we wear when we ride, from the German word for cut, and obviously pronounced the same way. I’m not wearing mine at the moment. It’s being repaired.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you spill something on it?”
Or did someone get into a fight with you, Shadow, and spill their blood on you? I wouldn’t be surprised. You can lighten your hair and shave your scruff, you can’t hide your wild nature…
“I took a fall when Muohta ran into the road to stop me on the first night we met. It was too dark for you to see the damage, I guess. Had to get a new paint job for the bike on the mainland, too. That’s where I’ve been.”
Hearing his name, my naughty dog woofs.
He turns his head slightly to acknowledge Muohta. Shadow flashes the Samoyed a smile. “Yeah, you cost me a new patch, Mu.” Then he gives me all of his attention again as he explains.
I watch the corners of his firm mouth curl up as he smiles while drawing a circle on my belly. I giggle and wiggle, but it’s not because I don’t like it.
“Some say the garment is called a kutte because the patch is cut into three pieces, or because the sleeves are cut off the jacket.” It feels like he’s dividing my torso into three parts as he dissects the top and middle from the bottom.
His fingers nonchalantly slide over my breasts in an arch, like it’s no big deal.
“The top rocker says ‘Midnight Riders.’ Simple and sweet.”
That makes me get sassy again. “Ha! Simple, maybe. But sweet?”
He smiles to let me know he gets that I’m teasing him.
“Fair enough. And then the bottom rocker, it gives our location. Landslide.” I give a little shiver when I feel him touch below my belly, his fingertips flutter close to the plump mound where my secret cleft lies hidden.
“But we have other identifiers besides the rockers and the patch. As you know, we are the Keepers of the Curfew. The First Seven. And”—Shadow points to the image on his t-shirt—“the Midnight Sons.”
The name jogs my memory. “Don’t they call the Arctic Circle the ‘Land of the Midnight Sun’? Because the sun never sinks beneath the horizon in summertime.”
Tapping the middle of my tank top and ignoring my sharp intake of breath, Shadow explains. “No sun, thanks. Our patch shows the moon rising over the mountain.” Pressing his lips against my forehead, he kisses me there. “Because all the best things happen after midnight.”
Is my blood freezing inside my veins? He is so cold, and yet so alluring.
He placed me on his lap. He touched my body with a careless caress. And now he just kissed me on the forehead.
I’ve lost track of time since my phone battery went dead. I have no way of knowing how close we are to midnight right now.
Answering Tempest’s mail. Finding out more about the inn and the island. All of that has gone out of the window.
Summoning my courage, I say out loud what I believe both of us are thinking.
“Do you want to spend the night?”