Chapter 11 Luna
Luna
Notebook: Research if dick breath is a thing.
It’s been two weeks, and I’m finally feeling more at ease.
The guys handle their laundry, but Oli and I are on cleaning duty today. The others are out, doing whatever wolf shifters do when they vanish for hours.
The house feels oddly quiet without their usual chaos.
I almost miss the noise.
Initially, Hudson had suggested I stick to cleaning the common areas downstairs while Oli handled the guys’ bedrooms. “Privacy concerns,” he’d said, but his eyes had flickered toward Damien.
I’d bet my last pair of clean socks that Damien was the one who didn’t want me touching his precious things.
Probably thought I’d contaminate them with my rejected-female cooties or something.
But today, with Oli taking care of the bathroom situation downstairs after a particularly disastrous attempt at homemade slime, I’m stepping into uncharted territory: the guys’ private sanctuaries.
I pause outside Ethan’s door first, the least intimidating choice. His room is tidy with minimal dusting required, everything in its place. Medical and healing textbooks line his shelves alongside novels with cracked spines.
Hudson’s room is military-neat, with a shelf of worn paperbacks, a framed photo of the guys when they were young, and a girl who looks like it might be Damien and Oli’s sister, all grinning at the camera.
They look so carefree.
My duster trails over the items, each whispering stories about its owner. It feels strangely intimate to be in their private spaces. Little clues to who they are beyond the testosterone and fur.
Axel’s room is next, and I brace myself before pushing open the door. It’s… chaos. Clothes strewn everywhere, sheets tangled, and are those knives embedded in the wall?
Yep. Definitely knives. And what looks suspiciously like a whip sticking out from under the bed.
“Jesus,” I mutter, tiptoeing around what appears to be a collection of deadly weapons casually scattered like toys. I shake my head at Axel’s mess, cleaning while trying not to cut myself on sharp objects accidentally.
I hesitate outside Damien’s door. His room is the last one, at the far end of the hall. I’ve managed to avoid him mostly, but entering his personal space feels like crossing a boundary he’s made very clear I shouldn’t.
“Just get it over with,” I mutter, pushing the door open.
The sound of a shower running hits me.
I pause. I didn’t realize he was home.
For a second, I consider coming back later, but then I’d have to face him. If I slip in now, I could dust quickly and be gone before he’s finished. He’d never even know I was here.
The room is a contradiction. It’s not Axel-level chaos, but there’s a trail of clothes on the floor, as if he’d peeled them off on the way to the shower. The bed is made, but has multiple large lumps. Then on the dresser sits a perfectly folded stack of T-shirts.
I roll my eyes. “Of course,” I mutter under my breath. “Mr. I-Hate-Your-Existence can fold clothes like Martha Stewart but can’t manage a simple “good morning.”
I dust the dresser at lightning speed. My wolf stirs beneath my skin, oddly content in a space that belongs to a male who can barely look at me without scowling.
The shower’s still running as I finish up, and I’m about to leave when I hear a moan from the bathroom. I glance up and freeze. Through the crack of the bathroom door, I see him.
His eyes are closed, his head tilted back, as water cascades down his muscular chest. Steam billows around him, but it doesn’t obscure the view of his hand wrapped around his large cock, stroking rhythmically.
My fingers tighten around the duster’s handle. My cheeks flush as they travel over Damien’s chiseled physique—broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, defined abs flexing with each stroke.
My wolf stirs, a low, hungry heat spreading through my veins as she presses against my skin, urging me closer.
I should leave.
Now.
But I can’t force myself to pull my eyes away. He may be a dick, but seeing him like this, so raw, erases all rational thought from my mind. Heat pools between my legs, and I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the sudden ache there.
My hand slips on the handle, and the duster clatters against the dresser.
Damien’s eyes snap open, locking with mine through the crack in the door.
“Shit,” I mutter, spinning toward the door.
I’m almost there when a wet hand grabs my arm, yanking me around. Water soaks through my shirt where his skin touches.
“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” Damien growls, his voice deeper than usual.
Water droplets cling to his skin, tracing paths down his toned chest and abs. He hasn’t bothered with a towel, standing before me completely naked and still very hard.
“Cleaning,” I shoot back, but my words are swallowed as he hauls me to the bathroom like I weigh nothing and plants me on the counter. His presence is overwhelming, and parts of me I’d rather not think about right now start tingling and throbbing.
He wraps his large hand around his monster dick and gives me a sly grin, his eyes never leaving mine. “You seem to be in the wrong place at the right time, little moon.”
I push against his chest, trying to put some distance between us, but Damien is unmovable. My palms slide against his slick skin, and I feel the thundering of his heart beneath my fingertips.
His lips curve into a smirk. “Looks like you found more to clean.”
He strokes himself, slow and deliberate, lust filling his gaze, and something low in my belly tightens deliciously.
He leans in close, his breath warm on my cheek. “Are you afraid, little moon?” he taunts, an eyebrow raised in challenge.
“Afraid?” I scoff, tilting my chin up defiantly. “Why would I be afraid of something so… unimpressive?”
It’s a lie, and a bad one at that.
The thing is enormous, and it looks angry… all purple and about ready to burst, literally.
“You couldn’t handle me anyway,” he pants, arrogance dripping from every syllable.
“Please.” I scoff. “Babies come out of vaginas, Damien. I think it can handle your average dick.”
He smirks. “Let’s fill up that smart mouth of yours,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous as he grabs my arm and pulls me off the counter and onto the floor.
I should shove him away.
I should scream.
Instead, I’m intrigued as heat pools low, and my pulse stutters.
I feel his cock pressing against my lips. It’s hot and smooth, the head already leaking.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice ragged.
I stay silent. I don’t know why.
Actually, that’s a lie. I do know why.
There’s something broken in Damien that calls to the broken parts of myself. My wolf is practically purring, which makes no sense.
I hate that I’m silent, and I hate even more that I’m aroused. But mostly I hate that some part of me wants to see how far he’ll go. How far will I’ll let him go.
“Fuck. Your smell is fucking addictive.” He strokes himself once, twice—thick, glistening—and brushes the tip against my bottom lip. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs again, his hand shaking where it grips my hair. “Please.”
My wolf presses hard against my skin, urging me forward.
I should say it.
I should end this.
Instead, I dart my tongue out, traitor, and taste him. His pre-cum is salty and bitter on my tongue.
Damien groans as he pushes inside. My eyes widen at the stretch; he’s huge, and he fills my mouth completely, even if his thrusts are shallow.
Tears prick my eyes, but my arousal spikes harder. I gag a little when he loses rhythm and goes deeper.
His grip on my hair tightens, and he starts to fuck my mouth, hard and fast. I can feel his balls slapping against my chin.
“That’s it, little moon,” he groans. “Take it all.”
I can hardly breathe, but I try to relax my throat as he pushes deeper, fighting my gag reflex. Tears spring to my eyes as he keeps fucking my mouth, harder and faster.
“Look at me.”
I lift my eyes to meet his, noticing the raw hunger in them. My arousal intensifies, and I hollow my cheeks, sucking him in deeper.
He groans loudly. “Fuck,” he pants. “Your mouth feels so fucking good.”
Damien continues his steady rhythm, his hips rocking as he fucks my mouth, until I can feel his cock swelling.
“I’m going to come, little moon,” he growls, his voice filled with pleasure. “Are you ready for it?”
I feel the warmth splatter into my mouth and down my throat, some spilling out onto my T-shirt. His breathing is heavy and primal, matching the wild rhythm of my heart.
He pulls out, and we stare at each other before he snarls, “Get out.”
I get up, walk out, and stare at the bathroom door after it slams shut behind me. My lips are swollen, my shirt’s a mess, and I don’t know if I want to scream, sob, or sink to my knees and beg him to do it again.
I grab a T-shirt from his clean pile of laundry on his dresser and bolt through the corridors, my breath coming out in short bursts. The door of my room slams shut behind me, and for a moment, I lean against it, trying to slow down the frantic drumming in my chest.
“Did that just happen?”
I brush my teeth.
Twice.
I don’t want anyone commenting on… dick breath.
Is that even a thing?
And after having a heart-to-heart with my reflection, because who else am I going to talk to? I slip into Damien’s black tee, hating myself for wanting it against my skin.
I bury my nose in the fabric and inhale deeply, then again, and again. I’m sniffing it like a drug-sniffing dog on a caffeine high, ensuring no hint of his scent lingering in the fibers.
It smells like detergent, no hint of Damien.
Safe. Empty.
I’m out of clean ones, owning only three, and there’s no way in hell I’m wearing anything with Damien’s cum on it.
I change my underwear and put on my leggings, then I scamper back downstairs, trying to act like I didn’t just have a close encounter of the Damien kind.
When I reach the kitchen, I expect to find Oli hard at work, but instead, I spot him in the living room, curled up in what looks like a human-sized dog bed nestled in a bright patch of sunlight streaming through the window.
“You’re napping?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
Oli cracks one eye open. His gaze lingers on me longer than usual, his eyebrow arching slightly, but then he smiles.
“This sunbeam spoke to me. Said I was chosen.”
I snort. “Chosen to be lazy?”
His dimples deepen as he grins. “Join me; it’s so cozy. The guys will be back soon, and I want to nap before we get grilled in training.”
I hesitate. I haven’t finished my chores. But the sun looks so inviting, warming the plush surface of the oversized cushion. After the morning I had, a moment of peace sounds heavenly.
“Fine. Scoot over,” I say, giving in.
Oli shifts to make room, and I sink beside him. The bed is surprisingly comfortable. The sun warms my skin, and I sigh contentedly.
“See? Told you,” Oli murmurs, already half-asleep again.
I roll onto my side, facing him. His nose twitches in his peculiar way, and I find myself smiling. There’s something so innocent about him.
“Why a dog bed?” I ask, running my hand over the plush fabric.
“It’s not a dog bed,” he mumbles defensively. “It’s a shifter relaxation pod. Hudson got them custom-made.”
“Looks like a dog bed to me.”
“Feels like heaven, though, right?”
I can’t argue with that. The warmth of the sun combined with the softness beneath me is making my eyelids heavy. “Yeah, it does.”
Oli’s hand reaches for mine, his fingers wrapping gently around mine. His touch is warm, almost hesitant, and he gently squeezes.
“‘It’s nice having you here,” he murmurs, words slurring as sleep claims him. His nose twitches one last time before his breathing deepens, but his grip on my hand remains.
I squeeze his hand back and study his face as he drifts deeper into sleep. There’s a softness to Oli that the others don’t have—even Ethan, for all his kindness, carries an edge.
I should get up and finish my chores, but instead, I curl closer to his warmth, my body relaxing and soaking up the sun.
My wolf stirs contentedly inside me, and we’re in perfect agreement.
This feels nice.