Luna #2
I remember now why I don’t hate him for everything he did. I remember how alive it made me feel.
Inhaling a shaky breath, I return my gaze to my reflection and pull my sweater over my head.
Sawyer takes a step back and crosses his arms as if settling in to watch. There’s a playful yet serious edge to his demeanor that either excites or terrifies me.
My hands reach around to unclasp my bra, and as the material falls to the ground, my eyes draw to the pink of my nipples, light like cherry blossoms against a backdrop of snow.
I crook my thumbs into the waist of my warm, furlined pants and slowly pull them down, head tilting as I watch more ghostly skin revealed in the mirror. Muscles I touch but never study grab my attention with each movement, and I run my hand down my naked calf before stepping out of my pants.
Last are my underwear.
My skin flushes as I peel away the black to reveal the patch of hair I’ve grown more and more conscious of since knowing Sawyer.
When I glance at him in the mirror, he’s staring between my legs. His head is slightly cocked, his arms crossed. There’s no smile on his face or even a hint of playfulness.
I drag my underwear off with my foot and stand tall once again, fully exposed. Skin pale but smooth and unblemished—a lie. As if my body has never learned pain, never received injury that mottled my flesh the way it has Sawyer’s.
He steps up to me and takes my hands at my sides. He threads his fingers through mine and holds me steady as if he thinks at any moment I'll try to cover myself. It didn’t occur to me until now that I’m still conditioned not to in front of Sawyer.
“Do you see what I see?” he asks softly, his chin resting just above my ear.
I meet his eyes in the mirror and am quiet for several seconds while I try to understand his point of this.
“I think it’s likely I see myself the way the rest of the world does. I do have eyes,” I say, my voice deceptively calm, though inside, my chest tightens. There’s a chill that settles within my ribcage, like something is literally gripping my heart.
Pathetic.
Sawyer unthreads one hand so he can latch onto my jaw and guide my head straight. I stare at my reflection at his silent command and suck in a quiet, sharp breath when my heart leaps.
He lets go of my jaw to run the back of his finger up one side of the bone, following it all the way to my ear. “Look at the tension in your jaw. You see that?”
I shift my weight while studying the area. After a few moments, I nod.
“Your lips are tight and pulled in slightly. I bet you’ve got your tongue pressed against the back of your teeth.”
As if he snapped his fingers to make it so, I feel the tension in my lips. The pressure of my tongue against my teeth. I unclench my jaw and try to relax. Though, I’m not really sure why, and it doesn’t work.
Sawyer’s hand slides down my neck and rests on my chest. It feels heavy. Suffocating. Each of my breaths raises his hand only for it to overpower my lungs once again.
“Your breaths are even but deep. You feel that?”
Again, I nod.
“This is what you look like when you’re afraid.”
My gaze breaks to him in the mirror, and he looks back at me with full, serious eyes. Firm—like this is important.
I wait for him to continue.
“You’re tough, Luna… You’re really tough. And you can be ruthless. And outwardly cold. And truthfully, a bit of a frigid bitch.”
My throat pangs, and my shoulders ache to pull in at the comment. My attention darts to my nakedness and the chill that spreads over my skin, but Sawyer continues before I can react.
“But you are not unfeeling.”
He untangles his hand from mine and runs it up my arm.
“You’re strong and you’re smart and you’re tough, but more than anything, you’re human. You feel fear and pain and desire and grief just like the rest of us.”
Reaching my shoulder, he pulls me against his chest and takes in my face, leading me to do the same.
“You want to feel pretty, and you want to feel loved—desired. You want people to respect you. You want them to like you. You want all the same things that everyone else wants. Do you know why?”
Teeth nibbling on the inside of my lip, I don’t respond.
“Because you’re a person… You’re just a person, Luna. Not an albino. Not a demon. There’s nothing wrong with your soul. There’s no heart missing from your chest.”
His breath kisses my shoulder as he lets it rush out of him. I shiver.
“When I look at you, I see beauty of the highest order. I see perfection. If you feel differently, it’s because everyone feels inadequate… It’s not gonna kill you to look in a mirror when you brush your teeth.”
My eyes close.
But not to hide from him. Now, in this moment, I understand that there is no hiding from Sawyer.
As his voice rings heavy in my mind, he slides his palm down my sternum, warm and deliberate, until his fingers hook under my chin and tilt me back toward the glass.
“Eyes open, pretty girl,” he murmurs, low enough to buzz against my spine. “You don’t get to hide from Daddy.”
The word hits like a jolt. It makes my spine stiff, my hands curl.
It’s wrong. Disgusting. Deplorable.
And yet…
My lashes lift. Sawyer watches me in the mirror, his gaze steady, shameless. Waiting for me to make a move. Tell him in unspoken words what it is I want. With the question of just how fucked up I am hanging in the air.
As if either of us knows the answer.
“Sorry, Daddy,” I whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear.
He doesn’t smile or frown. There’s no flicker of humor or judgment. Instead, his serious, immobilizing eyes travel to my chest. “That’s better.”
The hand under my chin slides away only so he can take both of my wrists, drawing them behind my back in a grip that feels more like possession than restraint. His chest settles against my spine, his voice low enough to make the fine hairs along my neck lift.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost like he’s in awe. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”
The words coil through me until something deep in my gut unwinds. I watch my own face in the mirror—cheeks warm, lips parted, pupils wide—and I know he’s watching it too.
His touch drifts from my shoulder, down the slope of my arm, then across the line of my hip bone. He skims over every rise and hollow as if he’s mapping me, his pace slow enough to make the air feel thick.
His palm drifts lower, hovering between my legs. “You want me to make you feel good?”
I nod. His grip tightens. “Words.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
That earns me his fingers sliding between my folds, slow and searching, parting me until his middle finger finds my clit. He works it in unhurried circles that make my knees weaken.
“Hold your head up. Watch.”
I obey and watch my lips part in a soft moan. A pink flush creeps over my throat.
“Wider,” he instructs.
I spread my stance until I’m open for him, and his grin deepens as two fingers sink inside me. His pace is deliberate, enough to make me squirm, but not enough to let me escape the need building low and hot.
“Say what you see,” he tells me.
“I…” Words stick in my throat as his fingers press deeper, curling in a way that forces a breathless groan from me. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. What do you see, Luna?"
I blow out a breath that turns into a moan as Sawyer’s thumb grinds against my clit. In front of me, my face contorts with pleasure.
What do I see? Honestly?
“A whore,” I groan, hips jutting.
“My whore.”
“Your whore.”
His smile is dark and pleased. “Good girl.”
The praise lands like heat under my skin, curling my toes against the floor. My thighs tremble, but his grip keeps me steady—keeps me exactly where he wants me.
His free hand slides from my wrists to my hip and pulls me back against his erection. The movement makes his fingers sink deeper, makes my mouth fall open at the sight of my own reaction in the mirror.
“You’re gonna come for me like this.” The murmur brushes the shell of my ear. “I want you to watch how sexy you are.”
It’s impossible to look anywhere else. My gaze is caught on the flush spreading over my chest, the way my lips keep parting around little gasps, the slight glaze in my eyes. Every shift of his fingers sends another ripple of heat through my stomach.
The heat crests fast. Too fast.
I try to hold it back, keep quiet enough not to embarrass myself, but my hips betray me. I rock into Sawyer’s hand like I’ve forgotten the concept of restraint.
His breath is a warm ghost along my neck, his fingers moving with purpose now, his body closing in. The room shrinks down to the rhythm he’s building inside me, the slow grind of his thumb, the deep curl of his fingers finding every nerve.
My head tips back against his shoulder. I bite down on a sound, but it rips free anyway, a shuddering moan that has my knees softening beneath me.
“That’s it.” His voice is a rasp I feel more than hear. His hand is relentless, coaxing me higher. “Let it out, baby girl.”
It happens in a rush. Pleasure breaks over me like a wave that knocks the air from my lungs. My body locks and then trembles violently, and a raw, unfiltered cry escapes before I can trap it behind my teeth. The walls here are thin. If my presence wasn’t known before, it is now.
Sawyer holds me up through every aftershock, his chest solid against my back, his hand firm at my hip. There’s no space between us, just heat and the sound of my own ragged breaths.
When I sag in his arms, his fingers slip free. He drags a slow, wet line along my thigh before releasing me entirely.
“On the bed,” he says, low, deliberate.
I move without thinking. My weak arms wobble beneath me as I crawl onto the mattress with my pulse still pounding in my ears. I stop in the center to catch my breath, until his palm presses between my shoulder blades.
“Hands and knees.”
The words are soft, but they leave no room for negotiation.
A curtain of silver locks frames my face as I plant my palms into the mattress. I think that’s it for the mirror, but when Sawyer drags it around the bed to rest in front of me, I know he isn’t finished yet.