16. Luna
LUNA
He isn’t asleep.
Sawyer lifts his head as I flip on the light, his hand mid stroke over Cinder’s back. She meows as if she knows she’s been caught and bounces off his chest. As she trots into the hall, she glides along my leg with a soft whine.
Funny that even cats understand betrayal.
I kick the door shut behind me and inspect the knob. My eyes wander up the doorframe, to a crack in the wood. As I turn, hands cupped behind my back, I examine a tear in the striped wallpaper, metal bars bracketing the window, a blue T-shirt piled atop jeans on the floor.
On the nightstand is a fresh stain, a discolored ring presumably from a water glass. At least twenty other men have occupied this room since I added the nightstand, and not one ignored the stack of coasters neatly arranged by the lamp.
I wouldn’t have bitten my tongue for any of them.
My wandering eyes continue, tracing the metal rods of the headboard until the only thing left to examine is Sawyer.
Fully dressed with the bedspread bunched beneath dirty shoes, his head lifted an inch as he watches me. No surprise crosses his expression. Not even curiosity. It’s as if he knew I’d come. That his late night summons weren’t over.
I promised him I wouldn’t do this again.
Hands falling to my sides, I walk to the bed and don’t make a sound as I pause at Sawyer’s feet; trace a finger around the cuff of his shoe.
He doesn’t move. Even as I run the same finger along his shin, over the hill of his knee, and cut across his hip. When he goes to sit up, I press his chest back to the mattress.
His mouth opens. I shake my head.
“Don’t speak. Not a word.”
A single line breaks between his eyes as his mouth closes. We both wait to see what I’ll say, what atrocious violence I have in store.
Endless possibilities—filthy—flit through my mind and speed my heart.
“Put your wrists by the headboard.”
He blinks at me and lets a moment pass. I’m careful not to lick my lips as they dry; careful not to show any emotion at all. Sawyer does the same.
He stretches his arms to the metal bars.
“Good… Now don’t move.”
I go to the end of the bed, Sawyer’s eyes pinned to my every movement. I pull off each shoe and remove the laces while he watches—silent, obedient, even without a Keeper outside my door or a weapon at my belt.
I can smell his fear, and it must be contagious because my fingers still for half a second. When I resume, the laces drag softly between my fingers, a faint rasp as I pull them free, slower this time.
Liberty is neither his ally nor his friend. From the sound of it, she’s his enemy.
And still… I've never seen him so afraid.
Once the laces are free, I lay each over my palm. Suddenly, it’s hard to meet Sawyer’s eyes, so I stare past his ear.
“Remove your shirt, Dre—... Slave.”
My pulse jumps as I force myself to look at him. I expect more fear, maybe disgust, but instead his eyes dance curiously. His mouth opens then obediently closes.
If I looked, would he be aroused?
No.
But I don’t chance a peek.
Somehow, Sawyer’s rejection is harder to take than Thorne’s.
His lack of… bloodflow feels like a contradiction. He spent weeks professing things Thorne has never dared speak—painting images of some fictitious goddess, my body a custom gift, a forbidden fruit.
Sawyer was always hard for me. He always wanted me.
Of course things were unthinkably different then, but having experienced that level of desire…
The mind knows what the body refuses to believe.
Sawyer sits up and slips his shirt over his head. He tosses it to the floor while I survey his naked torso with what I hope is an impassive expression. Famished, bruised, and scarred, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Lay back down,” I command, my voice low, weighed down by desire.
A beat passes before Sawyer lies on his back. His hands thread through two bars of the headboard.
I walk to him, shoestrings in my grasp, and gently take his wrist to bring it to the bedpost. I’m met with no resistance nor hesitation and am grateful for it. Even when I knot his wrist so tight it makes an angry white strip along his skin, I silently thank him for his compliance.
Did he feel the same when he tied me up? That spiked surge of power, of lust sweeping like a current through his skin as he stripped me naked. As I cowered beneath his gaze and pulled on my binds. As I moaned while he fucked me, even when I swore that time would be different.
Is it sick that a part of me hopes he did?
I walk around the bed to tie the other side, and when I’m finished, I step back to survey him once again, steering clear of his eyes.
Nasty thoughts swirl in my mind until movement pulls me from them. The bed creaks as Sawyer’s weight shifts, the first and only sign of discomfort. We stare at each other for several seconds in a silent stand-off.
I dare you, he says with his eyes.
Or not. We see what we want to see.
My fingers curl around the hem of my sweater as I lift it over my head. I toss it to the floor and kick off my shoes while my hands pop the button on my pants. I peel them off and kick them to the side before finally stepping out of my panties and bunching them in my fist.
The mattress dips as I climb onto it, but Sawyer stays perfectly still. Even when I throw my leg over his chest and inch my knees to his shoulders, tender lips gently spreading directly above his chin.
The temperature of Sawyer’s room registers: cool and thick and already smelling of sex—smelling of me. Air licks between my legs, chilling slickened flesh.
I shouldn’t look down.
But I do.
My lungs halt halfway through my breath when I see where Sawyer stares. Not at my face, but between my legs, and not with the disgust I fear.
He’s too desperate to chance my anger or even my disappointment. But the way he parts his lips and forces his eyes to darken is so convincing, my body would forgive any lie he told it.
My thighs twitch as blood flows into my clit.
I grip the top of the headboard, panties still in my grasp, and shift my knees just an inch so my most vulnerable self is over Sawyer’s mouth.
“Stick your tongue out.” My tone is far more forceful than it should be. As if I’m angry instead of trembling with desire.
I’ve had dreams about this. I’ve had to change panties because of these thoughts.
My mouth falls open with a gasp as something dense and delicious dips into my opening.
I hang my head, core clenching as Sawyer runs his tongue from my hole to my clit.
It happens so suddenly that a whine vibrates my chest before I can stop it—so pathetic it’s as if I’ve spent a lifetime starved of touch.
Sawyer has ruined me.
“I didn’t say lick, slave. I said stick your tongue out.”
My grip on the metal headboard slips on sweat as Sawyer stares up at me deviously. His head tips back as he extends his tongue for me, more daring than obedient. Asking for it.
Ha.
Delusional.
Ha.
I don’t care.
My eyes close as I lower my clit to his mouth, the contact making my stomach suck in. His tongue—wet, hot, dense—flattens against me as I roll my hips. Once. Just a start.
“Don’t move.” My voice shakes. I almost add a please.
Another thrust, this one deeper than the first. My clit grinds a path along Sawyer’s tongue.
I tighten my grip on the metal bar as I start to move. Gently, slowly, with a rhythm timid but savoring. Delectable. Perfect. Every shift is a tingle traveling the length of my spine, a squeeze deep in my core.
I feel myself clench at the edge of his tongue, as if my body is trying to grip him. To take more. And more.
I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner.
The roll of my hips quickens as I moan.
Then quickens again as my head falls back.
Within a minute, my rhythm shortens to tiny, quick pulses against Sawyer’s tongue.
“Yes!” I cry, viciously. “Just like that.”
The headboard vibrates as he jerks his wrists, his shoulders subtly twisting beneath me. I don’t know if he’s asking me to free him, but the answer is no. Absolutely not.
My teeth slam shut as a groan rumbles in my throat. My hips grind hard and slow as phantom hands trace down my back and tingles spread on the nape of my neck.
His voice: Tell me you want me.
Yes.
Yes.
“I want you,” I say, as if he really asked. As if he cares.
I’m close.
“Oh God!” My grip slips from the headboard.
I wipe sweat across my breasts and gasp as my palm catches over my nipple—neglected, aching, the sensation snapping through me.
I pinch each peak between my fingers. The tight pull makes my breath hitch as I bite down hard on my lip.
My weight settles on Sawyer’s face as I fuck it.
It occurs to me in a panicked, slapping realization that he might not be able to breathe.
Stilling with a gasp, I jerk my head down and meet Sawyer’s eyes. His face isn’t purple. His eyes aren’t pleading.
He just watches me. Learning things I’ll no doubt regret tomorrow.
I drop my panties over his eyes. “Focus, slave.”
As my hips move once again, a groan rumbles against my clit. A request for mercy? A plea for more? Either way, the vibration turns my breathing ragged.
I grab the headboard with one hand and take hold of his hair in the other. His neck arches as I yank him into me. “Do that again.”
It takes him a few seconds—probably to understand what I mean. But then he groans, louder, more incessant as I drag him closer by his hair, his tongue firm against my clit.
My eyes roll back at the vibration.
“Again.”
Another groan and my hips pick up to a speed that tumbles over itself. I jerk in short little bursts as my quaking thighs no longer allow a steady rhythm.
Everything aches.
I never want it to end.
But I can’t help but chase the finish line with fervor as a string of moans ricochet up my chest.
“Lick me,” I demand, with a tug to Sawyer’s scalp.
I lift my weight the slightest bit so his tongue can maneuver between my lips. He licks along each fold before settling on my clit, first with a grind. Then a flick. Then there’s a quick back and forth rhythm that brings me to a dark place.
A place without mercy. A place without remorse.
Right now, he could suffocate beneath my pussy, and I still wouldn’t sit up.
“More,” I moan, my hips stilling altogether so his rhythm alone can give me what I want.
“Faster.” When I can’t help myself: “Please.”
When his speed picks up, I throw my head back, thighs clenching.
“Just like that. Just that like… Oh God, Sawyer…”
I mumble commands that morph to pleas, and I’m not sure I mean any of them.
It’s perfect.
The thought strikes me like a knife.
Sawyer is a snake and a liar and a sinner.
But somehow, despite my very best efforts to conceal my core, he’s seen everything. He knows me.
What I like. What I need.
Where to touch. What to take.
Every weakness laid bare for him to use and abuse before he laughs in my face. And the worst part, the sick irony, is that in this twisted moment…
All I want more than anything in the world is to be seen.
He licks until I tell him to suck and then he sucks me until I come undone above him. My thighs squeeze his head and a moan rips from my lungs so loud, I’m grateful this house is too big for two people.
My legs quiver beneath me, unreliable as I shift back to sit on his chest, my forehead pressing to the headboard. Sweat-damp hair clings to my neck and face. I gather and twist it into a knot on top of my head before sitting up straight and drawing in a slow breath.
For several seconds, I feel pure bliss. Powerful. Lustful. Perfect.
Then the shame works its way through the cracks.
And the guilt.
It’s harder than it should be to look at Sawyer, even with my panties covering his eyes.
I lower my hand to his wet lips, parted with his labored breathing. The stubble that tickled me moments ago glistens—embarrassing, but… familiar.
A memory from before: hanging from cuffs, my legs heavy on Sawyer’s shoulders. One last slide of his tongue after I came, as if I’d gifted him something sweet. Mmm.
I wonder if I taste different now.
Wiping sweat off my forehead, I inhale one last deep breath before removing the panties from his eyes and using them to wipe his mouth.
“Very good, slave.” I give him a pat on his cheek before tossing the panties aside and climbing off his chest.
I stand from the bed and swipe my shirt off the floor. My back is to him as I pull it over my arms, but it catches on my head at Sawyer’s voice.
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
I hold the shirt to my chest and turn. The impassive look I hardly fake cracks when I lock onto the devious glint in his eyes. Almost humored.
No glare.
He huffs out a laugh. “You’re gonna fuck my face, then make me jerk off alone?”
My gaze moves to the bulge in his pants. Large. Very noticeable.
Fake—somehow.
No. That’s ridiculous; no one could fake that.
“I never did that to you.” He says it as if it matters. Or if it makes any sense.
He never asked me to take him in my mouth. It was always about me and my orgasms; even when sex was involved it seemed to be priority number one.
I blink as I move back to his face. His handsome, devious face. Too dangerous to ever let myself fall for.
And still, I’m falling for it. The longer my eyes stay locked on his, the more my clit starts to throb, ready for a second release. My nipples, covered by the shirt over my arms, harden until they scrape fabric.
Warning signs.
Hairs stand up on my neck, goose pimples spread on my flesh. There’s a feeling in my gut that tells me to dress and leave this room. Take from Sawyer but never give. Never give him even a semblance of control.
Even tied up. I know even then he could manage it.
“I remember vividly the last time you came,” I say, even as I wander back to the bed. “If you recall, it wasn’t pleasant for me… I’m not an idiot. I will never give you the opportunity to do that again.”
“I’m tied up.”
I raise my chin and hum. “As you should be… Frankly, I give far too much freedom for a man insistent on being useless. Perhaps you should—”
“Useless?” He huffs. “Didn’t I just give you what you wanted?”
My jaw clenches as I bite back a retort before it fully forms. I pull on my sweater and tug the hem past my hips. “Worry about your future, Sawyer. Not your orgasms.”
I swipe my pants off the floor then head for the door.
“Luna, wait… Please.”
I stop. I shouldn’t stop, but I do.