Chapter 4
Chapter four
Luna
Iwake with a start, my eyes adjusting to the darkness of my bedroom. My heart leaps into my throat as I make out the familiar silhouette standing at the foot of my bed. Towering shoulders, lean hips, and the unmistakable silver wolf mask glinting in the moonlight.
My body responds before my mind fully wakes.
My lips part on a soft exhale, and heat unfurls through me like opening petals, starting in my chest and spiraling lower until it pools warm and insistent between my thighs.
The familiar ache of want burns beneath my skin as I drink in the sight of him standing like a dark sentinel at the foot of the bed.
He’s positioned himself in the shadows, the way he always does.
I’ve never gotten a clear look at him, not in all the nights we’ve done this.
Not really. He ensures that. Always staying where the light just barely touches him, taking his pleasure from me in the dark, where I can’t truly see him, where his identity remains concealed by shadow and silver.
Even in our most intimate moments, when he’s buried deep inside me and his body hovers over me, my eyes can only catch fragments.
The burning intensity of his stare behind that carved metal, and the way his jaw clenches as he’s about to fill me with his come.
The shadows offer me glimpses, maddening pieces that make me desperate for more, but never satisfaction. Never enough to truly know him.
He refuses to let me turn on any lights. Not the bedside lamp, not the bathroom light, nothing that might illuminate him properly. Only a handful of times has there been more than just pale moonlight to see him by.
Like the time in my office after he’d killed Odell Pearson.
But my small desk lamp did nothing to offer more than what I’d already seen in the shadows of my kitchen or bedroom or living room.
He knows how to wield darkness like a tool, how to give me his body while revealing none of the truths that matter.
The air in the room shifts, charged with an electric tension that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. I stretch beneath the sheets, arching just enough to let him see how his presence affects me, the hard peaks of my nipples pressing against the thin cotton of my pajamas.
Doubt had tugged at me until I fell asleep, thinking he might not visit tonight. But he always shows. Except for a handful of times, he’s come to me every night since we’ve started this… what? Affair? I’m not even sure what to call it.
But here he is, watching me from behind that wolf’s face.
Fire trails across my skin under his stare.
My thighs clench at the memory of last night.
His shirt whispered across my nipples, his body just grazing mine, like a gift before he’d pulled away and left me aching for what he’d offered and stolen back, leaving me wanting and unsure if I’d ever have it again.
A sharp pang of longing twists behind my ribs. I force it down. This thing we have has rules, and wanting more isn’t one of them. But that truth leaves a gaping wound where my heart keeps forgetting its place.
I push it away. It’s better to focus on what’s real—the hunger pouring off him in waves despite his stillness and the wild beat of my pulse against my throat.
I sit up, and the sheets slide down, gather at my waist, and expose skin around my neck, marked with the shape of his fingers.
I lock eyes with him, holding that masked stare without flinching.
“You’re late.”
“I had business to attend to tonight.”
I arch a brow. “You mean you killed someone?”
“Do you really want to know?”
The smirk on his lips is visible even in the dim light. It makes me want to slap him or spread my legs for him. Maybe both.
Of course, he just killed someone. The tension radiating off him is palpable on the nights he kills, the air around him thick with it.
At first, those nights were brutal, his touch rough and punishing.
But now, that tension seems to dissipate minutes after he gets here, after he’s inside me, as if being in my presence, in my body, calms him.
I glance over at Shadow, who sits on the floor waiting for attention. His relaxed posture is the reason I trust the man standing in front of me. If he meant me harm, Shadow would protect me.
“He knows I’ll never hurt you, Luna,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “At least not any more than you want me to.”
My body’s response is instant, my nipples tightening even further beneath the thin fabric of my pajamas until every breath scrapes them raw. When did I become a woman who craves a killer’s touch? And when did my prayers change from “keep him away” to “bring him back”?
His gaze drags down my body like fingertips, claiming what it sees.
My core throbs with need, slick and ready for a man who’s carved himself into almost every corner of my life.
I crave him, his hands on my skin, and his weight pinning me down.
I want to feel crushed beneath him until breathing becomes a luxury.
The mask keeps his secrets locked away. He could tell me his name and let me see the face that haunts my dreams. Instead, he feeds me darkness, and I swallow it whole, starving for more.
Damien tries to surface in my thoughts, but I bury him where he belongs. Not now. Not when my wolf stands before me like some dark god, beautiful and fierce behind that mask, danger radiating from every muscle, and looking at me like I’m his next meal.
This moment belongs to the man who makes me forget every rule I’ve ever lived by. Sanity feels overrated when he’s close enough to touch, all power and control and dark promise.
He scoops up the cats sprawled across my comforter, their sleepy protests cut short by a sharp snap of his fingers toward the hallway.
“Out. What I’m about to do to her is not for your innocent wolfy eyes.”
Shadow exits the room without hesitation, and my other wolf closes the door behind him. My heartbeat echoes in the sudden quiet.
“Take off your clothes.” He moves to the foot of the bed again. “Then lie back.”
The command flows through my bloodstream like liquid fire. My heart skips, then races, a flutter beneath my ribs as my fingers find the first button of my pajama top. The smooth plastic slips against my fingertips once, twice, before I manage to work it free.
“Slowly. We’re in no rush, little doe.”
The air between us thickens. I draw a steady breath and fight to still my trembling hands. The second button slides free, then the third, each release punctuated by the taut flex of his jaw beneath the mask.
The fabric whispers against my skin as I roll my shoulders, letting it slip down my arms and pool behind me.
Cool air dances across my bare nipples, and I suck in a breath.
A strangled sound escapes him. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, and those dangerous hands curl against his thighs.
I hold his stare as I inch down the mattress, kicking away the tangled sheets. My thumbs hook into the waistband of my pajama bottoms, and I arch my back, sliding them past my hips and down the length of my legs until nothing remains between us but air and want.
I settle against the pillows and let my knees drift apart. His eyes burn through the mask’s slits, and a dark heat pulses between my legs. The outline of his cock pressing against his jeans becomes more pronounced, and want coils in my belly.
“Touch yourself.” His voice cracks with impatience.
My hand brushes over my stomach before dipping between my thighs, finding warmth and wetness waiting for me there. My fingers drown in the slick evidence of my arousal, gliding through the most sensitive part of me with ease.
I circle my clit, teasing myself, awakening every nerve. Each slow pass sends sparks up my spine.
“Like this?”
My breath stutters, and my head falls back against the pillows, baring my throat to him as I surrender to the sensation.
“Just like that.”
The words sound painful through the deep growl rumbling in his chest as it rises and falls in rapid pants beneath his dark shirt, his powerful body frozen in place as he watches me.
My fingers drift lower, collecting the proof of how much I need this.
Need him. The cool air of the bedroom brushes my exposed skin, raising goosebumps along my inner thighs.
I gather my arousal before returning to circle my aching clit, drawing out each stroke.
My free hand drifts up to my breast, palming the weight of it before capturing the nipple between eager fingers.
The dual sensations, the gentle pinch at my breast and the glide of my fingers below, threaten to undo me.
I flick my fingers, creating delicious friction against my swollen flesh. His eyes devour me from behind the mask, a predatory gaze that electrifies every inch of my bare skin.
He shifts his weight, hands balled into fists. The air vibrates with his restraint. My eyes lock on his hands as they move to his zipper and tug his jeans open. His cock springs free—thick and hard, with a bead of moisture at the tip that makes my tongue dart across my lips.
He steps forward, leaning over the bed. He pushes my fingers away, replacing them with his own, swiping his fingertips through my arousal, and gathering my wetness on his hand before plunging two fingers inside me. I gasp, my spine curving as I rise to meet him, my body welcoming the invasion.
“Yes…”
The hiss escapes my lips, filling the quiet room. My legs tremble as I rock into his touch, chasing the pressure that promises everything.
When his fingers slip away, emptiness floods the space they left behind.
A whimper slips out before I can stop it.
My fingers return to my clit, taking over where his left off, circling that sensitive bud while he fists his length with fingers still wet from my body, our movements falling into perfect sync.
His hand on his cock makes my breath catch.