Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Damien
My phone buzzes, and Luna’s name appears on the screen. I lean back in my chair and press the button to close the shades because she thinks I’m in Tokyo, and it’s just past ten in the evening there. Thank fuck, I decorated my Denver office in a minimalist Asian style.
The lithotripter must have arrived. I brace myself for either reaction she may have, fury or appreciation.
I accept the call, and even through my phone’s small screen, she’s breathtaking. She’s standing on her front porch. Her blonde hair is blowing gently around her face, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and those incredible doe eyes are wide with something between gratitude and disbelief.
“Hello, beautiful.”
“Damien.” Her voice is breathless. “I just… the lithotripter arrived.”
She runs a hand through her hair, a nervous gesture I’ve memorized from countless nights of watching her.
The guilt gnaws at my chest as I take in every detail of her face on my screen.
She has no idea I’m not in Tokyo. No clue that in twelve hours, I’ll be losing myself inside her again with a wolf mask on my face.
“Did they set it up?” I force my voice to remain casual.
“Damien, you can’t. This is too much. It’s a half-million-dollar machine. I can’t accept this.”
“Luna—“
“No. This is too generous. Too expensive. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for something like this.”
I walk over to sit on the sofa. “You don’t owe me anything. There are no strings attached to this gift, Luna. None.”
“But why? I just needed to use CSU’s machine. Why would you do something like this?”
Because I love you.
“What you do is important,” I say instead. “You shouldn’t have to compromise your animals’ care because you don’t have the right equipment.”
There’s silence on the other end, and she bites her lower lip the way she does when she’s thinking.
“I wanted to do this for you. Let me.”
“Damien.” Her voice is soft and vulnerable. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll still let me take you out when I get back.” The lie burns my throat as I watch her face on the screen.
“Yes, Damien.” Her lips curve into a smile. “I told you, call me when you get back.”
Relief floods through me. “Good. I’m looking forward to it.”
“You didn’t say how long you’ll be gone?”
“I don’t know yet.” The lies pour off my tongue with such ease these days, I don’t know what’s true anymore. Except this woman. “But I’ll call you when I get back into town.”
“Be safe.” The genuine concern in her voice makes me feel like absolute shit for lying to her.
“I will. And Luna?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?” Her face is a mask of beautiful confusion.
“For letting me be part of your world.”
Her eyes drop from the camera to focus on something off-screen. Several heartbeats pass. When she finally looks back, her expression has shifted. It’s softer, unguarded, and vulnerable in a way that squeezes my heart.
“Thank you for wanting to be.”
Luna is standing in front of the window of the enclosed porch when I approach the back of the house.
Though the lights are off, the moon’s glow makes her look like something I don’t deserve to touch.
Her hair is loose, tumbling over her shoulders, and she sways on her feet, an empty wine glass dangling from her fingers.
Two half-emptied bottles sit on the coffee table, casualties of her and Maren’s celebration. Those two drink a lot.
Cold November air rushes past me as the back door creaks open, and I step inside. She startles, whirling toward me, her hand flying to her chest.
“Jesus, you’re like a steal… stealth ninja sometimes.”
The words tumble together with wine-softened edges, her tongue catching on consonants that usually come so crisp and clear. She’s adorable when she’s had too much to drink.
I ease the door shut behind me and take in the flush that the wine has painted across her cheeks and the liquid shine coating her eyes, free of the careful tension that usually guards her expression.
There’s something so free about her like this, uninhibited in a way that makes her breathtaking.
“It looks like you and Maren had quite the party.”
“Yup.”
She brings the glass to her mouth with the careful movements of someone trying not to appear drunk, tips it back with hope, then lets out a soft sound of disappointment. Her lips curve into a frown when nothing emerges, her bottom lip pushing out in a pout that makes me chuckle.
“What were you celebrating?” I ask, though I already know. Even if I hadn’t been watching earlier, I’d know they were celebrating my donation for that little troublemaker raccoon of hers.
But seeing her so happy like this, so free from worry over one of her animals, I’d donate ten of them.
She drifts toward the sofa that stands between us, her hips swaying with each unsteady step while she grips the back cushions for balance.
“I want to tell you, but you probably know ’cause you’re a creepy stalker. And…” She wags a finger at me. “You’ll only act like a jealous prick because Damien donated it.”
She’s higher than she was on the Oxy after her bear attack.
The couches angle toward each other in an L, leaving just enough space between them for me to wrap my fingers around her wrist and pull her through the gap.
“A prick, huh?” My lips curve into a smirk. I take the wineglass from her unsteady fingers and set it on the coffee table.
“Yes. You always act like a jealous prick, but you don’t—” Her foot catches nothing but air, and my hands find her waist before she can fall. “You don’t own me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Luna.” My voice drops to a growl, rough and dangerous.
“And I think I have a right to be a jealous prick because you let Damien Wolfe put his mouth on my pussy.
“ My hand slides beneath her sleep shirt, my fingertips grazing over the lace of her panties before I cup her through the delicate fabric.
Air rushes from her lungs. “I told you I was sorry.”
“No, actually, you didn’t.” My thumb finds her clit, pressing until she arches into the contact like a flower bending toward sunlight.
“I didn’t?” Her shoulders lift in a careless gesture, though her thighs tremble around my hand. “I wasn’t sorry while he was doing it. Only after.”
“I don’t want to talk about Damien Wolfe’s mouth on you, Luna.”
She tilts her head, studying me with those eyes that see too much, even with the wine clouding her vision.
“What do you want?”
My finger slips past lace and into slick warmth. Her hips jerk, a moan rising from deep in her chest as I stroke through her arousal.
“I want this pussy wrapped around my cock for the rest of the night.”
A shuddering, breathless “Yes” escapes her lips. She arches into my hand, seeking more friction as her eyes slip closed.
“Where’s Maren?”
Her friend’s presence won’t change my plans. I’ve learned to improvise when she stays over.
“Sleeping.” Luna whimpers, her hips rolling in rhythm with my finger as I move it inside her. “I… I couldn’t sleep, so… so I came down to wait for you.”
“Can you keep quiet? Or do I need to fuck you down here?”
“Down here.” She gasps between shallow breaths. “But the wicker… It’ll dig into me if you bend me over it.”
“We’re going to try something different tonight. Would you like that?”
Her eyes whip open, and her hips come to an abrupt stop. “What?”
I withdraw my finger and gather the hem of her nightshirt, lifting it over her head. She pushes her panties down her legs without hesitation, the fabric pooling at her feet, leaving her standing bare in front of me.
“Do I need to bind you?” My fingers drift along the ridge of her hipbone.
She swallows, fighting the alcohol haze. “I don’t know. What are we doing?”
I back toward the couch, pulling her with me. Her confused gaze tracks my movements. When I settle onto the cushions, she remains standing, her balance wavering as moonlight spills across her breasts and the soft curve of her stomach.
Her eyes widen when I unbuckle my belt, the metallic click loud in the quiet room. Her breath quickens.
“What are you—”
I free myself from my pants, shoving them down my thighs. Her pupils expand as her gaze drops and locks onto my cock, standing hard and proud. Her tongue darts across her lips as she leans forward, gravity and desire pulling her toward her knees.
“No.” My hands catch her hips before she can drop to the floor. “Not like that.”
Her eyebrows draw together for just a moment as she looks down at me from this unfamiliar angle.
“But you never…” Her words fade into the space between us, desire and bewilderment warring across her features. “You always bend me over something or push me against—”
“Tonight’s different.” I tighten my grip on her hips, drawing her closer. “Tonight I want to watch your face while you take what you need from me.”
Her breath stops short. She sways, and I steady her. “I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
Her eyes shimmer with want and desperation as realization dawns.
“I think I might be too drunk to have my hands tied. I don’t think I can balance without them.”
“Trust me.”
I anchor my hands on her hips, fingertips exploring the silk of her naked skin. She nods without hesitation.
“Be a good girl and brace your hands on my shoulders.”
A surprised gasp escapes her lips. “You’re letting me touch you?” Delight floods her expression as if I’ve just offered her something priceless.
“We’re about to have a lesson in trust.”
“I’ll never betray your trust.” The conviction in her voice reaches into my chest and grips hard.
I maneuver her over my lap, supporting her weight as she settles one knee on each side of my thighs, her body creating a perfect frame around mine.
She grips my shoulders like a lifeline, her fingers bunching the fabric of my shirt while I position her hips above mine, her hands trembling against me through the cotton barrier.
She hovers there, uncertain.