Page 11 of The Shadow Sanctum

This is a part I know how to play.

The heat of her pussy rests on my waist, half-hugging me through my clothes. I jerk my shirt from beneath her thighs to feel her skin-to-skin and almost regret it. We haven’t played enough to be as slick as she feels, which means once again I’m subjecting myself to Thorne’s cum. I might feign jealousy if it wasn’t for the triangle of white hair atop her Snow-White skin flattening as she grinds against me—sexy, so sexy I nearly forget I once thought it strange.

My hands find her thighs, but as soon as they climb, I’m stopped by a hard crack against my cheek.

“Don’t touch me, slave.” Her raised voice cuts through shock, the closest thing to a yell that Luna has.

“Fuck, Luna.” I rub the sting from my cheek and hardly suppress a glare. “Not so hard.”

“Place your palms on the headboard and do not move them.”

I hesitate, if only for a moment. Something isn’t right with her face. It’s too confident, too sure of itself to belong to the sexually insecure Luna I know, especially after hitting me. She looks like she wants to punish me. She looks, for once, like a sociopathic Head Keeper of a deadly cult.

I plant my palms against the headboard.

Good, slave, I wait for her to say. But she misses her cue and instead glides her fingers down my eyelids to close them.

Is that a tremble?

My eyes stay closed, but I feel on high alert as Luna lays herself on top of me. Soft, timid lips press against my jaw.

There she is.

She follows the slope of my neck to the hollow of my throat, her nails scraping as she tugs my collar down. One of her hands presses my chin up while the other grips my cock through my pants.

The groan that eases from my chest changes octave as she squeezes too hard, but the creaking bed swallows the sound as I shift my hips.

I don’t open my eyes or move my hands—not until I feel movement at my jaw. I didn’t imagine the tremble.

Desire?

My eyelids flutter open just as her kisses grow more desperate. She nips along my collar bone while seeking the button on my pants, but the tremble shifts to a shake and delays the effort.

Not desire.

“Luna.”

Her breaths come in pants against my neck while her hand finds my cock with a grip akin to clutching a bar of soap. In a public shower.

“Hey…” I cup the back of her neck; give a squeeze when she doesn’t respond. “Luna.”

She stiffens. “I said don’t touch me.”

“Then look at me. Pause a second.”

She releases her grip and works her hand from my pants. A curtain of white hair tickles my neck as she continues to hide. When her head finally raises, her eyes are just as cold as before. “What?” she snaps. “I thought you liked this.”

Through a squint, I search for emotion, some semblance of the timid girl kissing my neck. I may as well have imagined her. “What’s wrong?”

She just stares.

“Is it Thorne?”

“No,” she deadpans.

“Is it your father?”

“No.”