The Scorned Luna-Chapter 29: Pleasuring Himself

Sofia’s fingers were white, stiff from the cold and the lingering tremors of her breakdown. She fumbled with the first button, but her coordination was gone. The small pearl disc slipped from her wet grip over and over.

She let out a small, frustrated sob, her head dropping forward. She felt pathetic—exposed, shivering, and unable to even dress herself under his predatory watch.

Damien watched her struggle, his pulse thrumming in his throat. He saw the way her fingers shook, the way her soft, rounded shoulders rose and fell with her ragged breaths. He couldn’t stay by the fire any longer. The distance was a lie.

He crossed the room in three long strides.

Sofia gasped, flinching back, but she hit the wall behind her. Damien didn’t tower over her with anger this time; he stepped into her space, his heat radiating off him like a furnace.

"Hold still," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

He reached out, his large hands dwarfing her own. As he took over the task of the buttons, his knuckles brushed against the sensitive, damp skin of her chest. He tried to stay clinical, but the contact sent a sharp jolt through him. His fingers grazed the peak of her breast, and he felt the immediate, hard response of her nipple against his skin.

A low, guttural sound vibrated in his chest. He was rock hard, his slacks straining painfully. The urge to rip the shirt back off, to press her soft, plus-sized curves against the hard planes of his body and sink into her, was almost overwhelming. He wanted to claim her, to drown out her fear with a different kind of intensity.

But then he looked at her face.

Her eyes were hollow, rimmed with red from crying and the shock of the cold. She looked fragile, drained of every ounce of her spirit. He was a monster, but he wasn’t a beast. He couldn’t take what she didn’t have the strength to give.

He finished the last button near her throat, his thumb lingering for a split second against the pulse point in her neck.

"Sleep," he muttered, his voice thick. "On the floor."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode back into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Sofia stood frozen, her heart hammering. A moment later, she heard the roar of the shower turning on.

Inside the steaming cubicle, Damien didn’t even bother to undress. The bathroom air turned thick with steam, but the heat had nothing to do with the water. Damien leaned one hand heavily against the tile, his head hanging low as the spray soaked through his shirt, the fabric clinging to his muscular back.

He didn’t undress. Waiting wasn’t an option.

He shoved his trousers down just enough, his fingers closing around his length with a grip that was borderline bruising. He was agonizingly hard, his pulse thumping in his veins. As he began to stroke himself, he squeezed his eyes shut, and the image of Sofia flashed behind his eyelids with violent clarity.

He didn’t see the "imperfections" she worried about. He saw the lush, heavy curve of her hips as she stood trembling in the firelight. He saw the way the shirt had draped over her full breasts, and the memory of her nipple hardening against his knuckle sent a fresh jolt of white-hot lust through his gut.

His breath came in ragged, animalistic grunts.

"Sofia," he groaned into the steam.

He imagined his hands sliding over the soft, generous swell of her stomach, pulling her back against him until her rounded backside was pressed firmly against his aching heat. He pictured his fingers digging into the silk of her thighs, spreading her open and sinking into her until she was flushed and gasping, her body shaking from pleasure instead of the cold.

His pace quickened, his strokes becoming frantic and rhythmic. The friction was a desperate relief against the tension that had been building since he first saw her on the ledge. He could almost feel her—the scent of her skin, the heat of her breath, the way her soft curves would yield under his weight.

His muscles coiled, his back arching as he reached the peak. With a low, guttural snarl that echoed off the tiled walls, he shuddered, his body racking with the force of his release.

He stood there for a long time afterward, the water sluicing over him, his chest heaving. The physical pressure was gone, but the obsession remained. He was haunted by the woman in the other room, and no amount of cold water or self-inflicted release could change the fact that he was well and truly undone by her.

When Damien finally stepped out of the bathroom, a towel draped around his neck and his hair dripping, he expected to see her still awake. But instead, he found her curled in a tight ball on the hardwood floor at the foot of the bed.

She was shivering, his shirt fitting her perfectly, and her bare legs were tucked against her chest. Even in sleep, she looked like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

Damien stood over her, his jaw tightening. A wave of irritation warred with something much more dangerous—pity.

I’m supposed to hate her, he reminded himself, his eyes hardening. She is a deceiver. A murderer.

He turned his back on her, climbed into the massive bed, and pulled the heavy furs up to his chest. He closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow, determined to ignore the girl on the floor. But the silence of the room only made the sound of her soft, rhythmic shivering louder.

He knew the truth: Sofia hadn’t shifted yet. Without her wolf, she lacked the internal furnace that kept their kind warm. To her, this room was a tomb of shadows and biting drafts. On that floor, she was no better than a freezing human.

"Dammit," he hissed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut tighter.

He stayed like that for an hour, hovering on the edge of a fitful sleep, until a small, broken sound pierced the quiet.

"No... please..."

Damien’s eyes flew open. He rolled onto his side, looking over the edge of the bed.

Sofia was thrashing weakly, her fingers clawing at the floorboards. Her face was pale, glistening with cold sweat, and her breathing had turned into terrified, shallow hitches.

"Don’t... don’t leave me there..." she whispered, her voice shaking with fear.

She was reliving that moment on the ledge—or something even worse. The nightmare had taken over, and she was too tired and too cold to fight it.

A sharp pain hit Damien’s chest, a pain that felt like it belonged to her. He tried to ignore it and stay the cold Alpha he wanted to be, but when she let out a small, broken sound, his body moved before he could stop himself.