First Night

Julie's POV 

The Luna’s quarters felt heavier that evening, the air thick with anticipation and dread. After a tense dinner where Raynard had barely spoken two words to me, I retreated to the shower, hoping the hot water would soothe my frayed nerves and wash away the sting of his earlier dismissal.

Steam billowed around me, fogging the marble walls and the large glass enclosure. I stood under the spray, letting it cascade over my bare skin, my hands moving mechanically with the soap.

My mind, however, refused to be quiet. The forged diagnosis echoed in my thoughts—two months to live unless I mated with him repeatedly. My wolf was so weak, yet the mere idea of Raynard’s touch made her stir with desperate longing. I lathered soap over my arms, my breasts, my stomach, trying not to imagine his hands doing the same. But the images came anyway, unbidden and vivid.

Then the bathroom door clicked open.

I gasped, the soap slipping from my fingers as Raynard stepped inside without a single word. His steel-gray eyes burned through the steam, locking onto my naked body with an intensity that made my knees weak. He didn’t ask permission. He didn’t explain. He simply began stripping, peeling off his dark shirt to reveal the powerful, sculpted chest I had only ever glimpsed in passing. His belt came next, then his pants and boxers, sliding down muscular thighs until he stood gloriously naked.

Gods, he was massive. Broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, golden skin glistening as water hit him, and between his legs, his cock hung thick and heavy, already twitching to life under my gaze. Veins stood out along the shaft, the head flushed dark. I had never seen him fully bare before, never.

He entered the shower, towering over me, and took the soap from my trembling hands without asking. His large, calloused palms replaced mine, sliding the slick bar slowly over my shoulders, then down my arms. The touch started clinical, but quickly turned possessive. He turned me under the spray, soaping my back with firm strokes, his fingers tracing every vertebra before cupping my ass, kneading the soft flesh with deliberate pressure. A low whimper escaped me as one finger teased the cleft between my cheeks.

“Raynard…” I breathed, voice already husky.

He spun me to face him, gray eyes dark with something primal. His soapy hands cupped my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they hardened into tight peaks, aching for more. He pinched them lightly, rolling them between his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. Lower still, one hand slid down my stomach, parting my thighs. His fingers found my folds, already slick with more than just water. He stroked my clit in slow, teasing circles—light at first, then firmer, building unbearable pressure. Two thick fingers dipped to my entrance, circling but not entering, teasing me open while his thumb continued its maddening rhythm on my swollen nub.

I moaned, my hips bucking involuntarily against his hand. His other arm banded around my waist, holding me steady as he kissed me—deep, dominating, his tongue invading my mouth with the same relentless control. His hard cock pressed hot and heavy against my belly, the thick length sliding against my wet skin with every shift of his hips. Pre-cum smeared across my stomach as he ground against me, growling low in his throat.

The foreplay was pure erotic torment. He dropped to his knees in the shower, water streaming over his golden hair, and lifted one of my legs over his shoulder. His mouth replaced his fingers—hot tongue lapping at my clit with long, slow strokes before sucking it into his mouth. I cried out, fingers tangling in his wet hair as he devoured me, two fingers finally pushing inside my tight heat, curling to stroke that sensitive spot deep within. He pumped them slowly at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of his tongue. My thighs trembled, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

He pulled back just enough to look up at me, lips glistening. “Beg for it, Luna.”

“Fuck me, Raynard,” I sobbed, voice breaking with need. “Please… please, I need your cock. Knot me. Fill me with your seed. Breed me. I’m yours….please, I’m so empty without you…”

He rose with a feral growl, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. My legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me out of the shower, water dripping across the floor. He laid me on the large bed, hovering over me, his thick cock nudging my entrance, the head pressing against my slick folds….

A firm tap on my shoulder yanked me violently from the dream.

“Julie.”

My eyes fluttered open slowly, reality crashing over me like ice water. Raynard stood beside the bed, fully dressed in a crisp black shirt and dark pants, arms crossed over his broad chest. His steel-gray eyes regarded me with pure, arctic coldness. There was no heat, no desire, only distant irritation.

I was sprawled on top of the covers in nothing but a thin silk robe that had come undone at the front, one of my breasts was partially exposed and my nipples still painfully hard. Sweat glistened on my skin despite the air conditioning chilling the room. My thighs were pressed tightly together, slick with arousal, the ache between them throbbing unbearably. My face burned with mortification as I realized I must have been moaning out loud…perhaps even begging in my sleep.

The dream had felt so vividly real. My body still hummed with unspent pleasure, my wolf whimpering pathetically inside me.

Raynard’s gaze flicked down to my flushed chest, the way my robe gaped open, then back to my face. His expression didn’t change, but I caught the slight flare of his nostrils, as if he could scent my arousal hanging thick in the air.

“Your father called,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless. “He wants to speak with you immediately. The maid mentioned you were resting, so I came to wake you myself.”

I sat up hastily, clutching the robe closed with shaking hands, my cheeks flaming hotter than the shower water had been. How long has he been watching me sleep? Didn't he find me attractive? I was almost naked, why the fuck couldn't he just get in bed and make love to me?

“Umm… Raynard…” My voice came out weak and breathy, still laced with the remnants of the dream. I cleared my throat, mortified. “How… How long have you been standing here? Watching me?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on me a moment longer….on my disheveled hair, my swollen lips, the rapid rise and fall of my chest. For one heartbeat, something dark and hungry flickered deep in those gray depths, quickly smothered by ice.

“Long enough,” he finally said, his tone clipped. “Get dressed. He’s waiting on the line.”

Without another word or glance, he turned and strode out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him with quiet, deliberate finality.

I collapsed back onto the pillows, pressing both hands to my burning face. 

Embarrassment crashed over me in waves. He had stood there watching while I writhed and moaned in my sleep, begging him to fuck me, to knot me, to breed me. The words I had cried out in the dream echoed humiliatingly in my mind. 

What if I had actually said them aloud? What if he had heard every desperate plea?

My wolf curled in on herself, weak and ashamed, the temporary spark from the dream only highlighting how starved she truly was. Sweat still cooled on my skin, but the heat inside me refused to fade, especially knowing Raynard had been close enough to scent it all.

Tonight was meant to be the start of our forced intimacy. Instead, I had humiliated myself before the first “treatment” even began.

I dragged myself to the edge of the bed, my legs shaky, and reached for my phone with trembling fingers. My father’s call loomed, another reminder of the political cage I lived in. But all I could think about was Raynard’s cold eyes… and the terrifying realization that two months of this proximity might either save me or shatter what little dignity I had left.

But first, I had to deal with my father's call.