To Kill a Luna
I open my mouth—to stop this, to plead, to beg for a promise.
Be different this time. Don’t leave me. Don’t kill me.
But the words catch in my throat.
A sharp knock at the door slices through the moment.
Damian slides off me with an annoyed grunt, his body still heavy with want. My gaze dips, betraying me, and a flicker of excitement coils in my stomach at the sight of the tent in his jeans. He notices, of course. His smirk is lazy, teasing.
“Eyes up, Luna,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval.
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