The Scorned Luna-Chapter 64: His Uncle

Damien pulled back from her pussy, his face wet with her essence and his own territorial brand. He didn’t give her a second to recover. He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her upright, his mouth crashing against hers in a deep, filthy kiss that forced her to taste herself on his lips.

​"Every part of you," he growled against her mouth, "is mine to devour."

​He pushed her back against the leather seat and grabbed her thick, silky legs, hoisting them high until her knees were pinned against her chest and her ankles rested on his broad shoulders. He didn’t use any finesse as he lined his cock up and drove back into her pussy with one singular, heavy lunge. Sofia let out a high-pitched wail, her head tossing back as the raw friction of his entry sent a jolt of electricity through her.

​He fucked her with a rhythmic, bruising pace, his eyes locked on hers, watching the way her pupils dilated with every deep, wet thrust. He was reclaiming her soul through her body, his cock hitting her cervix until she was sobbing. As the car shook under his relentless power, Damien felt the pressure build behind his hips. With a final, guttural roar that echoed off the tinted glass, he buried himself to the hilt and flooded her with his hot, thick cum. He stayed deep inside her, his body twitching as he spent every drop of his rage and lust into her soft, tight walls.

​For a long minute, the only sound in the SUV was their ragged, synchronized breathing. Damien collapsed against her, his head buried in the crook of her neck, his sweat soaking into her skin. The silence of the mountain pass outside was a sharp contrast to the carnal chaos inside the vehicle.

​Eventually, Damien pulled away with a wet, heavy slide. He sat up, his expression unreadable as he used a silk handkerchief to clean himself. He began dressing with efficient, jerky movements, his Alpha mask slowly sliding back into place.

​Sofia lay sprawled on the leather, her gown torn, her hair a wild nest of curls, and her sea-blue eyes glazed over. She was utterly drained, her body humming with a mixture of pleasure and exhaustion. She didn’t move as he watched her; she couldn’t.

​Damien looked at her—at the way the light caught the curves he had just claimed so violently—and a flicker of something that looked like guilt crossed his face. He reached out, his touch surprisingly gentle now, and pulled her up into a sitting position. He helped her pull the ruined midnight-blue silk back over her heavy breasts and draped the trench coat over her shoulders again, buttoning it to hide the mess they had made.

​Sofia didn’t resist. She leaned her head against the cool, tinted glass and closed her eyes, her breathing finally evening out into the heavy rhythm of sleep.

​Damien signaled the driver by rapping twice on the partition. The driver, his face still a deep shade of crimson, climbed back into the front seat and restarted the engine. The convoy began to move again, winding higher into the cold isolation of the mountains.

​Throughout the journey, Damien’s gaze kept drifting back to Sofia’s sleeping form, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to touch her again. What was she thinking? Was she dreaming of the man who had promised to save her, or was she finding a way to leave him?

​Audibly, he felt panicked—worried and confused.

​"You are a fool," his wolf snarled at him.

​Damien ignored his wolf.

​The SUV finally crunched over the gravel of the Pack’s main courtyard. As the engine cut out, the silence of the high altitude settled over them, broken only by the whistling wind.

​Damien stepped out first, adjusting his cuffs. The staff and several high-ranking warriors were already lined up, bowing their heads in respect. "Welcome back, Alpha," they voiced in unison.

​Sofia stepped out slowly, still feeling the ache of the backseat encounter. She pulled the trench coat tighter around her, trying to hide the ruined silk of her gown and the scent of Damien that clung to her skin like a second layer. She felt the eyes of the staff on her—some with pity, others with the usual cold disdain for the woman they believed was a murderer.

​Suddenly, a tall, distinguished man stepped out from the shadows of the arched stone entryway. He was older than Damien, with streaks of silver in his dark hair, but he possessed the same powerful Alpha build.

​"Uncle Alaric!" Damien’s face transformed, a genuine, boyish grin breaking through his cold mask. He rushed forward and pulled the man into a fierce hug. "When did you get here? I thought you were in the Northern territories."

​"Arrived yesterday, boy," Alaric chuckled, clapping Damien on the shoulder. "I wanted to surprise you. Been ages since I saw you."

​As Alaric pulled back, his gaze shifted past Damien’s shoulder and landed squarely on Sofia. The air seemed to leave his lungs. He stared at her—at her soft, curvy frame, her tangled hair, and those haunting sea-blue eyes. For Alaric, the world stopped; it was a visceral, immediate pull, a feeling of "love at first sight" that hit him like a physical blow to the chest.

​Alaric swallowed hard, his throat dry. He couldn’t look away from her. "Who is she, Damien?" he asked, his voice sounding uncharacteristically strained.

​Damien didn’t notice the look of worship in his uncle’s eyes. He barely spared a glance back at Sofia, his voice turning cold and dismissive again.

​"She’s just my slave," Damien spat, his possessive streak flaring even as he tried to act indifferent. "Ignore her. Come on, let’s go inside. I need a real drink with you; it’s been ages."

​As Damien led Alaric away, the older man looked back one last time, his eyes locking with Sofia’s. Unlike Damien’s gaze of rage, Alaric looked at her with a profound, quiet desire that made Sofia’s heart skip a beat.

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