The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King

Chapter 62: Chapter 62 I felt safe

Aria’s POV

Damian carried me into the bathroom, the tiles cool against my bare skin as he set me down on the edge of the marble counter.

He didn’t turn on the lights—just let the dim glow from the hallway spill in, casting shadows across his face.

He stepped between my thighs, his hands braced on either side of me, and leaned in to kiss me—slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured against my lips.

Before I could answer, he dropped to his knees.

My breath hitched as his hands gripped my thighs, pulling me forward until I was teetering on the edge of the counter. He didn’t ask. He just lowered his mouth to me.

His tongue slid through my folds, slow and deliberate, tasting what was still dripping from me.

I cried out, my hand flying to his hair, gripping the dark strands as he worked me open with his mouth.

"Damian—oh god—"

He didn’t stop. He licked and sucked and teased until I was a trembling mess, my hips bucking against his face, my moans echoing off the tiles.

"I love the way you taste," he said against me, his voice rough. "Love how wet you get for me."

He pressed his tongue inside me, and I screamed.

It didn’t take long. I was already sensitive, already overspent, and he knew exactly how to push me over.

When I came, it was with a sob, my thighs clamping around his head as he drank me down.

He stood, kissing his way up my body—my stomach, my breasts, my neck—until his mouth found mine again. I could taste myself on his lips.

"Turn around," he said, his voice low.

I obeyed, my hands bracing against the mirror as I bent over the counter.

The glass was cool against my heated skin. I could see us both in the reflection—me, flushed and dripping; him, still hard, his eyes dark with hunger.

He didn’t make me wait.

He entered me from behind in one slow, deep thrust, and I moaned, my palms sliding against the mirror.

He set a rhythm immediately—deep and unhurried, each stroke hitting that perfect spot inside me.

"Look at yourself," he said, his hand gripping my hip. "Look at how beautiful you are when I’m inside you."

I forced my eyes open. In the dim light, I could see the way my body moved with his, the way his muscles flexed as he fucked me.

"I want you to watch yourself come," he murmured, his hand sliding between my legs again. "I want you to see what I see."

He rubbed my clit in tight circles, his thrusts never faltering.

I couldn’t look away from the mirror—couldn’t stop watching the way my mouth fell open, the way my eyes glazed over, the way I came apart under his touch.

When I came, it was with his name on my lips, my body shuddering against the counter.

Damian followed moments later, his grip tightening on my hip as he buried himself deep, groaning my name as he spilled into me.

We stayed like that for a moment, panting, slick with sweat. He pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

Then he turned on the shower.

The water was warm, almost too hot, but I welcomed it. My legs were still shaking, and if Damian hadn’t been holding me up, I probably would have collapsed.

He guided me under the spray, his hands gentle now, a stark contrast to how rough he’d been minutes ago.

"Let me," he said when I tried to reach for the soap.

I let him. I was too tired to argue, too wrung out to do anything but lean against the tile wall and let him take care of me.

His hands moved over my body carefully—washing away the sweat, the evidence of what we’d just done. He was thorough, methodical, his touch almost reverent.

When he reached between my thighs, I winced.

"Sore?" he asked, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

"A little," I admitted.

He was gentle there, barely touching, just enough to clean me. When he was done, he pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

"I wasn’t too rough?"

"No." I turned to face him, reaching up to cup his jaw. "It was perfect."

Something flickered in his eyes—relief, maybe. Or something deeper.

He washed my hair next, his fingers working through the strands with surprising care. I closed my eyes, letting myself relax into the feeling.

By the time he was done, I was half-asleep on my feet.

Damian turned off the water and wrapped me in a towel, drying me off with the same careful attention he’d shown in the shower. Then he carried me to the bedroom.

He set me down and immediately guided me to sit on the chair at the vanity table. "Your hair’s still wet," he said, reaching for the blow dryer from the dresser.

"I’m tired," I mumbled, my eyelids heavy.

"So am I." He plugged in the dryer and moved behind me. "This’ll take five minutes. Relax."

I wanted to argue. I really did. But when he turned on the dryer and started running his fingers through my hair, sectioning it carefully, I found I couldn’t.

His touch was gentle—surprisingly so, considering how rough he’d been just before. He worked methodically, drying each section thoroughly before moving to the next.

"Where’d you learn to do this?" I asked over the sound of the dryer.

"YouTube."

I snorted. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious." He tilted my head to the side, fingers combing through the strands. "Figured if I was going to take care of you properly, I should know how."

Something warm bloomed in my chest. I shoved it down.

When he finally turned off the dryer, my hair fell in soft waves around my shoulders.

I caught my reflection in the dresser mirror—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, wearing nothing but a silk robe.

I looked thoroughly fucked.

"There," Damian said, setting down the dryer. His hands rested on my shoulders, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "Beautiful."

I looked away quickly, heat creeping up my neck. "Can I sleep now?"

He chuckled softly and pulled back the covers. I crawled under them, already sinking into the mattress.

Damian slid in beside me, pulling me against his chest. His arm came around my waist, holding me close.

"Sleep, baby girl," he murmured into my hair.

I was already halfway there. The last thing I felt before I drifted off was his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head.

And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt safe.

---

I woke to sunlight streaming through my bedroom curtains, far too bright for comfort.

My eyes flew open, and I grabbed my phone from the nightstand.

8:47 AM.

"Shit!"

I scrambled out of bed, my legs protesting every movement. Everything ached—my thighs, my hips, between my legs. Last night came flooding back in flashes: Damian’s mouth on me, his hands gripping my waist, the bathroom mirror fogged with steam.

No time for that now.

I rushed to the bathroom, nearly tripping over the towel still on the floor from last night.

I quickly brushed my teeth and splashed cold water on my face—just enough to feel halfway human. My hair was a disaster, but I twisted it into a messy bun and called it good enough.

When I stumbled back into the bedroom, I yanked open my closet. Navy sheath dress, nude heels, minimal jewelry. I could do my makeup in the car if I had to.

I was halfway dressed when the smell hit me.

Coffee. Bacon. Something else—eggs, maybe?

What the hell?