Page 102 of Watch Me Burn
“My God.”
I trace the outline of the wolf with trembling fingers. The ground beneath the wolf’s paws is cracked obsidian rock, with molten lava visible through the fissures. The cracks extend outward across his chest like a shattered landscape, and I follow them with my eyes, taking in every devastating detail.
Behind and around the wolf, jagged rock formations twist upward in unnatural spirals, wrapping around his shoulders and down his arms. I look closer. The formations resemble human figures—warped, twisted, and frozen in moments of agony. It’s disturbing and dark, emphasizing suffering and torment. But there’s something beautiful about it too, in a painfully heartbreaking way. The wolf stands unbroken amidst the chaos, fierce and defiant. Whatever hell this represents, the wolf refuses to be conquered by it.
What could have happened to him?
The question burns in my throat, but I don’t ask. Some stories are too painful to tell, too private to share. The fact that he’s letting me see this much is gift enough.
My hands shake as they begin their exploration, trembling not from desire but from gratitude so profound it threatens to shatter me. I trace the landscape of his body with my fingers, learning every ridge and valley, every scar and imperfection that makes him real. My touch drifts along his collarbone, then slips down to the dip at the center of his chest.
Every touch feels sacred. The hard line of his sternum, the subtle rise and fall of his muscles, and the way his flesh responds to my exploration with minute tremors that mirror my own. My fingers continue trailing over the intricate details of the hellscape. He watches me through the mask, his gaze heavy and intense. When I lift my eyes to meet his, the tenderness waiting there shocks me. He looks stripped down, laid open in a way that goes deeper than skin. My chest tightens, and I forget how to breathe.
Instead of questions, I give him what I can. Acceptance, reverence, and desire. I press closer, wrapping my arms around his waist, pulling our bodies flush until no space remains between us. The wolf tattoo presses against my cheek as I bury my face in the warmth of his chest, breathing in his scent like it might sustain me.
The sound of his groan travels from his body to mine. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips as he begins to move again. Each stroke builds on the last until I’m drowning in sensation that obliterates thought and leaves only pure need. I cling to him through each rolling wave of pleasure, our bodies finding their ancient rhythm until everything else fades to nothing.
I press my mouth to his throat, tasting the salt on his collarbone. My tongue darts out to capture the flavor before my lips continue their journey. They glide across the expanse of his chest, lingering over his thundering heart, and it seems to leap toward my touch. Each caress speaks all those silent, unspoken vows, promises I’m not brave enough to voice but desperate enough to write across his skin with my lips.
But then his hand fists in my hair, jerking my head back with enough force to make my eyes water. My pulse spikes at the sudden shift from tenderness to dominance.
“Please.” I meet his eyes through the mask. Fire burns in his gaze, but beneath the anger is fear masquerading as rage, and my chest constricts. “You don’t have to kiss me. I know you don’t want to kiss me. But please… let me kiss you.”
Each word is a fragile, exposed nerve, naked with need. I’m laying myself bare, admitting how much I want this connection, this intimacy that goes beyond the physical.
“Fuck, Luna.”
His voice fractures around my name, raw and broken, and then his mouth crashes onto mine with bruising force. The impact steals the shocked sound that tries to escape my throat.
The bottom edge of his mask bites into my upper lip, sharp enough to draw blood, but the pain dissolves beneath the fierce hunger of his mouth. I part my lips, welcoming the sweep of his tongue and the brutal possession of his kiss. Our teeth scrape and clash, and our tongues battle for dominance, creating beautiful chaos between our mouths. It’s messy and desperate and perfect.
I surrender to it, to him, letting him take what he needs while giving everything I have to offer. His taste floods my senses, achingly familiar. The pressure of his lips eases, and the kiss softens. My heart slams once against my ribs, forgetting its rhythm entirely.
And then it hits me like lightning, illuminating every shadow I’ve been hiding from. The nagging whispers I’ve silenced, the impossible theories I’ve called madness, and every instinct I’ve passed off as paranoia. It all crystallizes into devastating clarity.
I’ve kissed this mouth before.
My blood turns to ice even as my flesh burns, two impossible sensations warring in the same body. My hands slam against his chest, shoving him backward. He stumbles, catching himself as I drink in every detail of his masked face. Hislips, swollen from our kiss, and his eyes holding truths that make my stomach drop.
“Damien?”
His name bleeds out of me, carrying the weight of every suspicion I’ve buried. It settles between us, changing everything with its simple existence. His eyes flash with panic before they turn black with rage, drowning any softness that existed moments before, replaced by something cold and dangerous.
“Did you just fucking call me his name?”
Betrayal laces every word, but I know the truth. The kiss still burning on my lips matches another in perfect, heart-stopping detail. The same combination of possession and worship that’s haunted my dreams. The taste, the rhythm, the way his mouth claimed mine with reverence wrapped in hunger lit up every nerve with certainty.
It can’t be. It can’t be him.
But as I stare into those furious eyes, searching for evidence that I’ve lost my mind, the impossible becomes inevitable. Every strange moment and every whisper of recognition I dismissed clicks into place like puzzle pieces finding their home.
Lightning crackles in his heated gaze as he withdraws from my body, leaving an emptiness that echoes through my core. Without a word, he spins away and strides out my back door.
Buck naked.
“Wait!”
But the night has already swallowed him whole. Cold seeps into my bones as I sit bare on the unforgiving wood of my kitchen table, my mind fracturing under the reality of my revelation.
