Rejected Luna Queen

Nolan’s POV

1 remove my shirt and toss it to her, my eyes never leaving her face. For some odd reason. I want to see her wearing my shirt. It’s an irrational desires, but I don’t care. I want to mark her, to see her in something of mine.

“Remove that sack you’re wearing.” I ordered, my voice rough. Put this on instead.”

She catches the shirt, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and anger. Her defiance flickers for a moment, but she quickly masks it, her expression turning to stone.

Her lustrous hair is tied in a loose ponytail, the strands falling over her shoulders, and I can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks, even in something so simple.

She hesitates, and I feel a surge of frustration. “Do it,” 1 growl, stepping closer, my eyes boring into hers.

Slowly, she starts to comply, her movements deliberate and slow, as if trying to test my patience. She pulls the plain dress over her head, revealing the curves that have filled out since she left.

Her breasts are fuller, her hips more pronounced, and her skin glows with the vitality of pregnancy. My cock jumped in my pants. She stood there for a moment, exposed, before slipping my shirt over her head.

Nesta has never been shy about her body even when she was nothing but bones. It’s too big for her, the fabric falling past her hips, but the sight of her in it sends a jolt of satisfaction through me.

She looks up at me, her eyes still defiant but with a flicker of something else–vulnerability, maybe. She’s beautiful, and the anger I feel is mixed with a confusing blend of desire and possessiveness.

“There,” I say, my voice softer now but still commanding. “That’s better.”

I step back, taking in the sight of her in my shirt. It’s a small victory, but it’s mine.

I can see the struggle in her eyes, the way she’s trying to hold on to her defiance even as she stands there in my clothes. And for a moment, I feel a twisted sense of satisfaction.

I walk around the bed, my eyes never leave her. There’s a predatory gleam in my gaze, a hunger I can’t quite suppress. She shifts uncomfortably, her eyes following my every move, but I can smell her arousal too. Fucking hell, it’s intoxicating.

I want to please her, to make her writhe with pleasure. The thought of it sends a thrill through me, a need to dominate and possess her completely.

I take slow, deliberate steps, circling her like a predator stalking its prey. She looks beautiful and vulnerable, standing there in my shirt, her body responding to my presence despite her defiance.

“Do you like it?” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “Wearing my shirt?”

She doesn’t answer, but her eyes betray her. There’s a flicker of something there–desire, need, maybe even fear.

She shifts again, trying to mask her reactions, but I can see through it. I can feel her arousal in the air, mingling with my own. She hates that she wants me. Bingo.

I stop in front of her, close enough to touch, but I don’t. Not yet. I want to draw this out, to savour the moment.

“You can’t hide from me, Nesta,” I whisper, leaning in slightly. “I can smell how much you want this.”

Her breath hitches, and she looks away, her cheeks flushing. It’s a small victory, but it fuels the fire inside me. I continue to circle her, my eyes roaming over her body, taking in every curve and line.

The wight of her, so beautiful and vulnerable, makes my heart pound with a mix of desire and something darker. Something that is beyond my power

You’re mine tonight,” I say, my voice a possessive growl. “And I’m going to make you remember that”

She trebles slightly, her arousal and fear blending into a heady mix that only heightens my own desire. I move closer, my hard reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. She slivers at the touch, her eyes flicking up to meet mine.

Ta‘? worry.” I say softly, almost gently. “I’ll take care of you.”

For a moment, there’s silence, the tension between us thick and electric. Then, without another word, I step back, giving her space but keeping my eyes locked on hers. The night is ours, and I intend to make the most of it.

I stand there, watching her closely, waiting for some sign of consent, some gesture that will make this less awkward than it already is

I’ve forced her into this role, demanded she become my mistress, and the least I can do is pleasure her properly. My body shakes with need, the intensity of my desire almost unbearable.

“Tell me you want this,” I say, my voice rough with restrained passion. “Tell me you need me.”

She remains silent, her eyes wide and filled with conflicting emotions. I can see the struggle within her, the war between her desire and her defiance. My heart pounds as I wait, each second stretching into an eternity.

Finally, she takes a deep breath, her eyes locking with mine. “I… I don’t know what I want,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

It’s not a clear consent, but it’s not a refusal either. It’s enough for now. I step closer, reaching out to gently caress her cheek. Her skin is soft and warm beneath my touch, and she shivers slightly.

“Till make you feel good,” I promise, my voice softer now, almost tender. “Just trust me.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, and I can see the tension slowly leaving her body, She’s still wary, still unsure, but she’s not pulling away. It’s a start.

I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear. “I need you too much, Pixie. My body aches for you.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.

I wait, giving her a moment to process, to decide. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, she reaches out and places her hand on my chest, over my pounding heart.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

That single word sends a thrill through me, a surge of triumph and relief. I move closer, my body pressing against hers, my hands sliding down to her hips. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away.

“You won’t regret this,” I murmur, my lips ghosting over her skin. “I promise.”

I lower my mouth to hers, the last of my restraint snaps. I kiss her deeply, pouring all my pent–up desire and need into the kiss. Her hands move to my shoulders, clinging to me as if she’s afraid to let go.

I want her too much, need her too much. My body shakes with the intensity of it, the need to claim her, to make her mine.

And as I feel her start to respond, her lips moving against mine, I know that tonight, we will both find what we need.