Vladimir's Marked Luna Chapter 96: Last Resort

The scalding water washed over , freezing into tiny ice pellets as they fell off my body. How could Lilith withstand my cold and sleep so comfortably if boiling water could not?

Being in her bathroom was torturous, her scent perated the air, having already absorbed her essence. And my mind did not make it any easier. I could see her in the bathtub, soaking her naked body, bronze skin covered by white suds, her curly hair wet, her—

I fought against the wave that tried to pull under, letting out a frustrated growl as I grew even harder, so close to bursting out of my pants. I needed it off but leaving her room had beco physically impossible.

It was like leaving a warm house to relinquish myself to the cold, and I had found that I was far too selfish to go back to it, to the coldness of my room when she was right here.

Warm and tempting.

Then I caught it, an aroma that whispered across my face, beckoning to sothing I craved.

I followed it, her scent, to the laundry hamper.

In it were clean—underwear...

I was crossing the line but I could not help but wonder first why her laundry hamper had fresh underwear, unless—

She washed them on her own and hung them sowhere to dry.

She did not let the help near her undergarnts, but here I was looking into the hamper, pulsing and aching, a twinge of disappointnt twisting my stomach at finding them clean.

I snapped myself out of it, growling out loud as I pald my face, frustrated.

What the hell are you doing?

Why are you not getting out of here?

Why are you picking it up—

I silenced the voice as I took one out, not even sure when I had bent down to pick it up.

"I just want to sll her," Zver whispered, a snarl escaping as he tried and failed to comport himself at the re touch of sothing that had been so close to her core. "Just one ti."

He whispered like the devil.

Yet, I obliged.

I brought it to my nose, one hand on my zipper, and breathed her in like the first oxygen after I had almost drowned.

My length sprang free, agony lancing through as I fisted it, using my co as slick.

I pressed the fabric to my face, each deep inhale imbued with her scent, touched and tasted places I could only ever dream of.

Literally.

I pumped my girth, with each painful, needed pump, I breathed her in. My hips rocked back and forth, slowly, with sothing like hesitance until all restraint snapped like a twig.

I pounded into my own slippery hand, taking long drags of her core like tobacco from a cigar.

I gritted my teeth as the ache ebbed and fell away to pure searing pleasure, my hand never ceasing. The odor of my lust was heavy and humid in the air.

I pictured Lilith on top of , thrusting into her while I yanked her down to et my punishing, desperate plunges.

I groaned, eyes rolling so far back I saw stars dancing, as the pressure hanging at the base of my girth tightened.

So close—

I brought the panties down, wrapping them around my length, choking it—pain twisting with mind-lting pleasure until I found myself ramming head-first into a shattering orgasm.

I panted, not deigning to look down even as I felt the most relief I had ever managed since this nightmare started. Even prescribed suppressants, nothing had worked, only this—

Pleasuring myself in her bathroom with her panties strangling my bruised hardness.

I dropped so fast from the high that all I could do was pocket her ruined underwear and zip myself back up.

I never felt burns, not even scalding water, but sha sweltered through like a heated knife through fat.

---

I made it out of her room without her even stirring, the stolen item heavy in my pocket. If she knew that I had violated her space like this, she would never look at the sa. And I fought against the realization that I dreaded that above almost all else.

This had to be the last ti—I fished for my phone and dialed the number.

It rang once. Twice.

Then a voice, sultry and amused, answered. "High Alpha."

Just those two words, but they carried weight. Recognition. Familiarity.

"It’s quite late for a call," she continued, and I could hear the smile in her voice. A low laugh followed, knowing and intimate. "Are you really in that much need?"

I closed my eyes, jaw clenching. "Tonight. Can you make it work?"

There was a pause. Movent on her end—voices in the background, the low rumble of a crowd, music pulsing beneath it all.

"Tonight?" She drew the word out, considering. "Actually, yes. Perfect timing, even. It’s about to start, and the spectators would love a show from you. It’s been too long since you’ve graced us with your presence."

Relief cut through , sharp and necessary. "I’m on my way."

"Good." Her voice dropped lower, almost a purr. "I can wait all night for you."

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone for a mont, then pocketed it alongside the evidence of my sha.

The rut was still there, coiled beneath my skin like a serpent, but this would help. It had to help.

I needed to bleed this out of my system before I did sothing worse.

Before I crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.

Before I hurt her in ways that went beyond stolen underwear and violated privacy.

I grabbed my coat from where I’d left it earlier, shrugging it on as I moved through the darkened mansion. Every step away from her room felt wrong—the bond pulling at , demanding I go back, demanding I stay close.

But I couldn’t.

Not like this. Not when I was barely holding myself together.

The night air hit as I stepped outside, cold and clean, but it did nothing to wash away the sha clinging to my skin.

I got into the car this ti, started the engine, and drove.

Away from her.

Away from temptation.

Toward the only other outlet I had left.

—

🌙𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡

I woke to wetness between my thighs and Vladimir’s scent overwhelming everything else.

My eyes snapped open, disoriented and aching. The room spun slightly, my head pounding with the worst hangover I’d ever experienced. Everything hurt—my temples, my joints, even my eyes as they adjusted to the dim light filtering through the curtains.

But none of that mattered as much as the emptiness beside .

He wasn’t here.

I sat up too quickly, imdiately regretting it as nausea rolled through . My hand went to my head, pressing against the pounding, and that’s when the mories started filtering back.

Pieces. Fragnts.

Dancing with Vladimir. The way he’d held . His mouth on my neck in front of everyone.

Then... the room spinning. Moon wine. His eyes, pale and hungry.

Hold , I’d said. Or had I? The mory was hazy, distorted.

I rembered his arms around . The cold press of his body. Safety.

And then... nothing.

I looked down at myself. Still in the dress from last night, rumpled and twisted around my body. My hair was a disaster, half the pins still tangled in the curls.

But Vladimir was gone.

Disappointnt crashed through , sharp and unexpected. I didn’t even know why I’d expected him to still be here. We weren’t—this wasn’t—

I pushed the thought away and forced myself to stand.

The wetness between my thighs made freeze. My body had responded to sothing—to him, probably, even in sleep. The bond humming even when I was unconscious.

God, this is humiliating.

I needed food. Water. Sothing to make this pounding in my head stop.

I stumbled toward the door, not bothering to change. The mansion was quiet as I made my way downstairs, each step sending fresh waves of nausea through . My mouth tasted like sothing had died in it, and my stomach was eating itself from the inside out.

The kitchen was blessedly empty when I reached it. I went straight for the refrigerator, pulling out anything that looked edible—bread, cheese, so kind of cold at I didn’t bother identifying.

I was halfway through assembling a sad excuse for a sandwich when I heard it.

The front door opening.

Footsteps in the foyer.

And then Vladimir appeared in the kitchen doorway.

I froze, the knife still in my hand, bread forgotten.

He looked... wrecked.

Stubble darkened his jaw—a full day’s worth, which was impossible because it had only been a few hours since the gala. His clothes were rumpled, shirt half-untucked, coat thrown carelessly over one arm. His hair was a ss, no longer the controlled perfection from last night.

But it was the scent that hit hardest.

Perfu. Heavy. Floral. Female.

Clinging to him like a second skin.

My stomach dropped.

The knife clattered to the counter.

Not again.

The thought ca unbidden, visceral. The mory of finding him with Veronique, the way he’d dismissed it, the casual cruelty of his explanation.

It happened again.

"You’re awake." His voice was flat. Cold. Like I was an inconvenience he hadn’t expected to deal with.