Not unhealthy.
Probably.
Class had been canceled unexpectedly that evening, which meant I immediately abandoned all academic responsibility and sprinted directly toward Menon’s office instead.
Again.
Priorities.
After chasing Gunner away through sheer inappropriate flirting, I found myself bent over Menon’s desk while he admired the pink handprint blooming across my ass like fine art.
“Fuck, Luna,” he growled appreciatively. “This looks good on you.”
Heat flooded my entire body.
“You are ridiculous.”
“No,” he corrected darkly. “I am inspired.”
Gods.
The things this male said to me.
The office around us glowed softly with floating celestial maps while auroras shimmered outside the massive windows overlooking the cliffs.
Somewhere below, the ocean crashed against black stone.
But all I could focus on was him.
His hands.
His voice.
The way he looked at me like worship and hunger had become the same emotion.
And honestly?
Maybe they had.
I caught sight of the mark he’d left against my skin reflected faintly in the glass window and shivered.
He was right.
It did look good.
Especially because I knew exactly how carefully he’d soothe it afterward.
Menon dropped slowly to his knees behind me and the sheer possessive reverence in his expression nearly melted my spine.
No one had ever looked at me this way before him.
Like my body was sacred instead of something to apologize for.
“You taste so fucking good, Luna,” he growled.
The rough hunger in his voice sent heat spiraling through me instantly.
His tail curled teasingly against my thigh and I nearly whined aloud.
