The Fake Luna

Chapter 9

Killian.

I slammed my fist into the punching bag, letting out all the rage boiling inside me.

I’d searched for Coco Bel—only to be told she died in a car accident.

All my efforts… for nothing.

The betas? They disappeared leaving no leads.

And now there's a wedding next week.

I was just about to throw another punch when the last problem walked in—wearing tight sss leggings and a sports bra like it was her personal runway.

Call me crazy, but those tïrries are definitely double D's. They weren't like that last time I saw her.

And everything about her looks like... my fantasy.

“Marilyn, get out of my gym,” I snapped.

“Oh, don’t be such a wimp,” she said with a smirk, unbothered. “We can share. You’re over there, I’m over here. It’s just yoga.”

Yeah, right.

I didn’t want a repeat of what happened the other night.

I turned back to the punching bag, trying to focus.

But my eyes betrayed me. She was making poses that didn’t look like yoga.

They looked like føreplay!

Bent over, äss arched, stomach flat on the mat and bouncing just a little. Hands stretched out like she wasn’t deliberately messing with my head.

“Marilyn,” I growled, “stop it.”

She glanced back at me, wide-eyed and innocent.

Yeah. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“What? It's not my fault you are a closeted perv. Just think of flying cows and goat men.” She replied, making it worse by bending over and arching her bøõty up.

“I can't focus with you making mating poses and oh oh sounds.” I answered.

She gasped.

I laid back on the weight bench, eyes fixed on the ceiling. I couldn’t risk glancing her way—not when those damn tights were slicing her like butter. One look at that camel toe and I’d be pitching a tent in these sweatpants.

Getting a hard-on in front of her? Last thing I need.

…Unless she actually sat on my crotch.

Not a bad idea now that I think about it.

“Brown and green? Red and black? What happened to color?” she babbled, walking around the gym like we weren’t enemies and she wasn’t drop-dead distracting.

Then—like the universe was mocking me—she climbed on top of me and sat. Püssy pressed directly over my hardening shaft.

No panties. Again!

Fück.

“Argh… Marilyn,” I groaned through gritted teeth.

She just sat there like it was nothing. No—bounced. Lightly and rhythmically. With every word.

“I know, right? I was thinking more tops! Sundresses, even! Maybe yellow—ooh, or lavender!”

Was this a joke?

“If you’re gonna sit,” I growled, “do it right. Without those damn pants. I don’t like being teased.”

She gasped—like she was just realizing what she was doing.

“Wait—what?! Why am I sitting on you?! What did you do to me?!”

I froze.

This wasn’t just a coincidence. I’d thought it—and it happened.

I lowered the weights and stared at the ceiling.

Okay. Think about it again. Just to test.

She's bouncing like she’s riding me. Hands gliding on my chest.

Her palms slid over my abs, slowly to my bare chest. Her hips moved—little bounces, like she was grinding against me. Her eyes widened in panic, lips parted. She looked trapped in her own body, confused but silent.

Oh, this is fascinating.

Then, as if snapped out of a trance, she jumped up like she’d sat on fire.

“This place is haunted!” she gasped. “Everything is! That bench too! I didn’t do that—I swear!”

I sat up slowly, eyes trailing down her flustered form and smirked.

This? I might enjoy this weird bond thing after all.

~~~~~~

Sia.

I grab the bottle and splash water across his face, my voice shaking.

“You’re out of your damn mind. This or even you are possessed.”

Killian doesn’t flinch. He just stands, slowly, wiping the droplets from his jaw with one hand.

Then he starts walking toward me.

I take a step back. Then another—until the cold wall meets my spine.

His arms slam against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in. His presence alone makes the air feel too thick and hot. I try to shove him away—

But my hands float up. On their own.

Pressed above my head like someone tied me there.

Except no one has.

My breath catches.

Is he doing this to me? Or am I doing it to myself?

His eyes drop to my chest. He doesn’t even try to hide what he's thinking.

One palm glides up the curve of my waist, over my brëast, and squeezes.

“Natural,” he murmurs, voice like gravel. “No implants. Soft and squishy. Just how I like them.”

I bite down a sound. My body is on fire. His thumb brushes over my n!pple through the thin fabric of my sports bra and it sends lightning straight to my püssy.

He leans in, nose brushing down my throat. Then he inhales and growls.

“Yum,” he mutters, voice dropping low. “You smell like ice cream. You’re dripping for me already, aren’t you?”

I don’t respond. I can’t. My voice is trapped in my chest. My body’s betraying me in real time.

His hand slides lower, down my belly, fingertips grazing the edge of my tights. Then under.

Skin to skin.

I jolt.

He finds me soaked. His fingers slide through it, slowly. He swipes right over my clït, and I nearly cry out. No man has ever touched me like this. I'm so sensitive.

His free hand covers my mouth instantly.

“Shhh not today, darlin. We wouldn't wanna wake up my heat with that møan of yours.”

His breath tickles my cheek. His hand grab my äss.

“I could fück you right here,” he murmurs. “Make you scrëam until this whole damn gym knows who you belong to.”

I whimper into his palm.

“But not yet,” he says, sliding his fingers from my p***y—wet, glistening.

He lifts them to his lips. Licks them slowly, eyes locked on mine.

“Sweet,” he says. “Just like I imagined. It tastes like strawberry jam.”

Then his mouth drops to my neck. The mark he gave me days ago pulses as he sucks.

I gasp behind his hand. My hips jerk forward, aching for contact that never comes.

His mouth lifts.

“Next time,” he whispers, voice wicked, “it’s not your neck I’ll be sucking.”

He steps back and walks away.

My hands drop. My knees almost buckle. I slump against the wall, flushed, dazed, trembling.

I was seconds away from møaning in my siren voice. If I had—every unmated wolf within this radius would’ve torn the gym apart to get to me.

What is happening to me?

And why did it feel so damn good?

~~~~~~

"Hmmm... It’s the mate bond," Blair said, tapping her chin like a werewolf scholar. "And since he's an Alpha and you're a Luna—" she cleared her throat awkwardly, the word Luna barely veiling the truth: Siren.

"The bond gives him some level of dominance over you. Emotional, physical… even sëxual. It’s instinctive. Like built-in magic with very little boundaries," she added.

I paced across my office, still reeling. So that explains why my body turns into jelly every time he so much as breathes near me.

Blair crossed her legs and leaned back, squinting at me like I was a puzzle box with missing instructions.

“Don’t panic,” she said. “You could always test if the bond works both ways. Try to create an imbalance.”

I blinked. “How?”

She smirked and let her eyes trail deliberately from my head… to my legs.

“Touch yourself.”

I froze. “Now?”

She shrugged. “You're the CEO. Who’s gonna fire you?”

I stared at her. This is the worst idea I’ve ever considered—and I’ve literally mürdered someone and stolen their identity.

But I need some kind of control too.

"I'll work on your schedule, so take your time," Blair said with a wink before strutting out.

I heard her murmur something to Sharkman about checking my car, and he vanished down the hallway.

I was alone. Finally!

I sat down slowly in my office chair, exhaling hard.

This is insane. I’ve never even thought about doing this during daylight, in my office, where anyone could walk in.

But here I was—legs parting and breath catching.

I let my hands trail up, cupping my brëasts through my blouse, teasing the stiff peaks as heat rolled through me. Then slowly… lower. Sliding beneath my waistband, fingers gliding down my lil psy

Oh, Neptune! The memory of Killian at the gym—the way his mouth had claimed my neck, the way his fingers slid into me like he owned my body—that made it easier.

I rubbed slow, tight circles on my clït, breathing softly.

I could control my voice. I had to.

No siren møaning, especially not here. I don't wanna cause the entire city to go into whatever thing Killian was in.

Still… the bond pulsed like wildfire.

Something in me wanted him to feel this.

~~~~~~~

Killian

“We’ll have to use the northern sea route to get our goods to this channel and—”

Redd kept talking. Charts, freight lanes and some boring corporate bullshii

I exhaled hard and glared at the boardroom screen hoping this meeting would end even though I'm the CEO.

Then—zap.

A tingle across my chest.

A soft, sweet caress—like someone licking down my sternum.

And then lower. My dïck twitched, in an instant—it was standing like a flagpole.

What the hell?

And then I heard it. Not in the room but in my head.

Her møan. Soft, breathy and desperate.

My wolf stirred like someone lit a fuse.

I shot to my feet so fast my chair nearly tipped.

“I need to go.”

Redd blinked. “Sir—?”

“Now.”

I stormed out of the boardroom like a man possessed. My dïck throbbed like someone had wrapped a warm, wet mouth around it and started stroking.

I didn’t care who stared. I didn’t care that my car wasn’t even parked straight. I drove like a fücking lunatic to her building, weaving through traffic, barely thinking.

The elevator up to her floor felt like a furnace.

My blood burned. My skin was on fire. I could smell her, feel her—taste her through the bond. The images in my head weren’t mine. They were hers. Her hands were buried deep between her thighs. That breathless edge of—

Fück.

I stumbled back against the elevator wall just as the doors ding

ed open.

A wave of heat slammed into me—fierce-hot and overwhelming—and I came.

In my pants, yes just like that.

I looked down, chest heaving. My jaw clenched.

“…Marilyn,” I growled through my teeth.

“What the hell did you do?”