The Fake Luna

Chapter 7

Sia.

I walked into the restroom near the parking lot—the spot the unknown number picked. The one threatening to expose me. I needed to shut this goof down… Permanently!

I closed the door behind me.

Before I could even breathe, someone grabbed me from behind—arms around my waist, hand groping my bøøb like he was grabbing a damn stress ball.

“Ah, fück, Marilyn,” a voice groaned behind me. “You’ve got no idea how long I’ve waited. Saw the blogs. Tïts got big. Äss got thicker. Perfect for me to slide between them.”

What the actual f!ck?

Men always notice the bøøbs and äss first. Not even a “hello, how are you” these days and I thought humans were the pervert ones.

I shoved him off and spun around. Tall, blonde headed with a cøcky smirk and serial stalker energy.

“Who the hell are you?” I snapped.

“You really did lose your memory, huh?” he said, stepping closer with a smile that made my skin crawl. “Maybe this’ll jog it.”

He lunged and kïssed me.

Correction—tried to. I pushed him back so hard he nearly bounced off the damn wall.

“I see you’ve gotten freakier. Just like always,” he said with a gross little chuckle. “I just needed to see you one more time. Fück that püssy again before your wedding.”

My jaw dropped. “I have no idea who you are, you psycho.”

He smirked like this was all a game. “It’s me—Kane. Your half-brother. We’ve been doing this since we were teens. You came to my room näked. After that, it was our little secret.”

What in ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ was Marilyn doing with this wëirdo?

I backed away, heart racing, stomach flipping. “You need to stay the hell away from me. I’m not interested.”

But he just laughed. “I love when you act like this. The whole ‘no, stop, don’t’ act. Always turns me on.”

He moved in again and grabbed me. His disgusting hands started creeping up my thighs.

And then—BOOM!—The door burst open.

Sharkman moved like lightning, tackling Kane to the floor and pinning him down in one swift, deadly motion.

“On your knees, now,” Shark growled.

Kane was bleeding and still laughing.

“Still the same Marilyn,” he coughed. “Always calling your dog to clean up.”

I stood there, shaking.

Oh, Marilyn, what the fück were you?

~~~~~

I had to take a shower. No, a full ritual cleansing. That creep Kane’s filthy touch was still crawling on my skin like slime. I needed to burn it off—or drown it in rosewater and sea salt.

The bathroom was paradise. Massive marble tub, glowing candles, and bath salts that smelled like heaven—like lavender, vanilla, and the ocean had a three-way.

I slipped into the warm water and sighed. Mmh... Maybe just a little indulgence.

Without thinking, I let myself shift. My siren form shimmered to life under the water, my scales catching the candlelight like a thousand tiny sapphires. My tail stretched, curling with pleasure at how the salts tickled every fin and ripple.

I closed my eyes. This was bliss. No ässholes. Just me, sea salts, and silence.

Until— creak.

The bathroom door opened.

I turned, blinking through the bubbles—and froze.

There stood Blair.

Towels scattered on the floor.

Her mouth? Wide open. Eyes? Bugging. Face? Pale like she’d just seen the Loch Ness Monster doing jazz hands.

“Füüüüück me,” I whispered. “Fück!”

Too late.

I’d broken Killian’s one damn rule.

Always close the damn door!

She bolted out like she'd just seen the ghost of the Moon Goddess herself. I barely had time to panic. I shifted back into Marilyn's form, grabbed a robe, and wrapped it around myself—badly. Like, one-quick-messy-twist badly.

Still dripping, still dazed, I stepped out of my room…

And bam! Straight into Killian.

I bounced back a little—he was built like a wall carved by ancient gods with too much time on their hands.

"Watch where you're going," I mumbled, eyes darting behind him, trying to see if Blair had dropped dead or something.

He didn't budge.

"Why are you rushing, and why are you—"

He stopped talking.

I blinked. He blinked.

Then his gaze dropped. Slowly. Neck... collarbone...lower.

My eyes followed his—and holy sea cucumbers.

My robe was wide open!

Cleavage on full display. Crotch? Out like a näked truth. And me? Standing there like a clueless centerfold.

I gasped, grabbing the robe shut.

He chuckled, the audacity.

"Just as I guessed," he said, turning toward his room. “Bald and smooth.”

He shut his door behind him as I stood frozen.

Bald?Smooth?!

What the hell did he mean?!

Did he expect werewolf women to have fur down there?!

I need a second. Maybe ten. A drink or teleportation spell.

~~~~~

Killian.

I shouldn't be thinking about her like this.

But fück, how could I not?

That robe—barely clinging to her body—parted like it wanted me to see. Those curves, full, bouncing tïts. And beneath it all… smooth, and inviting crotch.

I grunted and leaned back in bed, one hand tangled in my hair, the other slipping beneath the waistband of my sweatpants.

I wonder what shade of pink her püssy turns when she’s aroused. Would she gasp or møan when I kïss her inner thighs? Would her legs tremble if I ran my tongue along her püssy lips?

My hand moved lower, stroking my dïck to the rhythm of the image I couldn’t purge.

Her, bound to my bed in silk ropes, gagged but wide-eyed. Her wrists tugging, her hips twitching. A perfect mix of panic and desperate curiosity.

I could almost hear her little gasps, feel her thighs clenching under my grip. I’d make her beg with her eyes.

My grip tightened as the vision deepened—me between her legs, tongue working slow, teasing her until her body betrayed her. Until that moan slipped past her gag and sent me over the edge.

I groaned under my breath.She’s dangerous and addictive.

And if I don’t find a way to control this bond... it might just eat me alive.

~~~~~~~

Sia.

There I was, casually scrolling through Pinterest-worthy color palettes and Googling “How to be a CEO in 10 easy steps”, yawning like a sleepy kitten. I even had plans(glorious plans) to deal with Blair and her unfortunate discovery in the bathroom.

And then...

My phone dropped onto my stomach. But then my hands moved—on their own.

Before I could say what the actual f—, both my arms flew up and pinned themselves above my head like some invisible pervert tied me to a bedpost.

Then my legs spread open wide.

Like some sacrificial, over-seasoned rotisserie chicken on a full moon platter.

“What is happening?!” I tried to scrëam, but nothing came out.

My throat felt sealed, gagged by something invisible. My body was frozen, completely bare under the blankets. And to make it worse—

My poor innocent phone, vibrated itself right onto my crotch… and stayed there.

What kind of cosmic betrayal was this? Why was the vibration... why was it making me feel—Oh no!

It wasn’t supposed to feel this good. It was a phone!

I clenched my eyes shut. My back arched.

My body shuddered as a cl!max surged through me like a rogue ocean wave crashing on a forbidden beach.

When I came back to reality—panting, blinking and sweaty like a scandalous nun— my arms and legs felt free.

I reached for my phone with trembling fingers.

The screen lit up with a notification:

"Time to hydrate, queen"

A water reminder?!

Seriously? I just got possessed by a ghost, gagged, and dry-humped by my phone… all because of a hydration app? That's it!

This house is haunted. That’s the only explanation. The walls are cursed, the air is cursed, even my phone is cursed. There is no way I’m spending another second in that demonic bedroom of mine. Not after what just happened.

I threw on the only thing that could bring me emotional support—a pink piggy romper with little ears on the hood. It’s impossible to be mürdered by a ghost while dressed like a kawaii farm animal. Right?

Killian’s door wasn’t locked. What a rookie mistake.

I tiptoed in like a criminal, heart pounding and eyes darting around for invisible sëx demons. He was already asleep, lying on his back like some ancient dark lord with a serious face and a sharp jawline. Honestly, he looked even more evil in his sleep. Kinda hot but very annoying in a funny way. Like yeah he's blessed with looks.

Without asking—because I’m over boundaries tonight—I slid into bed beside him. The sheets were warm. He smelled like pine and poor communication.

I felt calm, safe-ish and definitely less cursed.

And just like that, I dozed off... snuggled beside my hot grumpy alpha… dressed like a literal piglet.

~~~~~~~

Killian.

Something was whispering in my dream. Soft, breathless and way too close.

“Holy sea urchin! It’s big and stands like a pole. Talk of muscles… he has no fat. But that dïck—it's just standing in the morning for no reason?! Does it hürt? Should I touch it? No, it might squïrt some alpha spray thingy…”

Wait, what?

My eyes snapped open.

And there she was—kneeling over me in her ridiculous piggy romper, hood still on, eyes wide and fixed directly on my morning wood like it was a sacred monument. Her hand hovered just an inch away. Literally about to poke it like a toddler discovering a new toy.

She looked up, eyes locking with mine. For one glorious second, she froze like a busted cat on the kitchen counter.

Then, smooth as a criminal, she flopped down and yanked the blanket over herself.

Fake snoring. No shame. Just immediate Oscar-worthy snoring.

“What are you doing in my bed?” I asked through gritted teeth, trying not to laugh—or groan.

A dramatic gasp came from under the blanket. “My room is haunted!” she blurted. “A ghost gagged me and tied my hands and legs up while I was just lying there! I had no choice but to flee to safety.”

I stared at her. “A ghost… gagged you?”

She nodded, dead serious. “Yes. With invisible ropes. Real kinky by the way. Must've been a frëaky ghost.”

I blinked. My brain spun.

Because the thing is—I’d had a fantasy last night. Not just any fantasy. That fantasy. Her, tied to the bed. Gagged, spread wide and møaning

Could I have…? No. There’s no way.

Unless…

Was she reacting to me? Was our mate bond that intense?

Did I just accidentally give her a telepathic orgasm?

“Marilyn, get out,” I said flatly, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

She huffed, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “May the barnacles latch onto your balls.”

Barnacles?What the hell kind of cuss word was that?

She stomped off in her ridiculous piggy romper, her muttering trailing behind her like a sea witch’s curse.

I groaned and sat up. Ocean profanity now? What next, she’ll start summoning dolphins to defend herself?

I glanced at the clock and cursed again.

Great! Thanks to that little fashion rat, I’d overslept.

I had a meeting with the gammas this morning—time to deal with those two betas who thought pïssing on my territory was some kind of power move.

But first… coffee. Before I e

nd up snapping someone’s neck just for breathing too loud.

And then… figure out what aquatic demon has possessed my mate.