The Jilted Luna

Look at me

Victoria’s POV

I felt like I was losing my mind in the middle of Carlisle’s constant shifts between warmth and cold distance. One moment he was distant and unreadable, and the next he was right here, overwhelming me completely. My heart struggled to keep up with him, with the way he pulled me in only to confuse me again. My thoughts were no better. They tangled over themselves as I tried to understand what he really wanted from me, and every attempt only made things more complicated.

And yet, despite everything, this was the first time since he came back that he truly saw me. Really saw me. He stayed this time. He touched me without anger behind it, without that sharp edge I had grown used to. There was something else in it now. Something deeper. Something that felt raw and consuming in a way I didn’t know how to name.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

Still, a part of me, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, wanted to believe this moment meant something. That it was real. That it wasn’t just another passing shift in his mood that would disappear as quickly as it came.

But everything about this felt rushed. It was as if we had skipped over everything that should have come first. We never talked. We never tried to understand each other. Instead, we went from anger straight into something this intense, something that swallowed us whole. It felt too sudden, too overwhelming. The kind of pull between us, the kind of need that drowned out reason, was something I had only ever heard about in stories of fated mates, where instinct took control and nothing else mattered.

That thought only made everything harder to process.

The more I tried to make sense of it, the less it made sense.

Then he began moving again.

Carlisle’s hips rolled slowly, lazily, as he pushed himself up from the bed, and my breath caught in my throat. It took me a second to realize what that meant. He wasn’t finished with me. Not even close to it. He was still deep inside me, still hard, his desire unchanged as if nothing could diminish it.

Before I could react, he shifted me, moving my body with ease. My legs were parted, and he turned me to face him fully. He lifted my left leg over his shoulder, opening me wider, positioning me exactly how he wanted. The stretch made me gasp softly, and then his eyes met mine.

They were intense. Heavy. Impossible to read.

He leaned closer, and when he moved again, it was slow and steady.

Each thrust felt drawn out on purpose, as though he was taking his time with me, making sure I felt everything. He pulled back until there was barely anything left before pushing deep again, unhurried and controlled. The sensation sent a shiver through me, my toes curling as a mix of anticipation and pleasure built inside me. It was maddening, the pace he set, like he wanted to drag out every second and make it linger.

“C-Carlisle, we… we just…” I tried to speak, but my voice trembled, breaking apart with every slow movement of his hips. My body betrayed me, warmth spreading between my thighs as I bit down on my lip, trying to hold back the sound threatening to escape.

Even that small, broken whimper was enough to stir something darker in him.

Without warning, he drove into me hard, the sudden force knocking the breath out of me. My back arched, my fingers gripping the sheets as a gasp tore from my throat. “Carlisle!”

Hearing his name like that changed something in him.

His eyes flickered, a flash of gold breaking through, and a low growl rumbled from his chest. He thrust again, just as deep, just as forceful, chasing that same sound from me.

This time, I couldn’t stop it.

A soft, breathless moan slipped free, my head falling back as the sensation overwhelmed me. His growl deepened, rougher now, as his control began to slip. He drove into me again, harder, deeper, until my voice broke louder into the air.

“Carlisle!”

He didn’t stop after that.

Again and again, he moved, his rhythm relentless but never careless. His hands came to my waist, gripping me firmly and keeping me exactly where he wanted me. His gaze never left my face. He watched everything. The way I bit my lip, the way my lashes fluttered, the way my expression changed with each movement.

It felt like he was memorizing me.

When my eyes finally met his, something in his stare made my breath hitch. It was too intense, too consuming, and I tried to look away but he didn’t let me.

His hand came up, firm but not rough, holding my chin and turning my face back toward him.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice low, edged with command. “I want to see your eyes when you scream my name.”