Silent Temptation

Chapter 8

The guest suite door clicked shut. The room felt smaller now—king bed dominating the space, moonlight spilling silver across white sheets, the faint scent of lavender hanging heavy in the air.

Ethan leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders tense.

“My full name is Alexander Ethan Junior,” he said quietly. “You’ve met my family. This… is me.”

Luna stood barefoot in the center of the room, red gown still clinging to every curve like it had been painted on. She crossed her arms, voice soft but sharp.

“This is you as *how*? I need more than that, Ethan.”

He exhaled hard through his nose. “They’ve been hounding me for years—bring someone home, settle down, stop being the lone wolf. I didn’t want to lie to them. But I didn’t want to bring just anyone either. So I brought you.”

Luna finished it for him, voice flat and hollow. “Because I was convenient. Available. Right there when you needed a prop.”

Ethan flinched like she’d slapped him. “That’s not—”

“It’s fine,” she cut in, too fast, too bright. The lie tasted like acid. She forced a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Really. It’s fine.”

She looked away before he could see the hurt splintering behind her ribs.

“I need something to sleep in.”

He nodded once—sharp—disappeared into the walk-in closet, returned with the same faded black T-shirt she’d worn before. Soft. Worn. Smelling like him.

She took it without touching his fingers and slipped into the bathroom.

Hot shower. Steam thick enough to choke on. She stood under the spray until her skin burned pink, trying to rinse away the night, the humiliation, the ache. When she stepped out, she dried off quickly, pulled the T-shirt over her head—and realized she had nothing underneath. No bra. No panties. The thin cotton clung to still-damp skin. Her n*****s hardened instantly against the fabric, dark points visible, shameless.

She opened the door.

Ethan was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, head bowed. He looked up.

And everything in him stilled.

His gaze dragged over her—slow, deliberate—landing on the way the shirt skimmed her thighs, the faint outline of her body beneath, the hard peaks of her n*****s pressing insistently against cotton. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped. Pupils blew wide. Lust rolled across his face, raw and unfiltered, before he forced his eyes to the floor.

But not before she saw it.

Not before she *felt* it—like a hand sliding between her legs.

“You’ll sleep on the couch,” she said, voice steadier than the tremor in her thighs. “I’ll take the bed.”

Ethan stood slowly. “Nah. That won’t happen.”

She raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

He stepped closer—close enough she could feel the heat radiating off him. “You’re the guest. You take the bed. I’ll—”

She shoved his shoulder—playful, defiant. “No way. You’re taller. Couch suits you.”

He shoved back—gentle, teasing. “I’m not letting you sleep on a couch in my parents’ house.”

She laughed—sharp, breathless—and pushed again. He caught her wrists. Grinned.

They tussled—half-laughing, half-wrestling—until momentum carried them both crashing onto the mattress. Breathless. Tangled. Smiling despite everything.

“Fine,” he panted. “We share. Pillow wall.”

She grabbed a spare pillow, slammed it between them like a barricade.

“Deal.”

They lay down—each rigid on their side, backs to the pillow, staring at opposite walls in the dark.

Sleep came slow.

Then the dream.

She was chasing him through endless corridors—doors slamming shut, light fading. He reached for her—fingers brushing hers—but every time she got close he vanished into shadow. She could feel his mouth on her throat, his hands between her thighs, but she could never *have* him. The ache grew until it cracked her open.

She woke crying—soft, wrenching sobs shaking her whole body.

The pillow wall was gone.

Ethan was already there—warm, solid—arms sliding around her from behind, pulling her back against his chest without a word.

“Hey,” he whispered into her hair. “Hey, Luna… shh…”

She turned in his hold, face buried in his neck, tears soaking his skin.

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” she choked out—raw, ugly, unstoppable. “I don’t know how. I don’t know when. I want you—my soul, my spirit, my body. I can’t stop thinking about you. Every second. Every breath. I’m tired of staying strong, Ethan. I’m so f*****g tired—”

He kissed her.

Hard. Desperate. Devastating.

Mouth crashing onto hers like he’d been holding his breath for years. Tongue sliding deep, tasting salt and need and everything she’d tried to bury. She kissed back—fingers knotting in his hair, pulling him down, whimpering into his mouth like she was dying.

He rolled her beneath him—careful but urgent—kissing down her throat, sucking hard enough to bruise. Down to her breasts. He shoved the T-shirt up, exposing her completely. Mouth closed over one n****e—hot, wet, relentless suction. Tongue flicking. Teeth grazing. She arched off the bed, gasping, hands clutching his shoulders so hard her nails left crescents.

He switched—sucking the other n****e deep, groaning against her skin like she was the sweetest sin he’d ever tasted.

Lower.

Kisses down her stomach—open-mouthed, reverent. Hips. Inner thighs.

He spread her legs slowly—wide.

Fingers slid through her folds—slow, deliberate. She was soaked. Dripping. Coating his hand.

“You’re so f*****g wet,” he rasped, voice wrecked, husky. “For me.”

She hummed—high, broken—hips lifting.

He lowered his head.

Tongue flat against her c**t—long, slow drag.

She cried out—sharp, shattered.

He devoured her. Sucking her c**t in rhythmic pulls, tongue circling, dipping inside her. Two fingers—then three—curling deep, stroking that spot that made white-hot pleasure explode behind her eyes. Wet sounds filled the quiet room—obscene, intimate. Her thighs shook uncontrollably. He had to pin them open with his free arm.

“Ethan—please—I’m—” Her voice cracked. “I’m so close—”

He sucked harder. Fingers pumped faster.

Her back bowed off the mattress, a sob ripping from her throat as the coil tightened, tightened, *almost* snapped—

And he pulled away.

She whimpered—frustrated, aching.

He rose over her—shed his trousers, boxers in one rough motion. c**k hard, thick, flushed dark, leaking at the tip.

He positioned himself—nudged her entrance.

Pushed in halfway—slow, careful.

She gasped—pain and stretch and overwhelming fullness twisting together.

He froze—groaning low in his throat at how tight she was, how hot, how she gripped him like velvet fire.

“Please be gentle,” she whispered, voice trembling. “This is my first time.”

Ethan’s eyes snapped to hers—shock, guilt, raw need crashing through him all at once.

He pulled out completely—c**k slick and throbbing against her thigh, chest heaving like he’d been drowning.

“I can’t do this to you,” he said hoarsely. “Not like this. Not tonight.”

He gathered her close—chest to chest, arms locked around her like he was afraid she’d vanish. One hand cradled the back of her head, the other splayed protectively over her lower back.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed against her temple, voice cracking. “I’m so f*****g sorry.”

She pressed closer—silent tears sliding down his collarbone, soaking his skin. They stayed like that—bodies tangled, hearts slamming in painful unison—until exhaustion finally dragged them under.

Morning light crept in.

Ethan woke first.

“Hi,” he murmured—voice rough from lack of sleep.

“Hi,” she whispered back.

Long silence.

“Whatever happened last night…” His voice cracked again. He cleared his throat. “It was a mistake.”

Luna swallowed the fresh wave of pain—sharp, familiar.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “It was.”

They dressed in silence.

Went downstairs.

Stella looked between them at breakfast—eyes sharp, sensing the frost.

“Everything okay?” she asked lightly.

Ethan forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Couples fight.”

Stella raised a brow but let it pass.

After breakfast, Ethan drove her back to the hostel.

He pulled up outside the gate.

Neither spoke.

She got out.

Walked inside.

The girls were in the common area—laughing, music playing, snacks everywhere.

They looked up.

“How was—?”

Luna’s face crumpled.

She burst into tears—ugly, wrenching sobs that tore straight from her soul.

Aria dropped her phone.

Layla jumped up.

Zara reached her first.

They surrounded her—arms tight, soft murmurs, rocking her gently.

Luna cried like something inside her had finally broken open.

She cried until her throat was raw, until her eyes swelled shut, until there was nothing left but exhaustion.

She cried until she slept—curled small on the couch, surrounded by her sisters.

Heart shattered.

But still beating.