Luna lay sprawled across Peter’s chest, the slick heat of their bodies cooling in the bedroom air. His breathing was deep and slow, his heart a steady, fading drum under her ear. He had done good. He’d given her his release, his control, his youth—a gift she’d taken with a ferocity that still hummed in her bones. She felt his muscles go slack beneath her, the heavy surrender of sleep pulling him under.

But the hum was a growl now. A deep, restless ache low in her belly. She was not don

She pushed herself up on one elbow, looking down at his peaceful, boyish face. Then she reached up, cradled his jaw, and kissed him. It wasn’t gentle. It was strong, possessive, a brand. “Thank you,” she whispered against his mouth, the words a warm, damp command.

Peter’s eyes fluttered open, dazed and soft. Then they focused past her shoulder, and widened. His whole body tensed beneath hers.

Luna followed his gaze.

Devan leaned against the doorframe, one shoulder propped casually, his arms crossed. The low amber light carved the familiar planes of his face—the strong jaw, the slight silver at his temples. He wore a simple grey t-shirt and soft shorts, the clothes of a man who’d been reading in his study. His expression was calm, but his eyes were alive, watching. A smirk touched his lips, and he gave a single, slow nod toward the bed. Toward them.

“Did Peter treat you well?” Devan’s voice was a low rumble in the quiet room, the anchor in her storm.

Luna didn’t look away from her husband. She felt Peter’s panic, the rigid line of his thigh under her leg. She smiled, a slow, warm curl of her lips. “He was a good boy.”

She turned back to Peter, saw the fear and awe in his young eyes, and kissed him again. Deeply. While her hand slid down his stomach, past the trail of dark curls, and wrapped firmly around his soft, spent cock. She held him, a full, possessive grip. She felt the first involuntary twitch against her palm, the faint, desperate stir of blood returning. He was trying. For her. For the man watching. She broke the kiss, her breath mingling with his. “Too soon, sweetheart,” she murmured, not unkindly. She gave him one slow, firm stroke, feeling him swell just a fraction more, a promise of what could be, before she let go.

She rose from the bed in one fluid motion, her body a pale curve in the lamplight. She felt Devan’s eyes on every inch—the swell of her hips, the damp patch between her thighs, the confident set of her shoulders. She walked toward him, the cool hardwood under her bare feet.

“Thank you for letting me taste him,” she said, stopping just before him. Her voice was that lower register, the one only he knew. “But I am not done.”

She closed the last inch, her hands coming to rest on his chest. She kissed him. It was nothing like the kiss she’d given Peter. This was a homecoming. Deep, searching, full of a language built over twenty years. She tasted the coffee on his tongue, the familiar salt of his skin. Her fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt.

She guided him backward, her mouth never leaving his, until his calves hit the leather armchair. She broke the kiss, her eyes holding his. “Sit.”

Devan sat, his gaze never wavering from hers, the smirk now a full, knowing smile. He watched as she knelt before him on the rug. Her hands went to the waistband of his shorts. She hooked her thumbs in the fabric and pulled them down, along with his boxers, in one deliberate motion.

His cock sprang free, already thick and heavy, lying against his thigh. The sight of him—fully aroused, waiting for her—sent a fresh pulse of wetness between her own legs. He was nothing like the boy. He was full, solid, a part of the foundation of her life.

Luna leaned forward, her sultry black hair falling like a curtain. She didn’t take him in her mouth. Not yet. She pressed her face into the heat of his groin, inhaling deeply. Sawdust and salt air and him—the essential, musky scent of her husband. She nuzzled the coarse hair, her lips brushing his length. She felt him jump against her cheek.

“You watched,” she whispered, her breath hot on his skin.

“Every second,” Devan’s voice was rough.

“Did you like what you saw?” She turned her head, looking up at him from between his legs. Her eyes were dark, hungry.

“I loved,” he corrected, his hand coming to rest on the crown of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. Not pushing. Just claiming. “I saw my wife. Unleashed.”

A shiver ran through her. She lowered her mouth, finally, and licked a long, slow stripe from the base of his cock to the tip. She tasted his pre-come, salty and sharp. She swirled her tongue around the broad head, feeling the vein throb against her lips. She took him into her mouth, just an inch, and sucked gently.

Devan’s head fell back against the chair with a low groan. His hand tightened in her hair. “Just like that, Luna.”

She took him deeper, her mouth stretching to accommodate his girth. She set a rhythm, slow and thorough, her tongue working the sensitive underside. Her world narrowed to this—the weight of him on her tongue, the sound of his breathing, the faint, wet sounds of her mouth on him. She reached between her own legs as she sucked him, her fingers sliding easily through her own slickness. She was so wet, so ready, even now.

From the bed, Peter watched, silent and bound, his own need a visible, aching strain against the silk tie. Luna knew he was there. She felt his gaze like a physical touch. It fueled her. She was performing, but not for him. For Devan. For the man who had built this moment, this version of her. She moaned around Devan’s cock, the vibration pulling a ragged curse from his lips.

“Look at me,” Devan commanded, his voice strained.

She opened her eyes, her gaze swimming up to meet his. She held it as she took him deep, until her nose pressed into the coarse hair at his base. She held him there, her throat working, until tears pricked her eyes. Then she released him with a wet pop, gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening tip.

“You’re ravenous,” he breathed, his chest heaving.

“You made me this way,” she said, her voice hoarse. She climbed into his lap, straddling him, her knees sinking into the soft leather on either side of his hips. She was face-to-face with him now, her core hovering just above his aching hardness. She could feel the heat of him against her damp folds. “Now finish what you started.”