The fairy lights weren't just soft; they were a physical presence, casting a warm, honeyed glow that made the air feel thick and sacred, like the inside of a cathedral built for sin instead of salvation. Luna stood there, her silhouette painted in molten gold, completely fucking naked and gloriously unashamed, every soft curve and shadow screaming invitation.

And that smile—it hadn't changed. It was still the same smile that had first undone me, a beacon of sweetness that somehow survived the storm of depravity I'd become. Only now it carried teeth.

"No transforming," she whispered, pressing one cool finger to my lips like a sacrament. It was a command more absolute than any I'd ever growled in the dark.

"I want to feel your heartbeat. I want your hands to tremble, just a little, like they did that first time in my room after our study date, when you were terrified, you'd break me."

"My hands don't shake anymore," I lied, the words bitter and thin. Even as I spoke, my fingers betrayed me—fine, helpless tremors starting as they found the impossibly smooth curve of her waist.

Fucking empathy bonds.

A crack in the divine armor I never asked for.

Her smile widened, slow and devastating, a secret weapon shared only between us. "They do when you're being real," she murmured. "When you're not performing, not conquering, not building your empire. They shake when you're just… you."

How the fuck did she do it? How did she peel back every layer of godhood, and find the shaking, horny, terrified boy still hiding underneath?

"The others don't notice," she continued, voice dropping to that low, hypnotic hum as she lifted my shirt over my head with deliberate, torturous patience. "Madison needs her Dark Lord, her equal in the shadows. Isabella needs the chain, the lash, the beautiful certainty of total surrender. Charlotte needs the strength to hold her while she shatters. But me?"

Her palm flattened against my sternum, pressing with a weight that had nothing to do with force and everything to do with ownership. "I fell in love with the boy who apologized three times before he even dared to kiss me."

"I TOLD YOU, did not apologize three times." The protest came out weak, a dying thing.

"You did," she laughed—soft bells ringing in the hush.

"Luna you're the one who went... 'Sorry if this is weird.' 'Sorry, I've never done this with someone so…' and 'Sorry, am I doing this right?' It was the most terrifyingly adorable thing I'd ever seen."

"You're adorable too doing that to your school nurse."

"I have supernatural fuck-powers now," I tried, voice cracking as her clever fingers worked my belt. The metal buckle clattered open—loud, obscene, shocking in the stillness. "I'm supposed to be past adorable."

"You're always whatever we need," she corrected, the simple truth hitting like a fist to the solar plexus. When the hell did she become this wise?

"Sometimes Madison needs a god. Sometimes Isabella needs a master. Sometimes Charlotte needs a shield. And sometimes…" She pushed. I fell back onto the bed like a puppet with cut strings. She straddled my thighs, her wet heat settling against me through the thin barrier of my boxers, a deliberate, torturous weight.

"Sometimes I need Peter."

My hands found her hips and—yeah—they were shaking. Not from fear. From something far more dangerous: vulnerability. Raw. Unfiltered. Completely fucking exposed. When was the last time anyone had seen this version of me?

"Victoria and Janet," I rasped, grasping for control, "they taught you things."

Luna's expression shifted—innocence and ancient, filthy knowledge swirling together in her eyes like wine and sin. "Oh, they taught me," she purred, leaning down until her lips grazed the shell of my ear. "You want to know what I learned?"

I could only nod. Throat too tight. Voice stolen.

"I learned that corruption doesn't mean you lose yourself," she breathed, her scent flooding my lungs—strawberry, tea, and something darker, wetter, primal. "It means you finally get to find all the parts you were too scared to even look at."

Her hands trailed down my chest, nails scraping lightly—just enough to set every nerve screaming, just enough to make my cock throb painfully against the fabric trapping it.

"I learned that good girls aren't good," she whispered, voice sinking so low my enhanced hearing strained to catch every filthy syllable. "We're just… scared. Scared of the hunger inside us. Scared of being judged. Scared of how badly we want to be ruined."

She kissed my neck—soft, impossibly tender. Then she bit down. Gentle, perfect, a sharp little spark of pain that shot straight to my balls and made my hips jerk involuntarily.

"I learned that my innocence wasn't purity," she continued, sitting up to look down at me. In her eyes I saw not just galaxies, but the ruthless will to command them.

"It was a cage. Gilded. Beautiful. Suffocating. And you?" She rocked her hips again—slow, deliberate, dragging her slick folds along the length of my trapped cock. "You didn't corrupt me, Peter. You handed me the fucking key."

"Luna…"

"Shh. I'm not finished. I'm being romantic here, you know." She laughed with another roll of her hips—deeper, filthier—tearing a broken groan from my chest.

"Janet taught me the how. The anatomy of pleasure. The mechanics. How to wrap my lips around a cock and suck until you forget your own name. How to use my tongue to trace every vein until (this big boy) is begging. How to take him down my throat until my eyes water and my mascara runs and I still keep going because I love the way he shakes in pleasure."

Another grind. Harder. Wetter. My boxers were soaked with her now. "But Victoria?" She placed my hand over her heart—frantic, wild, pounding against my palm.

"Victoria taught me the why. She taught me about power. Not your lightning-and-fantasy kind. This kind." She lifted my other hand to her breast, guiding my thumb over her stiff, aching nipple until she gasped. "The power of choosing. Of wanting. Of taking what I crave without a single drop of shame."

She leaned down again, lips brushing mine. "The power of making a god tremble from a gentle touch instead of violence."

"You're killing me," I ground out, voice shredded, hips lifting to chase the friction she was cruelly controlling.

Her smile was pure sin wrapped in sugar.

"No," she said, her voice soft but absolute. "I'm loving you. On my terms. The way I choose to. Do you know what I told Victoria when she asked what my ultimate fantasy was?"

I shook my head, lost in her, in the moment, in her.

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