Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

Abby

After my workout, I head back to my room, feeling invigorated and a little sore in a satisfying way. The hot bath is calling my name, promising to soothe my tired muscles, and I eagerly slip into the warm water, letting out a contented sigh as I sink down into the bathtub. The steam rises into little tendrils in the air, filling the bathroom and making the space hazy and thick.

But as I close my eyes and let the warm water wash over me, I can't help but think about Karl. The memory of him in the gym, his muscles glistening with sweat as he lifted weights, his soft grunts of exertion—it all makes my heart race.

My cheeks flush at the thought, and I can’t deny the arousal that bubbles up inside of me.

“You want him,” my wolf purrs, her voice low and husky. “You should call him in here.”

My wolf's words make me groan a little, and I sink down lower into the tub, letting the water come up to my chin. “No,” I answer, my cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. “He's in a meeting.” “But after...”

“l'won“t do it,” I say, although the idea is tempting. “I shouldn't.”

My wolf chuckles. “Why not? I thought you had an agreement, after all. Just casual, right? What's more casual than giving in to your primal desires?”

Her words are true, but I can't bring myself to call Karl in here now—not just for sex. Something about it feels... naughty. Instead, I allow myself to fantasize about him, about his lips on mine, about the way he came up behind me, his hands guiding me with a touch that sent shivers down my spine. The water soothes me, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Karl, and I find myself lost in a daydream that leaves me breathless and wanting.

Before I know it, my hand is slipping down beneath the water, and my soft moans curl up into the air along with the steam.

The next morning arrives with a sense of anticipation. It's finally Saturday, the day of the masquerade, and I can't deny the fact that I feel secretly excited as I wake up. My dress and my mask seem to beckon to me from the back of the bathroom door, just waiting for me to put them on. I think, after everything, it'll be nice to let loose a little bit tonight.

And after yesterday, I can't help but secretly feel the urge to see Karl again. I wonder how he'll look in his tuxedo, and what sort of mask he'll wear.

It's not long before I'm slipping out of bed and into the shower, followed by getting dressed in something casual for now: an oversized sweater and some leggings, just to lounge around the house until it's time to get ready for the party.

My body is yearning for coffee by the time I'm dressed, though, so I decide to head out.

Heading downstairs to the kitchen, I see Karl standing there, a look of exasperation on his face as he types furiously on his phone. My cheeks instantly flush red; I wasn't expecting to see him here, and I can't help but wonder if he might be able to tell from my bashfulness that I was just touching myself in the bathtub yesterday after our gym session.

But he seems lost in his own world, and I hesitate for a moment before pouring myself some coffee. Curiosity gets the better of me, though, and I decide to break the silence. “Karl, what's wrong?” I ask, my tone filled with concern. “You seem a bit exasperated.”

Karl lets out a sigh, his gaze still fixed on his phone screen. “The caterer had an accident and pulled out at the last minute,” he says, the frustration evident in his voice. “I've been trying to find a replacement, but it's proving to be impossible on such short notice.”

I take a sip of my coffee and ponder for a moment. It's clear that Karl is in a bind, and I hate seeing him so stressed. A thought occurs to me, and I decide to voice it. “Karl, I can cater for the party.”

He looks up at me, surprise in his eyes. “Abby, absolutely not,” he protests, shaking his head. “You're my guest, and I want you to enjoy the party without having to work. Besides, it's too short notice to arrange for catering. I think I might just need to do without food tonight.”

"Karl, come on,” I sigh, setting down my coffee mug. “I don’t mind. Please, let me help.”

Karl sighs softly, his brow furrowing as he considers my offer. “Are you sure about this, Abby?" he asks, his voice filled with uncertainty.

I nod firmly. “I'm positive. And besides... A little work might be nice right now.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Karl's lips, but he quickly masks it with his usual Alpha-on-a- mission demeanor. “Okay,” he says. “Just let me know what you need, and I'll send someone to pick up ingredients.”

Nodding, I grab a notepad and jot down a list of ingredients for a few dishes, taking into account the limited time we have. I focus on hors d'oeuvres and t***s, which is better for a party like this anyway.

Once I'm done, I hand the list to Karl, who looks it over and nods. “This looks good. I'll make sure everything is picked up as soon as possible,” he assures me. “Is there anything else I can do?”

I purse my lips, thinking for a moment, then shake my head. “Nah, this is nothing,” I assure him. “I've handled worse than a few hors d'oeuvres and t***s plates. And let's not forget that I designed this kitchen myself, specifically for catering these sorts of events.”

Karl smirks as he looks around at the clean marble countertops, the stainless steel appliances and sleek cupboards. It's true; I did design this kitchen myself. It was my crowning glory of this house, and honestly, I miss cooking in here.

"Okay," he says, pocketing the list with a nod as he begins to stride away. “I'll get right on that list. And Abby..." He pauses in the doorway, shooting me a warm gaze that makes my heart skip a beat. “Thank you.”

It's a few hours later, and the kitchen is bustling with activity. I've got the ingredients laid out on the counter in front of me—piles of fresh vegetables, flaky phyllo dough, red cranberries and an assortment of expensive cheeses.

Normally, Id like to make my own phyllo dough, but it's fine. I'm short on time, and it's more important to me to have these dishes ready for the party without any hitches along the way.

But just as I'm pushing up my sleeves and preparing to get to work, I hear the sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway.

A bit surprised by the sound, I glance up, and my eyes go wide.

Karl is standing there, his hair neatly combed back and wearing a tight-fitting t-shirt that outlines his muscles, along with his signature bandana and an apron in his hand. And he’s got a mischievous look in his eyes—one that I've seen many times before.

“Hey,” he says, taking a step forward. “Looking for a sous chef tonight?”