Chapter 71: Morning Hunger
(Selene's POV)
Selene was still awake when the sun crept into the room.
She always was.
Sleep had long since become an unnecessary indulgence — something for mortals, for the soft and unwary. In her world, sleep was a weakness, a moment when the body surrendered its guard. She'd learned, long ago, how to thrive in stillness instead — how to consume silence and hunger and the slow rhythms of breath like sustenance.
And now, that skill served her well.
Aira lay beside her, curled beneath the worn linen sheets, breath slow and uneven. The faintest furrow wrinkled her brow, and her lashes fluttered now and then, betraying the dreams that tangled behind her closed eyes.
She was dreaming again.
Selene didn't need to ask. She could feel it. The subtle shift in temperature around her — the rise in humidity that clung to Aira's skin like dew. Her aura thickened in sleep, saturated and sweet, coiling like steam around the bed.
She was getting warmer.
The night's chill had melted against her skin, leaving a flush across her collarbone and a thin sheen of sweat just beneath her shirt. Her breathing had grown shallower. Uneven. Hungry.
One of her hands remained tucked under the pillow. But the other… traitorous thing… had slipped lower, nestled between her thighs. Not moving. Not daring. Just resting.
But Selene understood the language of stillness better than anyone. It wasn't stillness at all.
It was restraint.
A breathless kind of trembling, frozen in place and desperate to remain undetected.
Selene smiled, slow and dangerous.
Her little one was unraveling.
She let her head rest back against the pillow, resisting the urge to lean closer. There was no need. Watching was enough — no, more than enough. Because now, every motion Aira made, every sigh she released, every small, unconscious grind of her hips against her own palm, was for Selene.
Aira whimpered.
A delicate sound. One Selene wouldn't have caught if she hadn't been listening for it. But she was. She always was when it came to Aira. She tracked her breath like a hunter. She studied the subtle movements of her body the way others studied prayer.
And then came the softest moan.
Not formed from pain.
But want.
Need.
Selene didn't move. Her eyes remained half-lidded, drinking in every shiver. She could see the way Aira's lashes fluttered, the way her thighs pressed together again, tighter now. A barely perceptible twitch passed through her fingers under the blanket. Seeking pressure. Friction. Release.
And then, as if to seal it —
"Please…"
The word slipped from Aira's mouth like a secret, trembling and delicate. Her voice carried the faintest desperation, the kind of yearning that only revealed itself when the mind was defenseless. When the body betrayed every inhibition the conscious self tried to enforce.
Selene felt her chest tighten. Not from lust, exactly.
From victory.
Because that single word, half - mumbled in sleep, was more intimate than any touch. It wasn't spoken to a fantasy, or to the ether. No.
It was meant for her.
Her breath hovered above the space between them, cold against the warmth rising from Aira's skin.
And when Aira's hips shifted again, seeking some invisible rhythm, Selene couldn't help it. She leaned in, just close enough to let her lips brush the edge of Aira's ear.
"Are you dreaming of me again, little one?" she whispered, voice threaded with frost and fire.
Aira stirred.
Not fully.
Just a subtle stiffening. A spike of tension. Her legs tightened, her fingers jerked slightly, and her lips parted with another half - breath, half-gasp.
Selene said nothing more.
She just waited.
And slowly — so slowly — Aira's lashes lifted.
Her eyes were unfocused at first, dulled by the remnants of sleep. But as the world returned, so did awareness. And with it, panic bloomed behind her irises.
Aira looked down.
At her hand.
At Selene.
And then snatched her arm from beneath the blanket like she'd touched fire.
"I — I wasn't —" she choked, cheeks exploding into red. "I didn't mean —"
Selene didn't move. She simply tilted her head and offered a small, cruel smile. "Good morning."
Aira froze.
"I… I had a strange dream," she blurted, fumbling for anything to say.
Selene's voice was soft, playful. "You sounded like you were enjoying it."
Aira stared at the wall. Anywhere but at her.
"I don't usually wake up like that," she mumbled.
"Like what?" Selene asked, even though they both knew the answer.
Aira's fingers clutched at the blanket. It was still gathered at her chest, hiding nothing, really — especially not the way her nipples pressed against the fabric. Or the way her legs shifted restlessly beneath it, thighs squeezing together, chasing an ache she didn't know how to soothe.
"I'm not like that," she whispered.
"No," Selene said smoothly. "You're worse."
Aira turned toward her, startled.
Selene's voice dipped. "You want things you don't understand. You ache for things you've never touched. You dream of me and wake up shaking, wet, and ashamed."
Aira opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out.
Selene leaned in again, brushing a loose curl from her forehead. "And it's beautiful."
"Please stop," Aira breathed, barely audible.
But Selene's tone was like silk against skin. "No. Because I know what your body's saying even when your lips refuse to."
Aira trembled.
"You're starving," Selene whispered, lips so close now. "You're hungry and hot and you don't know why it hurts."
"I'm not hungry."
Selene smirked. "Oh, Aira. You're ravenous."
Her words wrapped around her like a second blanket — smothering, suffocating. Aira's breath caught. Her legs shifted again. She couldn't help it.
Selene saw it. Felt it. Drank it in like wine.
"You were touching yourself in your sleep."
Aira looked like she might cry. Her face burned scarlet.
"I wasn't —"
"You were," Selene murmured. "And it felt good, didn't it?"
Aira shook her head violently. "No."
Selene leaned closer, cold breath curling over her cheek. "Liar."
Aira's lips trembled. Her eyes shone with unshed frustration or shame or something more dangerous.
"I can't stop thinking about it," she said suddenly. "About… you."
Selene paused.
It was quiet for a moment.
Then: "I know."
Aira bit her lip. "What's happening to me?"
"You're waking up," Selene said gently. "Your body is learning what it wants."
"But I shouldn't want this."
Selene tilted her head, amused. "Why not?"
Aira's breath hitched. "Because it's wrong. It feels wrong."
"No," Selene corrected softly. "It feels good. And that terrifies you."
Aira turned away. Shame curdled in her expression. "I'm scared."
Selene's voice turned tender. "You don't have to be."
Aira didn't reply.
The silence stretched. Outside, birds sang. Inside, the bed creaked as Aira shifted beneath the sheets, her body still burning from the remnants of her dream.
Selene stood slowly, cool and unbothered, letting her shadow fall over the trembling girl like a cloak.
"I won't touch you today," she said, voice like a vow. "Not because I don't want to. But because when I finally do, I want you begging."
Aira blinked up at her, lips parted.
"Begging without shame. Without fear. With that same need that made you whisper my name in your sleep."
Aira swallowed. Her hands gripped the blanket tighter.
Selene leaned close one final time, mouth hovering by her ear.
"One day, little one, you're going to beg me to finish what your dreams start."
And with that, she left — like fog burned away by morning sun, leaving behind only the chill in the air and the smoldering ache of desire that would not be soothed.
Not yet.
But soon.
And when that moment came…
Selene would devour her whole.