"Try it. You'll see." I take another bite. Try to focus on the notes of fig and raisin.
Watch him pick up a piece of chocolate, bring it to his lips, place it on his tongue.
His eyes close.
His brow softens.
His entire expression fills with bliss. The kind of intense, pure bliss that usually comes with an orgasm.
Or maybe he has a different look when he comes.
I don't know.
I need to know.
A groan escapes his lips. It's low and deep and hot as fuck.
My sex clenches.
My thighs shake.
My body screams yes, now, touch him.
He's right there. His legs are three inches from mine. I could put my hand on his thigh.
I could whisper please in his ear. Kiss him as I stroke him to orgasm.
Why did I wear a fucking jumpsuit?
There's no way for him to touch me in this thing.
But I don't care. I'm ready to go to the alley behind the grocery store. To do away with the whole thing. To feel my naked skin against his.
Now.
Please.
"Fuck." His eyes blink open. "No wonder you have expensive tastes."
"You insisted."
"I know." His eyes find mine. "I'm glad I did. Get to watch you enjoy it."
"Right." It's not that he wants to watch me come. It's just that he, uh…
Nope.
That's pretty much the only explanation.
He does.
And I do.
And this.
Uh…
I swallow a sip of coffee. Fight my desire to groan. It's good, yes, but it's not top-tier the way the chocolate is.
It's just good.
I don't need to groan.
I don't need to wonder if my groan makes him hard.
I don't need to think about the feeling of his cock straining against his jeans.
What would he say, if I asked?
There're too many people here.
It's not private enough.
Not here.
But at home, in his room, on those black sheets, where I can strip down to nothing and—
"Where are you going?" He groans over another bite of chocolate.
"Huh?"
"Your expression… you're thinking something."
Does he really not know?
He must. He's not stupid.
"Just thinking." I take another sip. Will it to cool me down. Or wake me into sense.
"Thinking…"
"Yeah."
"About…"
"Isn't it obvious?" My gaze goes to his lips. Chin. Chest. Stomach. The table is in the way. I can't see his crotch without turning my head. Without making it obvious.
"Luna…" There's intent in his voice. A we can't. And an I want to.
I swallow another sip. Try to bring my gaze to his eyes.
"Luna…" His tone shifts. Less we can't. More I want to.
My eyes find his.
He stares back at me.
Then he moves a little closer.
And I turn a little further.
His fingers skim my collarbone. "Luna… we can't."
"I know." I close my eyes anyway.
He kisses me anyway.
It's soft. Intense. Electric.
He tastes like coffee and chocolate and Oliver.
And home and safety and danger.
My lips part.
His tongue slips into my mouth.
He kisses me like he's claiming me.
Maybe he is.
Maybe this is the only thing that makes sense.
He pulls back with a sigh. "Luna…"
"I…"
His eyes find mine. Fill with apology.
Fuck.
"We can't."
"I know." I swallow hard.
He stands. "I, uh… I'm sorry."
What?
"But I… work." He looks at his cell. Pretends to check the time. "I can walk you back. If you want. But I can't…"
"Yeah."
"So… uh."
"Yeah."
He gives me the chance. To ask him to stay. To tell him we can, we will, we must.
But I don't.
So he leaves.
And I sit there, with my chocolate and coffee, and fall apart alone.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Oliver
I taste her the entire walk to the shop. As I sit, prep, move through my first appointment.
Coffee and chocolate and Luna.
That red lipstick.
It's still on my lips.
On my cup.
That perfect shade on the smooth white plastic. I need it there. I need it everywhere.
We can't.
I can't.
But, fuck, I want to.
It's impossible to concentrate. She fills every spare moment.
The taste of her lips.
The need in her eyes.
The hurt in her expression.
I'm fucking this up too.
Hurting her too.
But she…
She agrees, doesn't she?
We can't.
She knows that.
She loves Daisy as much as I do.
She has even more to lose.
People don't expect her to fuck up. They won't shrug what can you do, that's just Luna?
The reasoning fails to stick. So what if this will hurt Daisy? Daisy doesn't exactly approve of my frost with Holden.
And she's a grown-up.
If she's old enough to fuck my best friend, she can get over me fucking hers.
But I know that's bullshit.
That it's not the same. Even if it is.
Because I'm the alcoholic fuckup who ruins everything he touches.
And she's… not.
I don't resent my sister. She's smart and sweet and hard-working. She deserves all her success. She deserves our parents' pride.
But, fuck, why can't Dad give me that look for once?
Why can't one person say good job, Oliver, I'm proud of you?
Am I going to be a constant disappointment until the day I die?
I'm fucking up the only good thing in my life.
And, this time, I can only blame myself.
I shouldn't avoid Luna. I should talk to her.