I shake my head.
"And like you said, not my shit."
"Yeah."
"But I… I want to be your friend." Her fingers skim the hem of her dress. "And this is not excusing you for being an asshole. Friends don't suddenly disappear. Friends don't ignore each other. You have shit to deal with, fine. But you tell me first. You tell me you need space. You tell me—"
"I like you."
"What?"
"A lot. More than I've ever liked anyone. It's not just that I want to fuck you, Luna. I do. But I want everything. Things I've never wanted before."
"What things?"
My body warms. "I want to touch you, taste you, make you come. And I want to hold you. I want to go home and cook you dinner, and help you study, and laugh at The Bachelorette and tease you about your lipstick. And watch you put on your makeup when we're getting ready to go out, annoyed you're taking so fucking long, but loving it too, because it's you."
She swallows hard.
"But… even if you weren't Daisy's best friend… I'm a fuckup. A mess. I can't put that on you."
"You're sober now?"
I nod.
"For how long?"
"Six weeks."
"Is that why you're always hanging out with me?"
"Not exactly."
Her voice is soft. Curious. "Why exactly?"
"Because everything is hard and dark. And you're this fucking beacon of light. You're bright and alive and you make me feel bright and alive. When you smile, the clouds part. When you laugh, I get warm all over. I think about it as much as I think about your groan. And I think about your groan all the fucking time."
"Fuck."
"Yeah." I press my palms into my slacks. Anything to keep from touching her.
"Six weeks?"
I nod.
"And you're staying sober?"
"I'm trying."
"You promise?"
I nod.
"I need a better promise. A promise on something that means something to you." She holds out her hand.
"What?"
"Your dick."
"My dick?"
She nods. "Swear. On your dick."
"What if I break my promise?"
"Then I break your dick."
I chuckle. "That's violent."
"I know." She motions to her hand. "Promise."
"I swear, on my dick, that I'll try really fucking hard."
"Okay." She shifts forward. "You should come over here. To this side. Because that steering wheel is going to get in the way."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"I don't have a condom."
"You have a hand, don't you?"
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Luna
Oliver's lips curl into a smile. "I do."
"Two, actually."
He nods. "Not here."
Yes, here. No, waiting. "Now."
His smile widens. "Impatient."
"Now."
"I'm bigger than I look."
"Ollie, I'm sold. You don't have to talk up your dick."
A chuckle falls off his lips. "You're sold?"
"I already want to fuck you."
"Yeah?"
"What about now do you not understand?"
He laughs again. "Fuck, I really like you." His eyes brighten. He shakes his head you're ridiculous then he pushes his seat all the way back. Puts his hands on the center console. Slides into my seat.
Kind of.
He's only half on it.
I try to shift. To climb into his lap. But my head hits the roof and my ass hits the door.
"See. No space." He brings his hand to my cheek, his thumb against my temple, his eyes locked on mine.
God, the way he's looking at me. Like I'm the only thing he's ever needed.
He's so close. And he smells so good.
And I need him so fucking badly.
"I can't wait," I say.
"Yeah?"
"Less bragging. More making me come."
Again, he smiles. That same I really like you smile.
Which is sweet. Incredibly sweet.
But, seriously. "Less talking. More sex."
"Outside." He drags his hand down my side. "I'll keep you warm."
Fuck, that feels good.
Okay. Outside. I can do that. I can do anything except wait for him to touch me properly.
I nod. Reach for the door. Pull the handle.
He follows. Pushes the door closed behind him.
His hands go to my hips. In one seamless gesture, he pins me to the car door. "You're tall."
I nod.
"The angle works." He rocks forward, so his hard-on brushes my pelvis.
Yes. The angle works. Fuck, how the angle works. My body catches fire.
Cold, what cold?
I'm burning up.
"You drive me out of my fucking mind, Luna." He keeps one hand on my hip. Brings the other to my chin. "I've been dreaming about this for so fucking long."
He tilts my head so I'm staring into his eyes.
Then he moves closer.
Closer.
His eyes flutter closed.
Mine follow.
His lips brush mine. It's soft at first.
Then harder.
Harder.
My lips part to make way for his tongue.
He claims my mouth. There's no other way to describe it. Like he's never going to get enough of me. Like I'm the only thing he needs.
Like I'm his.
And he's mine.
I want that so badly. Too badly. But I don't care. I don't care about anything except the taste of his lips and the smell of his skin and the feel of his body against mine.
He pulls back with a sigh. Runs his fingertips over my jawline. "Too hard?"
"I'll tell you."
His mouth crashes into mine. No softness. All hunger and need.