"Pants. Off. Now."
I kick off my shoes and socks. Undo the button of my jeans. Push them off my hips.
"Sit."
"Yes, ma'am."
She laughs. "Just me and you." She leans down to unzip her boots. She slips out of them, one at a time, then she pulls the tiny blue dress over her head.
Fuck. She's not wearing anything under it.
She's standing in the living room, completely naked, looking at me like I'm everything she wants.
It's hard to believe.
But this is one place where I know what the fuck I'm doing. One of the only places.
"Sit." She closes the distance between us. Presses her hand to my chest. Softly. To issue the order. Then harder. Hard enough to nudge me.
"Sit?"
"Now." She pushes me again.
I pull her with me.
She shifts onto the couch. Onto my lap, her knees outside my hips, her cunt inches from my cock.
"Fuck." Her eyes flutter closed. Her fingers dig into my neck. Her thighs spread.
She shifts lower.
So she brushes against me.
Fuck, that feels good.
Too good.
I'm not—
"Luna—" Fuck, I want to forget. I want for it to not matter. To feel every inch of her against me, nothing between us. "Condom."
"Oh. Fuck." She presses the packet into my palm.
I tear it open. Lift her hips. Slide the rubber over my cock.
She shifts back into place. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as her cunt brushes my cock.
Hey eyes meet mine.
She stares at me as she lowers her body onto mine.
Fuck, she's already wet. And she feels so fucking good. Soft and warm and mine.
I bring my hand to the back of her head. Pull her into a slow, deep kiss.
She kisses back as she rocks against me.
We stay locked like that, pressed together, moving together, the world a place that makes sense.
Then I bring my thumb to her clit. Rub her until she's groaning against my lips.
Until she's there, pulsing around me.
It pulls me over the edge.
I hold her close, kissing her hard as I spill inside her, pleasure flooding my senses.
Everything bright and beautiful and easy.
She collapses against my chest. And I hold her there for a long time. Until her breath steadies and the air shifts and the world returns to normal.
No, not normal.
Still brighter and warmer and a million times more beautiful.
She is a beacon of light.
I have to tell her. Soon.
Right now—
I need to take her upstairs and clean up and hold her until the world makes sense.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Oliver
Dad gets home early. Joins us for dinner.
She discusses Halloween costumes with him, cleans up, goes straight to her room, texts that she can't stay close to me without touching me.
That we have to wait until he leaves.
Of course, he doesn't.
He gets home early Monday.
Leaves for work late Tuesday.
Drops by the house for lunch Wednesday.
Okay, he knows. And he's fucking with us. Fair enough.
But I can't go another day without kissing her.
After work, I pick her up from school. Take her to the shop. Fuck her brains out in the office.
Then we head to her favorite organic coffee shop. Well, her favorite expensive coffee shop with parking.
It's still hip to the extreme—expensive single origin beans, white and teak furniture, baristas with beards and tattoos—but it's more spacious. There's room between the tables.
Room for my secrets to spread. To fill the space. And pollute the air.
It's obvious the second I walk in the door. There are no more excuses. I have to tell her.
Fuck.
I run my hand through my hair. Suck a breath through my teeth. Try to find some place to start.
This conversation heads somewhere rough. But there's plenty of light in it.
And she's full of life and joy and pride. For herself and for me. I'm not sure what I did to deserve it, but I'm holding onto that too.
Luna is already sitting at a white table in the corner. She has a giant French press, no doubt filled with some dark roast, and two little ceramic cups. Plus one of those expensive tiny chocolate bars they sell at the counter.
I join her at the table. "Eighty-five percent?"
"Of course." She unwraps the paper. The foil. Breaks off a tiny square. "You want some?"
"Not sure I'm worthy."
"You might find a way to convince me." Her eyes flit to my crotch as she places the square on her tongue. She lets it melt, closes her mouth, licks her lips.
My body begs me to chase the trail. To wrap my arms around her, kiss her, demand I lick chocolate off her thighs.
I want to touch her, taste her, fuck her.
Make fucking love to her.
I want every sweet sensation. The physical and the emotional.
The closeness. The distraction.
The chance to flee.
But now isn't the time. I need to tell her this. Sooner rather than later.
She offers me another square.
This time, I take it. Let it dissolve on my tongue. Focus on the flavor. Fruity. Like figs or caramel. Only rich and decadent. And far less sweet.