Page 86 of Star Claimed Omega
Perhaps when she trusted him more, she’d share.
He flipped the topic to food, coaxing a slow grin from her when he confessed his irrational hatred of blue algae noodles.
‘I loathed sharing rations with my cousins. We didn’t have much, so when we got fruit or candy, we hid it under our pillows and slept with one eye open. I lived with my grandmother after my parents died in the nuclear wars, and all she could cook was these freakin’ noodles.’
She chuckled, her voice softening with memory.
‘Where are your parents?’ he rasped.
She blinked once, then offered a quiet shrug. ‘My mother’s dead. My father is estranged. That’s the word for it, right?’
He nodded, studying her.
She’d given him nothing, no names, no locations, no crumbs to follow: just soft smoke screens and ghostly silhouettes.
Not wanting to deal with reality just yet, he let it drop.
Instead, he leaned in until their mouths met again, warm, lingering, drugged with affection.
Her fingers curled into his shirt.
When they parted, he kept his forehead against hers and grunted, ‘Are you ready for more?’
Her eyes searched his, unreadable. ‘What does more mean?’
‘Sleeping in my arms,’ he rasped, his timbre raw and roughened, ‘in my bed. Everyfokkin’ night.’
‘Are you asking me to move in with you, Santiago Alvarro?’
‘Naam,’ he rumbled, meaning it from the bottom of his heart, surprising himself with how fast he wanted to lock her down as his.
Her lashes lowered, but her breath stayed steady.
‘I might need some time to think about it.’
He studied her, the dip of her throat, the guarded strength in her voice.
‘Bueno,’ he murmured, brushing a finger against her jaw. ‘I’ll give you time.’
In the quiet that followed, it was not disappointment that hovered between them, but promise.
SOLEIL
That night, they slept apart once more, in their separate bedrooms.
However, rest evaded Soleil like a shadow slipping just out of reach.
Her sheets tangled around her legs, sweat beading along her hairline despite the cool lake air.
Guilt churned in her gut like a restless tide, shame for what she was hiding, and aching yearning for what she wanted from Santi.
Her wrists throbbed.
She hissed, clutching them to her chest, her inhale snagging as agony speared up her arms like white-hot needles.
Vern.
That bastard.
