Page 86 of My Lucky Star
Chapter 31
Aria
MY ENTIRE BODY THROBBED, slick and hot, and he pulled away, shooting me that sad and determined look I’d seen before. The one I had no response to. No solution. Because of course I loved him. I’d always love him. I’d never been this hopelessly and utterly owned by someone.
Yet I knew this love couldn’t be counted on. It was the kind that flew away and left you devastated. People who were destined for greater things always took off to greater heights, leaving me behind.
“Don’t stop,” I pleaded as the throb between my thighs turned into an ache. “I need you.”
“Let’s go,” he said, taking my hand.
I hopped off the table and followed him through the boat to where our bags sat next to the stairs leading to the second level. I trailed behind as he carried our luggage to the small bedroom on top. Behind it, through an open doorway, I saw the cockpit. “Isn’t the bedroom usually below the deck?”
“If it was, we’d miss out on the stars.” He pointed at the large skylight above the bed.
The freakishly bright full moon I’d noticed earlier had climbed higher, casting its glow on the white sheets. I threw myself across the bed to take in the view. For all the big city light pollution, the stars still winked at me, sprinkled around the cheesy moon. “Which one of us is going to turn into a werewolf, do you think?”
Cem stretched out next to me, his hands behind his head. “I’m already transitioning.”
I laughed, rolling over to my side, head propped by an elbow. “Please, expand.”
“Heightened sense of smell. Craving for meat. A raging hard-on.”
I giggled. “I don’t think that’s a symptom. And I have that too.”
“You’re killing me, Aria!” He groaned. “I might have to take a cold shower. Unless you’re willing to admit the depth of your feelings for me.”
I opened my suitcase to find a T-shirt. I could feel his eyes following my every move, his breath shallow.
I hid inside the loosest shirt I owned, one that was good for one thing only – sleeping in comfort. “Feelings are overrated, anyway.” I yawned, letting my head sink into the soft pillow. “What if we did fall in love and moved in together and then you found out I’m always behind with my laundry? Or I found out you put empty milk containers back in the fridge? What if all the petty things of daily life eventually eat away at us until there’s nothing left?”
His bubbly laugh shook the bed. “I love your optimism.”
“I’m a realist,” I argued. “I don’t think the glass is half full or half empty. It’s at 50 percent capacity.”
“No! You think the glass is fully empty and possibly so cracked it can’t hold any liquid.” He cast me a smug smile.
I whipped a pillow at his face. “And you think the glass may spontaneously overflow, right? Because life is full of miracles.”
“Why not?” He laughed, returning the pillow by whacking it onto my stomach, then rolled over to land directly on top of it, pinning me between the soft layers, his face an inch from mine.
Oh. The pressure.
