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Sometimes it's nothing. A design they like. A lark. A fun way to show their personality.
But sometimes it's everything. A way to cope. Or reclaim a scar. Or survive.
I know that too.
I've been there too.
"Okay." I kiss her softly. Taste every inch of her sweet lips. "After the costume."
She nods. "I do have an idea…" She motions follow me, takes my hand, leads me through the aisles. Past the careers, the super heroes, the decades.
All the way to a wall of supernatural creatures.
Zombies, witches, sorcerers, vampires.
Straight to "Vampire King." A velvet cloak. Black on the outside. Wine on the inside. Matching vest. Fangs sold separately.
"Angel, I'm not sure what this implies, but I know it's not good."
"Something about being an emotional vampire?" Her smile is soft. "Maybe when you play too much grunge. But no, it's not about the blood sucking or energy leaching. More that… this guy, he's a brooding bad boy—"
"He's a bad boy?"
"Of course. Vampire lore is all about older men taking advantage of nubile young women." She raises a brow. You can't really deny that?
"Did you just call yourself nubile?"
She laughs. "You're the one who was drawing me naked when I was underage."
Fair.
"He wants to toy with beautiful women. Otherwise, he's hiding in his castle, avoiding the light."
"Fuck."
"Too much?"
Maybe. But right too. "I'm not… I'm trying to do better."
"You are."
"I just—"
"It's only a costume, Ollie. If you don't like it, I'll think of something else. But, uh…" She blushes. "It is kind of hot. The vampire king claiming me."
"You have a thing for vampires?"
"Have you never heard of Twilight?"
"You hate Twilight."
"Yeah, but…" She bites her lip. "It still infected my brain. And…" She steps backward. "If you don't like it, we'll find something else. There are lots of other hot options. Or—"
"You're really into it?"
"No." Her blush deepens. "Maybe."
"You've never asked me to bite you."
Her blush spreads to her chest.
My balls tighten. "Angel, you're making it impossible to have a fucking conversation."
Her hair falls over her eyes as she shakes her head. "That's you. Being a dirty pervert. But. Yes… next time. You should." Her eyes meet mine. "Next time."
It's too much fun teasing her. I love it as much as I love her teasing me.
In fact—
"I have a better idea. For Halloween." I motion to the velvet cape. "But I'm happy to buy this if you want to use it later."
"I don't need the costume."
"I don't need to buy you that cop costume, but I'm still going to do it."
Her cheeks flush. "Yeah?"
I nod hell yes.
"Only if we use it right away."
"You took the words out of my mouth."
Chapter Thirty-Four
Oliver
The drive home takes too long. Every note of Luna's music—that teenager who whisper sings—mocks me.
Is this really about fucking her?
Or is it about avoiding the question?
Do I have to choose?
I need to fuck her. To pin her to the wall, touch her, taste her, bury myself inside her.
To feel every inch of her skin against mine.
That makes sense.
The rest of this? Not so much.
The art, I can discuss. Even if it's tangled with ugly history.
But the reason why I'm here, sober, living by the terms of the deal I made with my father?
No way in hell.
Finally, I pull onto our street. Park in front of the house.
Luna looks to me with a smile. One that's pure I need you and absolutely not you're an alcoholic fuck up.
She knows and she sees me as more than that.
If she knows everything…
She undoes her seat belt. Grabs the bag from the costume shop. "Gabe's car isn't here."
I nod.
"Is downstairs too risky?"
My head screams yes. My cock whines there, now. It's a terrible idea. Stupid. Hot as fuck.
Luna's smile gets wicked. "Okay. Give me five minutes to change. Then meet me inside." She leans over the center console. Presses her lips to mine.
It's supposed to be a quick kiss goodbye, but I still bring my hand to the back of her head. I still hold her mouth against mine. I still kiss her like the ship is going down.
Because it is.
Sooner or later.
When she realizes the truth—
Fuck. I'm not going there. Not yet.
Maybe this is a ticking clock. Maybe it's completely fucked. Maybe it's the stupidest thing I've ever done.
I still need her right now.
Like I need oxygen.
She pulls back with a sigh. "Fuck. You're going to kill me."
"Death by orgasm?"
She nods. "A good way to go." She runs her fingers over my jaw. "Five minutes. Then sit on the couch."
"You're issuing orders?" I try to make my tone light. To slip into something easier. The familiar casual routine.
I've used sex as a distraction for a long time. But it feels wrong with her.
Impossible.
I have to be there with her, watching her eyes fill with bliss, listening to her breath quicken, feeling her thighs shake.
Maybe I'm an alcoholic fuck up. Maybe I'm a piece of shit.
