I frown. “No, you don’t.”
He lets out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. Then sets his plate on the counter and wraps his arms around himself like he’s cold. “You’re too nice to me,” he mutters, and his eyes start to fill. He glances away fast, as if he’s pissed at himself for showing it.
“I’m not trying to be nice,” I say, setting my glass down and stepping in closer.
He swallows, jaw tight, still not looking at me.
So I reach out, hook a finger under his chin, and tilt his face toward mine. He finally meets my eyes—just as a tear slips from the corner of his and trails down his temple, disappearing into his hair.
I glance at his mouth, making it clear what I’m thinking. My heart’s pounding so hard it feels like it might punch straight through my chest. For a second, Moon looks completely breathless.
I don’t kiss him. He doesn’t kiss me either.
We just stand there, close enough to feel the heat between us.
“What do you want?” I ask.
Eight months ago, I might’ve shouted that same question at him across the soccer field, full of anger and hate. Now I’m asking it quietly. Honestly. Because for once, I actually know what I want. And it’s not noble.
I want him in my bed. I want him flushed and naked and moaning my name. I’m not thinking past that. Not yet.
Moon swallows. His voice comes out thin.
“I want you to forgive me.”
“I have,” I say. “That night on Halloween.”
His lips part—he wasn’t expecting that. Another tear slips down his face, catches the light.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I nod, heart pounding, and brush his cheek with my thumb. He leans in, just an inch—drawn to me like a flower to the sun. My chest tightens. My heart hammers, ready to punch through my ribs.
I smile at him. Moon smiles back—barely. His eyes are wet, his chest rising and falling so fast he looks out of breath, even though he’s standing still. He just watches me, like he doesn’t trust himself to move. Like this time, he’s waiting for me to take the first step.
I reach for his waist, pull him into me, and he steps closer, exhaling—as though he’s been waiting for this too long. That’s when I lower my head and kiss him.
CHAPTER 6. THE LAST PURSUIT
That first kiss hits like a shot of adrenaline. It starts slow—dizzyingly slow—and Moon’s lips are soft, silky, like fucking marshmallows. They part under mine, and he lets out the quietest moan—one that goes straight to my cock.
His fingers curl into my shirt, tugging like he already wants more. I press him back against the counter—just enough that he feels me, feels my cock against his stomach—and the second it happens, his breath stutters.
He kisses me deeper, hungrier, his tongue meeting mine—slick, hot, teasing. He’s desperate now, like he’s been starving for months. Maybe he has. Maybe I’ve been starving too.
His hand slides between us, rubbing my cock through my pants, and I curse as it throbs at his touch.
We break apart just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, both of us dragging air like we just sprinted end to end. Moon looks down between us and rubs me again, makes me moan—his lips parting, like he’s shocked by how much I want him.
I can feel it—how hard he’s trying to stay in control. Like even touching me through layers of fabric nearly undoes him.
I lean in, my mouth brushing his ear. “What do you want?” I ask again, low.
He lifts his head, lips ghosting along my jaw, then takes my hand and pulls it toward his own cock. I can feel how hard he is, and when I rub him, he breathes out a shaky, “Fuck…”
“That’s pretty straightforward,” I say, laughing softly. And he actually blushes.
Suddenly, I hear my name—somewhere outside.
