Dad bites his tongue until Elena and Claire are in the car and headed down the long drive, and then he lets loose. “What in the hell are you up to, Son? And who the hell are you?” He scowls at Luna, and I step between them, pulling her behind me. Her hands land flat on my lower back, letting me know she’s supporting me, not hiding away.

  “Not now. Luna and I are leaving. We’ll have this conversation tomorrow, just you and me.” I put as much steel in the statement as possible to try to make him accept it and not press the issue.

  No dice.

  He scoffs. “We’ll have a talk right now. I like to know who’s sitting at my dining room table.”

  Mom places a calming hand on Dad’s arm. “Charles, I think Carter’s right. This might not be the time.” She leans left a little, smiling around me to Luna. “Y’all go on, kids.”

  I’m an adult. I’m a skilled businessman. I’m not scared of anything, not even my father. Mostly. None of those things stop me from grabbing Luna’s hand and escaping, at least for tonight.

  “Come on!” I shout, and laughingly, she runs with me. She lets out a whooping yell, her heels click-clacking on the drive. It feels wild and reckless, like we’re getting away with something naughty. “Get in,” I tell her, holding the passenger door of her car open and shooing her inside. She sits down messily, her skirt riding up her thigh, and my eyes zero in on the length of flesh. As much as I’d like to touch it again, I shut the door and run around to the driver’s side to make our getaway.

  Luna hands me her keys, and with a quick turn of the ignition, we’re off into the night.

  Still laughing, she turns to look out the back window, but the seatbelt jerks her back into her seat. “I can’t believe we pulled that off!”

  “Me either,” I confess. It’s a temporary reprieve, but the fallout will be mine to bear and Luna doesn’t need to worry about it.

  There’s a long moment of easy silence, and when I glance over, she’s staring out the window with a soft smile. “Luna?” I ask, checking her out carefully. “You okay?”

  The rush is going to wear off quickly, and I want to catch her before she crashes from doing something so far out of her comfort zone. I can’t imagine what it took for her to walk into my family home with lies on her lips and a false narrative in her heart. That’s not who she is, but she’s stretching herself in major ways . . . all for me. Well, mostly for me . . . and a peek at some art.

  She closes her eyes for a second, and when she opens them again, they’re bright with the glow of the dash lights. “Surprisingly, I’m okay. As long as I don’t have to go to that chitty-chat with your dad. If I can skip that, I’m fine.” She holds her hand out flat, showing me that she’s not shaking, not even a little bit.

  I chuckle grimly. “Wish I could skip it too, but that’s not gonna be an option for me.”

  “Sorry, not sorry,” she teases.

  I don’t ask, I don’t think. I just drive home, taking Luna with me. I park in the garage and turn the car off. Looking at her, I say, “Thank you for tonight, but I’m not ready for it to be over. You want to come up?”

  “Uhm, okay.”

  Despite the delay in her answer, she sounds sure, and I’m buzzing from the successful dinner and the feeling of her thigh beneath my palm.

  Upstairs in my apartment, I hold my arms out. “Welcome to my humble home.”

  It’s different from Luna’s for sure. Where hers is colorful and full of personality, mine is inoffensive and lackluster. Everything is quality and designer-selected, but it doesn’t have the spark Luna’s place has. She looks around politely. “Nice,” she surmises. From anyone else, it’d be a bland compliment. From Luna, it’s totally an insult.

  “You hate it,” I guess.

  “No!” she gasps. “It’s . . .” She looks around again. “Nice. Like a magazine.”

  A laugh pops out unbidden. “It was in the Bridgeport Monthly a couple of years ago,” I confess. “It’s around here somewhere. The designer gave me a copy, thinking I’d be excited about it.”

  “Were you?”

  “Didn’t give a shit in the slightest,” I swear, holding up a hand as though testifying. “Have a seat. I’ll get us a drink. What would you like?”

  “Water, please,” she answers as she sits on the couch. “With lemon or lime, if you have any. It makes it seem fancier than plain, and that’s how I trick myself into getting fruits and veggies into my diet.” A flush rises to her cheeks quickly, and she rushes to assure me, “Not that I eat like crap. It might not look like it, but I eat pretty healthy.”

  “Luna, I don’t care what you do or don’t eat. You’re beautiful, and in case you didn’t notice, I was loving your thigh beneath my palm tonight.” I let my gaze drop slowly, methodically over her curves—from her breasts, to her hips, to the thighs in question. When I lift my eyes to hers once more, she’s staring at me in surprise, her lips parted in a soft circle.

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flush even further, but when she shifts on the sofa, it’s to show off her legs rather than hide them away. Her dress inches up a bit, and though she places her hand there, she doesn’t pull it back down.

  Is Luna Starr flirting with me? If so, I am fucked.

  I remind myself that she’s my best friend’s little sister, but when she pushes her glasses up her nose and looks at me through her lashes, I forget too easily. I already know I’m going to hell, but right now, the things I’m thinking of doing to those sweet thighs are enough to send me there on the fast track.

  “Water!” I say too loudly, virtually running for the kitchen. This girl has me on edge, and the slightest encouragement from her, when it’s only the two of us and my bed is a mere twenty-five steps away—yes, I’ve counted—is danger waiting to happen.

  In the kitchen, I take a couple of deep breaths, not to slow my racing heart but to give my cock a moment to soften. It’s not working, but I make her a glass of water, smiling as I drop in a ‘fancy’ lemon wedge, and a whiskey for myself. I’ve never hoped for whiskey dick before, but right now, a little help would go a long way.

  When I return to the living room, Luna has taken her heels off, leaving them askew under the coffee table, and has her legs folded beneath her. I hand her the water glass and sit down beside her on the couch. “Feet hurt?”

  “I don’t know who invented heels, but they must’ve been a sadist. Those things are killer, and I barely walked in them.” She throws a dirty look at the offending pain-inducers.

  “Or a masochist?” I question.

  I lean forward and set my drink on the table and then tap Luna’s knee. “Let me help.”

  There are many, many more things I’d like to do to. Filthy, dangerous things. But rubbing her feet after she dressed up tonight seems relatively safe.

  “You sure?” Even as she double-checks my willingness, she’s rearranging herself so that her legs are outstretched and her feet are in my lap. Thankfully, over my thighs and not touching my cock, which is reminding me that I should’ve taken that whiskey as a shot.

  I take her left foot in my hands, running my thumb along her arch, and she groans. “Ohmagawd, I forget how much I’m on my feet.” I do it again to keep her talking. “I love the museum tours, but I’m on my feet for eight hours straight. And when I work at home, I’m usually barefoot, but I have a habit of curling up in weird positions. I don’t realize that I’ve pulled this or crunched that until it hurts.”

  “Because you’re so focused on Alphena?” I guess.

  She nods. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Thank you for coming tonight. I know it was . . .” I search for a word as I press along the ball of her foot.

  “Ridiculous?” she suggests. “Over the top? Stupid?”

  I chuckle. “Difficult.”

  She closes her eyes, laying her head over to the back of the couch to enjoy the massage as I find a particularly sensitive spot. “They’re not as bad as you made them out to be. Well, other than your dad.”

  She goes quiet as I switch to her right foot, only the occasional moan and groan coming out as I work my magic. I don’t know what witchcraft she’s working on me, but words pour forth.

  “He’s not that bad. Protective, mostly. Of the business, not us kids,” I explain. “We’re expected to have our shit together by this point and be able to handle it when he pushes us. But when we were young, he was the guy at our practices and games, checking our report cards, and even doctoring our boo-boos. When I was a little older, he’d look out for me, especially when he thought I was going the wrong way or making bad choices. I put him and Mom through the wringer, but they were a dream team, a united front at all times, no matter what I got up to.”

  “I’m having a hard time picturing you getting into any real trouble.” She smiles at whatever image she has created in her mind. “But I can see your being delivered home by the police in the middle of the night for something like partying or trespassing. Maybe shoplifting for the thrill of it.”

  “I wasn’t that kind of bad. I hate to admit it, but I was a douchebag. Entitled, didn’t understand hard work . . . lived like the world was my oyster, and I treated it like an all you can eat buffet. Dad warned me about friends, girls, and shit I was doing.” I slip my hands a little higher, working her ankles and up to her calves even as I remind myself, “That’s why I was glad when I met Zack. He’s the real deal. Smart, loyal, creative. I could see what my dad was talking about then, the difference in good people and how they can change everything. Zack helped me grow up.”

  “He’s an okay brother,” she agrees. “He was too old to look out for me at school when I was younger, but he helped me learn that I’m okay exactly how I am. Kids would bully me because I’m weird. The teacher would be up at the board, and I’d be staring off into space, totally in my own world, not hearing a thing she said. But when she’d call on me, I could glance at the board and give the right answer. Stuff like that made other kids mad. And that was before I got into art. Then, I always had paint on my cheeks, charcoal under my nails, and was working on my tablet at a rapid-fire pace most people couldn’t understand. But my brain could. If I could get my fingers to move faster to keep up with my mind, I would’ve. I could look at the blank page and see what it would be, what I could help it become.” Her fingers twitch reflexively as she talks, and I wonder if she’s subconsciously drawing.

  “Zack told me that he was like that . . . only with me. He could see what I would be.”

  My hands have a mind of their own too, kneading and tracing over Luna’s knees and under the hem of her dress. “Luna?”

  She opens her eyes, looking at me clear-eyed and focused. Her legs shift open the slightest bit, giving me greater access to her thighs and ultimately, to her core. The scent of her arousal fills my nostrils, and I have to hold myself back from diving into the source of that sweetness.

  “Tell me to stop. I’m not strong enough to do it myself.” I’ve already asked so much of her, and now I’m asking more. Not for me this time, but for her.

  She smiles a tiny smile of rebellion. “Don’t stop.”

  I should stop anyway, but I don’t. I tell myself I’ll go a little further . . . that’s it. Nothing too bad, I vow, measuring my own wickedness by the inches of Luna’s leg I can see. I shift so I can knead the flesh of her inner thighs, working her dress higher and higher, almost immediately breaking my own promise.

  Goosebumps break out over her skin, and I tease a fingertip over them. “Cold?”

  She bites her lip, shaking her head. “Hot. So hot.” Her hips writhe beneath my touch. “Please . . .”

  “Please what? More? Stop? Harder? Tell me, Luna. Tell me what you want,” I command, my voice a rough whisper.

  “More. Harder. Touch me, please.” Luna begging me to touch her is nothing I would’ve expected. It’s a beautiful and powerful motivator, and I do exactly what she’s demanded of me.

  Finding the side of her panties, I pull them down and off her legs in an effortless swoop before urging her legs open. The sight that I behold is unlike anything I’ve seen before.

  “Fucking gorgeous,” I tell her as I see her pink, puffy pussy for the first time. I want to touch her, taste her, mark her until that pussy knows who it belongs to. The urge is more caveman than I usually experience, but something about Luna is bringing up primal desires I’ve never had. I want to possess her, care for her . . . and I haven’t even laid a hand on her heaven yet.

  I’m so fucked.

  Using my thumbs to spread her smooth lips, I gather her juices and smear them up to her clit.

  A few small circles there and Luna is already working her hips in time with me. I slip two fingers inside her easily, curling them up to pet her inner walls. “There,” she murmurs. “Right there.”

  Goddamn, Luna telling me what she likes is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. I keep up the strokes, doing just what she asks until she starts panting with a little cry on every exhale. “I’m gonna . . . Can I come?”

  Luna asking the same question in that bed at Elena’s flashes through my mind, and a dark thought follows it. I press her hips down hard, preventing her from bucking into my hand. “No. Not yet, not till I say you can.”

  Her eyes pop open, looking at me in shock. We’re both frozen for a moment, locked in a silent battle to see if she’s going to give in. I stroke that spot inside her, slowly and gently, to encourage her, and a fresh wash of clear fluid coats my hand.

  “That’s it. Let me see what your body can do. Show me.” I swallow thickly as I begin stroking into her harder . . . deeper . . . faster, matching my pace with swipes over her clit. “Show me what a good girl you are.”

  She cries out as her eyes roll back and her head tosses back and forth, setting her glasses off-kilter. She’s coming undone before my very eyes and I want more of it . . . more of her.

  Watching her closely, I find the rhythm that she responds to best and push her higher and higher, then back off. She does her best to hold out, but too quickly, she’s asking, “I need to . . . Can I?”

  It’s not enough. “Can you what? Say it. I want to hear you.”

  She’s gone to pleasure, riding the edge so close it might as well be a blade. “Can I come, sir?” she gasps.

  “Yes. Fuck, I want to see you wild, Luna. Come now.”

  The orgasm takes her flying before the words leave my mouth, and I watch, awestruck, as she sings for me with complete abandon. I keep talking, saying dirty things she seems to like, as I tease her clit and feel the pulsing waves of her pussy squeezing my fingers.

  “More. You . . . I want you,” she pants, wiggling her fingers toward me.

  This is a bad idea. Maybe the worst. But I don’t have to be told twice. I’m damn near about to spill in my pants.

  Quickly, I rip my shirt off, not undoing the buttons but instead pulling it over my head in a rush, and then shove my pants and underwear down my thighs, freeing my leaking cock. I dive for the end table, opening a drawer to grab a condom. I give myself a rough stroke before donning the latex, and then I lean over Luna, one arm on the couch cushion beneath her and one at the base of my dick.

  “Tell me you want this. Want me. I need to hear you say it.”

  “Yes,” she moans.

  It’s not what I asked, but it’s enough because I’ve reached the end of my control. I enter her in one thrust, and her pussy envelops me so well that I nearly come right then. But I won’t be a one-pump chump, not now, not ever. So I fight my orgasm back, doing what I asked her to do and hold on longer for it to be better.

  Luna’s back arches as she wraps her hands around my upper arms, her fingernails digging into the backs of my triceps. Her walls flutter again, and I want to help her ride out what seems to be another smaller orgasm.

  I stroke into her powerfully. “That’s it. Come on my cock, baby.”

  “I am. I am, Carter.”

  “Shit,” I hiss. Any remaining thread of control I had snaps instantly when she says my name, and I fuck Luna. I fuck her harder and more thoroughly than I should. There’s no gentle kindness now, no sweet touches. It’s rough and hard as I take her body, and she gives it all to me.

  “Are you gonna come for me too? Fill me up?” There’s a sparkle in her eye as she says the phrase she called gross before. I get it. Sometimes, the dirtiest things are the sexiest in the moment, and I suspected she liked it before, despite her protest.

  “Fuck yeah, I’m gonna fill you up until you can’t hold it all and it leaks down your leg, marking you as mine.” I emphasize the words by harshly gripping her inner thigh, right beside where I’m entering her. I’m going to do no such thing. When I spill, it’ll be in the condom, but the idea of painting her walls with my cum is an image I can’t withstand, and I slip off the edge.

  I grunt, rutting into Luna as she fucks me back. Her nails dig into my skin, holding on for dear life as our cries become a chorus. I come hard as her pussy squeezes me just right.

  When I sag over her, leaning against the back of the couch, I see that her glasses have gone crooked. I straighten them gently. “You look amazing in these. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.”

  I smile goofily, enjoying the awestruck look on her face. Her eyes are vacant, dazed as she’s in the afterglow.

  “That was . . . wow.”

  Pride builds up in my chest.

  “I didn’t think people could do it like that . . . on their first time.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  LUNA

  Silence reigns for a beat as Carter gawks at me. “Their . . . what?” he snaps.

  His utterance brings me back to Earth from the foggy pink haze of bliss I’m floating in. I blink and meet his gaze. He looks horror-stricken and terrified.

  “You mean people’s first time together, right?” he asks. “Not first-first time. Like you weren’t a virgin. For fuck’s sake, tell me you weren’t a virgin.”