Chapter 11
MOONLIGHT
Lucien watched Vesperin poke at her plate of steamed vegetables and chicken, glazed in a honey sriracha sauce—a recipe he had saved, knowing she’d like it.
The scrape of her fork on the plate made his jaw clench. She wouldn’t look at him, save for the soft, hello, she uttered when he had picked her up at her dorm this evening for dinner.
He reached for his glass of red wine and swirled it before taking a shallow sip. She had refused any wine, only water before her.
Vesperin had been fine yesterday at her check-up—reserved, but her pale cheeks flushed when he pressed under her jaw to feel her pulse. Her bloodwork showed no Somnocept—no more late-night experiments. So what was wrong?
"Vesperin." Lucien leveled her a cool stare. The floor-to-ceiling glass doors in the living room beckoned, letting in the sparkling city lights. "Are you alright?"
She gasped softly, nearly dropping her fork. "I’m fine. Just tired." She shrugged a shoulder, the dog tag on her neck catching in the low glow from the sleek, hanging light fixture above the table.
Lucien reached across the table and placed a hand atop hers, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.
"Tell me the truth, Vesperin. Is it something I did?" His throat closed. Was he moving too fast? What if she didn’t feel the same? "Is this too much for you? It’s my fault for forcing this on you and—"
Vesperin turned her hand until her fingers were laced with his, squeezing.
"You haven’t forced me into anything. Dinner’s wonderful.
" She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
"Thank you, Lucien. I needed… normalcy." She finally, finally blinked up at him, her lashes casting shadows on her pale cheeks.
Her shoulders curved inward, her words stilted, but she was still the most captivating girl he had ever seen.
"Though, this isn’t very normal for us—is it? "
"No. It’s not." Lucien huffed a laugh. "I wanted to give you a break from it all. You seem like a shadow, and I want to be your light."
What Lucien didn’t tell her was that he wanted to be the light for her, like she was to him. His reason for keeping on. For all of it.
She pulled her hand away from him, tucking a strand of white hair behind her ear. "Lucien… there’s something I need to tell you."
"What is it?"
"I’m leaving again."
His body froze like she had stolen all the air in his lungs. "What do you mean, Vesperin?"
"I’m leaving. Another mission, on-planet. Not far. Just a couple of hours away."
His whole world stopped. "How long?"
"A week, at least," she answered.
Lucien clenched his jaw. "Where?"
Vesperin fiddled with the bell-like sleeve of her black blouse, reaching for her glass of water and taking a sip, as she muttered, "Near Lunar City."
Protectiveness flared inside him. "Absolutely not."
She set the glass down with a heavy thump as she stared at him. "You are not my keeper, Lucien. I’m not asking for permission."
The tension between them grew thicker. Lust and anger were similar, after all.
The perfect control he had on his Stella cracked—just enough for the small potted plant sitting in the middle of the kitchen island to shatter as roots erupted, dirt scattering on the countertop.
She gasped. "Lucien—"
And the roots shot forward, turning to soft, green vines with blooming red flowers, twining around her wrists. She struggled, but the vines pulled her close, making her knock the glass of water to the side, soaking the tablecloth.
"Lucien. What are you doing? This isn’t like you."
Water spilled into his lap from the overturned glass as he leaned forward. "I cannot protect you if you leave."
Her eyes narrowed. "I don’t need your protection."
If only she knew. Lucien had been keeping her safe for years. He and Kiton.
With her free hand, she grabbed a steak knife, cutting through the vines with ease. They fell to the table, petals wilting. "I’m going, and you can’t stop me," she said through gritted teeth.
The air crackled.
His eyes dipped to the sweetheart neckline of her blouse, accentuating the perfect hint of her pale breasts, pressing against the material with her every breath.
Fuck.
What was he going to do about this? Sabine would kill him if he let her go.
Slowly, he regained control of his Stella—the first outburst in five years, when he got the call about his parents.
He rubbed a hand over his eyes, dislodging his glasses momentarily. This wasn’t right. She was hurting, and he hated it. But god, he couldn’t protect her if she left. Especially near Lunar City.
Lucien stood, walking around the side of the table until he came to a stop by her side. She stared up at him, not letting the knife go as she twirled it between her fingers—an empty threat. He held out a hand, waiting calmly.
She set down the knife, took his hand, and let him pull her up and lead her to the couch. The moon, reflected on the glass of the high-rises, made her pale skin even fairer.
He sat, and she did the same, watching him warily.
"Vesperin, if you keep chasing after ghosts, then I fear you will have nothing left that makes you, you." His words were low and cool. They had been nearly inseparable in the last month—longer than a month, now, really. This was their first fight. "I don’t want to fight with you, and I’m sorry I lost control, but I can’t stand you leaving here. Not like this," he said quietly.
"I’m not."
He looked up, finding her staring at him, her chin held high. There was a slight wariness still in her eyes as she regarded him.
"I’m not sorry you lost control, Lucien," Vesperin added.
He swallowed. "Careful."
"I leave tonight. I hated to tell you, and I don’t want to leave angry.
I know what it’s like to leave things unsaid and forever wish you could go back and change it," she said bitterly, reaching up to twine her fingers in his hair, tugging slightly.
He bit his lower lip at the feel of her hands in his hair. "So don’t have any regrets."
He wasn’t sure who moved first.
Their lips met in a clash of held-back desire, shared grief, and protective anguish.
He groaned into her mouth. Her lips were cool from the ice water she had sipped on, and she tasted like cherries, tinted with spicy sweetness from the homemade sauce.
He gripped her hips, tugging her onto his lap.
She straddled him, her thighs over his, hands tangled in his hair, tugging, tugging.
Her chest brushed against his, and he ran his hands over her thighs, clad in skin-tight black jeans.
He groaned low against her mouth, pulling away. "I’ve wanted you for so long."
Vesperin’s nose pressed against him as she placed soft kisses on his cheeks. His fingers gripped her thighs tighter, digging into the softness of her inner thigh. She moaned, grinding down on him.
"Then, have me," she said.
His head tipped back, glasses askew. "Is this a good idea, Vesperin?"
She didn’t answer, just kept kissing his face, nibbling his jaw.
He pulled away, cupping her cheeks until she stared at him. Her eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown with desire. Her heart thumped under the pad of his thumb as he felt the space under her jaw.
"Because if we do this, it will mean something," he pleaded.
"Good. I want it to mean everything." She bit down on her lower lip, placing her hands on his chest and shoving him back against the couch.
He gasped in surprise. She was a little vixen.
Their lips met, once more, tongues clashing in a war of wills. Her lower half ground down on his cock, making him grunt and resist the urge to buck up into her. She reached for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them, fingers skimming underneath to caress his skin.
His hands found their way underneath her blouse, hooking under the lace of her bralette, until he tugged it under her breasts, cupping her soft flesh in his hand, skimming the pads of his fingers over her nipple. Every brush made her gasp and grind against him deeper.
Her hands were strong—angry, almost—as she teased him. Her teeth nipped his lower lip, her hands trailing down his chest, bare with his shirt completely unbuttoned and hanging free. When she skimmed her fingers over his belt, he stilled, grabbing her wrist.
"No. No, Vesperin. Not tonight. When I take you, I want it to be when we have time. Days. Because what I want to do to you? It won’t take a few hours," he promised, lips pressed against the corner of her mouth.
"I want you. I want that. But Lucien—" She broke off with a frustrated moan.
He nipped her earlobe, playing with the many piercings she had lining her delicate, pretty ears. "What is it?"
"Never mind," she said, placing a palm on his cheek and tugging his lips to hers. She ground down against him. "Is this okay?"
"More than okay, sweet girl."
She nodded, head tipping back as she repeated the action, a soft moan falling from her slick lips.
Lucien skimmed his fingertip over the seam of her jeans, and she gasped.
He did it again, pressing firmly. He loved to be in control.
He could not help it. And he was desperate for her to give in to him, to this.
Lucien gripped the side of her neck with a firm hand, lips ghosting over hers as he murmured, fingers still moving over her, "I want you to come for me, then I want you to go finish your dinner. When you’re done, I’ll take you back to your dorm and watch as you walk inside.
Safe. You’ll go on this mission, and you will text me updates.
" He pressed the heel of his palm against her core. "Regularly, Vesperin."
She nodded, stuttered gasps falling from her lips, eyes shut.
"Use your words, sweet girl," he prodded.
"I will," she managed.
He smiled, pleased. "Then come."