Chapter 17
Aria
Later that night, we are carting Chinese takeout and a few shopping bags back to the room, laughing about our day in the seaside town.
“No, but seriously, his face was priceless,” Lucy laughs as she lays out the takeout containers. “I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel when you pointed out the mislabeled crystals.”
“Well—” I blush through my own laugh. “—it’s his own fault for mixing up malachite and aventurine! And don’t get me started on him switching the displays for onyx and obsidian.”
“I don’t have to, I heard every word you said to him,” she sighs dreamily.
“He claimed to be an expert and he was being really condescending to the other girls who were in there. If you’re going to be an asshole, at least be an asshole who’s good at your job!”
“Hear, hear!” Lucy lifts her box of lo mein in a faux toast. I join her on the loveseat, grab my box of chicken fried rice, and dig in with relish.
“That is so good,” I practically moan and continue eating in a silence that is occasionally punctuated by another moan of delight. After a few minutes, I glance up at Lucy who is staring at me with a look in her eyes that makes me shiver with desire.
“How is it?” I say, gesturing to her food. She snaps out of her stupor and refocuses on her noodles, her cheeks darkening.
“It is absolutely delicious!” she says with a hint of her usual zest peeking through. I nod at her in acknowledgement, but we both fall back into that easy silence for the rest of our meal. Once we have cleared away the extra food, we each grab a fortune cookie.
“You go first,” I say.
She cracks open the cookie and pulls out the fortune inside. She clears her throat and gives me a serious, dramatic look that has me stifling a snicker.
“It says, ‘Your heart knows the way—follow it fearlessly,’” she says in the tone of a prophetess delivering a message from the gods. We stay serious for a moment before we both dissolve into giggles. Once we regain our composure (mostly), I open mine up.
The past is a lesson, but the future is a story waiting to be written.
I am not quite able to maintain the mock serious tone she pulled off, so once I finish reading it we both fall into quiet contemplation.
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest; it’s a familiar pattern at this point.
I have feelings for Lucy, but all I can see are all the reasons why we don’t make sense.
“Okay!” Lucy pulls me from my maudlin thoughts with a clap of her hands. “We should play a game!”
“What kind of game?” I am honestly curious about what kind of plan she has up her sleeve.
“Truth or Dare,” she says solemnly.
“Really?” I say, holding back from wrinkling my nose, “Okay, rules?”
“Oh, normal rules, except we just take turns,” she looks at me, eyes shining with mischief.
“And, if you’re okay with it, if someone refuses to answer a Truth, they take one shot of this.
” She pulls out a large bottle of vodka she had stashed in her suitcase.
“But if you refuse a Dare, it’s two shots. Fair?”
“Okay,” I say, warming up to the idea, “but no dares that would get us arrested, kicked out of the hotel, or that otherwise would cause lasting negative consequences past this weekend. Deal?”
“Okay, Miss Lawyer,” she teases, but acquiesces. “Do you want to go first?”
“Sure.” I turn towards her fully. “Truth or Dare?”
“Truth.”
“Hmm.” I contemplate a good first question. “What is your type?”
“In men or women?” she asks, adding, “And you can only get one for this question!”
“Fine,” I grumble, sticking my tongue out at her. I don’t know that I am ready to hear about the type of women she’s attracted to, so—
“Men.”
“Okay.” She closes her eyes and considers her answer.
“So, there are two sides to this: personality and physicality. Personality-wise, I have always been attracted to guys with a lot of confidence, a sense of humor, ready to stick up for themselves when they need to. Or,” she grimaces, “to put it bluntly, I always seem to go after assholes.”
I can’t stifle the snort that escapes me at that. She shoots me an amused glare and rolls her eyes.
“Yes, I am aware of the irony of saying that to you,” she says. “But, moving on! Physically, I am so here for a tall guy with dark hair and green eyes. Yum.” She faux swoons before turning her attention back to me. “So, Truth or Dare?”
“Truth,” I say, picking up my water bottle to take a sip.
“How old were you when someone else made you orgasm for the first time?”
The water shoots out of my nose and I start coughing. So much for easing into questions, I think wryly. Seeing as there is no way in hell I am answering that, I take the shot glass and the vodka to the sound of Lucy’s playful boos.
The burn of the alcohol makes me wince, but not as much as the answer to the question: Actually, Lucy, funny story. Literally nobody has ever made me come before. Ever.
“Moving on,” I say with a nervous chuckle. “Truth or Dare?”
“Dare,” she says, curiosity still gleaming in her eyes.
“I dare you to…” I stop and think for a moment before grinning, “…give your best impression of a Karen trying to return a used jar of peanut butter.”
Lucy smirks before her entire demeanor shifts and she brings her hand up to ear, miming being on a phone call, and exudes an aura of arrogance, passive aggression, and superiority.
“Yes, hello,” she says in a nasally voice, “I bought peanut butter from your store last week and realized that I got chunky instead of creamy. But, when I went back to your store, your employee told me that he wouldn’t let me exchange them or give me a refund!
” She pauses as though listening to a voice answering her.
“I don’t see how that is relevant! I am not happy with the product I got from your store and I want to return it.
” Pause. “I still have the jar and the receipt. I am your customer and the customer is always right.” Pause.
“That’s it! I would like to speak to your manager! ”
By the end of her tirade, tears of laughter are flowing freely down my cheeks.
As soon as she’s done, she joins me in my laughter and we take a few moments to compose ourselves.
When the laughter fades, Lucy and I are left gazing at each other.
As the moments pass, I feel the air grow heavier as tension becomes palpable between us.
I’m not surprised. It’s been this way from the moment I met her.
It’s like she has her own gravitational field.
Her honey brown eyes keep me locked in her orbit and I am helpless to resist her pull.
Every little thing about her pulls me deeper: the way she moves with grace without a thought, how she dances through the kitchen, her smile, her laugh, her passion, and even how she goes “Princess Mode” on me to get what she wants.
I am drowning in her and I don’t ever want to resurface.
She shifts slightly, her breath catching, and I watch as her eyes flick briefly down to my lips and then back up to meet my own; her gaze darkens with desire and I feel my pulse quicken in response.
“Truth or Dare?” she whispers, her husky tone only adding to the air of unspoken wishes and tension.
“Truth,” I breathe, unsure if I would be able to tear myself away from her to perform any sort of dare.
“What are you thinking about right now, Cherry?” Her voice washes over me and I shiver.
“I…” My tongue darts out to wet my lips and Lucy tracks the movement.
“I am thinking about how, the moment I met you, it was like being able to breathe for the first time in years. I saw you and there was never any hesitation or resentment or regret. There was just…you. And every single moment since then has kept you right there: in the center of my attention and always on my mind. I am thinking about how I am so sick of holding myself back from you because of this notion that how we met has any bearing on what we could be. But, most of all—” I swallow heavily.
“—what I am always thinking about is what it would feel like to kiss you again.” Before I can blink, she is straddling my lap, hands on the back on the couch on either side of my head.
“It’s your turn,” she says, our faces inches apart.
“Truth or Dare?” I ask, our breaths mingling as I attempt to ignore the heat building in my core at her proximity. She leans forward, her mouth almost ghosting over my own before she shifts, her lips brushing over my cheek and over to my ear.
“Dare,” she whispers and I am unable to contain the whimper that escapes me. I feel rather than see the smirk she dons in response.
“Kiss me,” I breathe, feeling her tighten her thighs around mine in response.
“With pleasure,” she purrs, and she pulls back just enough so that she can bring her lips to mine. I release the breath I’m holding in a whoosh and my hands go to her hips, holding her tightly to me. But this is nothing like the sweet kiss she gave me outside the restaurant.
No, this is a claiming.
Devouring.
Ruining.
The world narrows to only this moment. This feeling. Her lips mold against mine as if they were made for each other. When I feel her tongue dart out, I don’t hesitate to let her in. She explores my mouth, making me shiver in pleasure, and coaxes my own tongue to dance with hers.
She brings her hands from the back of the sofa and tangles them in my hair.
I let out a breathy moan and her fingers tighten almost instinctively.
I stiffen. She starts to loosen her grip, but I can’t hold back the whimper that escapes me.
Lucy pauses, pulls her face back, and tilts her head while searching my expression.
Her lips curl into a smirk at whatever she sees there.
“You like it when I pull your hair, Cherry?” She punctuates her question with a slow tightening of her grip, creating a delightful sting of pain that seems to have a direct line from the base of my skull all the way down to my clit.
Another moan is pulled from my lips and she gives her own sound of satisfaction before reattaching herself to my mouth with a new energy.
She is still devouring me, but now it is a controlled power.
Holding me in place beneath her, taking her time to nibble on my lips, mapping my mouth with her tongue, and utterly possessing me.
Heat sweeps through me and I feel a calm serenity that comes with knowing she is willing to take control and allow me to just…feel.
As she moves from my mouth and starts trailing kisses along my jaw, tilting my head to the side for better access, she whispers against my skin, “Are you wet for me, Cherry? If I reach inside your panties, will your pretty pussy soak my fingers?”
“Y-yes,” I stammer, my face flushing bright red, but I refuse to hide. Not from this. Not from her.
“Should I check to see if you’re telling me the truth?” she says, a spark of mischievousness lighting her eyes.
“Yes,” I breathe, surrendering.