Page 97 of Possess Me! (I Want You To)

Luca interrupted me immediately. “I’m not upset about the fucking car, Jesus.” His shoulders kept shaking. There was a big rip in the back of his hoodie, and I could see a splash of gorgeous tanned skin between its folds. Freckles. So many freckles. They danced as he trembled.

I didn’t understand what was happening.

How could I fix it?

If not the car, then why was he—

I startled when arms wrapped around me, Luca’s face smashing into the side of my neck as he squeezed me tight, and his wobbling breath met the sensitive skin at my throat. He was so much taller than me, it should’ve pissed me off, but…I was running out of things about him to be annoyed by.

Wasn’t that a horrifying thought?

“Hug me back, you shithead.” Luca’s arms trembled around me, and belatedly, I tentatively patted his back. He was warm. So fucking warm.

He was summer days, new discoveries, and second chances.

His shoulder blades trembled as I smoothed my hands down them, salty sweet tears tickling my skin. I swallowed, hard. Luca’s hair was soft where it brushed against my cheek. So fucking soft. Like him. I’d thought that before, but now…with him clutching me close…my desire to covet him was something I could no longer ignore.

This tall, gangly, muscular madman was mine to look after—until he wasn’t.

Wasn’t it okay to…to…

Like him?

Even if he was confusing.

Even if he was loud, and happy—and constantly surprising me.

I was scared, I could admit that now. Scared, confused—overwhelmed. Because, even when I’d been alive I’d never had feelings this strong. I’d never met anyone like Luca, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. If I’d never met him at all, maybe now I wouldn’t be having second thoughts.

Maybe I wouldn’t feel…regret when all was said and done.

Maybe I wouldn’t be worrying about how he was feeling, or what he was going to do when I was no longer in the picture. Every day was a day closer to freedom. Only freedom didn’t feel so free anymore.

Was I truly becoming a slave to this fluffy pink disaster?

Yes.

Luca cried harder, and distressed words stumbled their way from my lips without permission. “I’m doing it wrong.”

“No,” he laughed, though the sound morphed into a soft little sob. He laced a few butterfly kisses against my cheek, and my belly flipped. I was light. Light enough I worried I’d float away. It was only his arms, and how solid he was in my grip that reminded me that I was corporeal. I’d never felt so full of wings. So tingly. “You’re perfect.” You’re perfect, you’re perfect, you’re perfect. “This is perfect.”

No one had ever said that to me before.

Apparently, my stilted attempt at comfort was…enough. I stroked a hand into Luca’s hair, my fingers bumping against the rim of his hat as his sobs quieted and he held me there, for a long, long time.

“I don’t understand why you’re crying,” I admitted, hating how wrong-footed I felt. I knew Luca though. I liked to think I understood him well enough, to know my confusion would only be met with patience, rather than frustration. “If it’s not the car—”

“I’m just glad.”

Well that made no sense. Luca snorted, probably in reaction to the disbelieving noise I’d made. What did he have to be glad about? He was beat to hell and back. We had no car. The money we’d stolen was gone. His stomach was already growling, and when I’d asked him how far we were from his hometown he’d told me it would take at least two days to walk there.

There was nothing to be glad about.

“Glad?”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Oh.

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