Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 157

Abby

The morning light creeping through the slits of the blinds pulls me from sleep. There’s a throbbing ache nestled behind my eyes, a telltale sign of last night’s overindulgence in wine.

I prop myself up on one elbow, the room swaying slightly, and my gaze lands on the bedroom door. Beyond it, I know he’s still there. Karl, sleeping on my couch.

Last night feels like a haze, but it slowly begins to come back.

“There,” Karl said, standing and admiring his handiwork. Several paper towels and two cans of club soda later, the red stain was finally out of my carpet. I stood beside him, nervously picking at my lip, as we stared down at where the stain used to be.

“Thanks… I appreciate it,” I said, finally glancing up to meet his gaze.

He shrugged and walked over to the kitchen to toss the paper towels in the trash. “It’s nothing. Just be careful next time, alright?”

I nodded. “I will. So… You hungry?”

“A little.”

We spent the next ten minutes preparing a meager meal of grilled cheeses. Surprisingly, with a bit of company and another bottle of wine, I found my appetite returning. Eventually, we made our way back to the living room, where we shared even more wine on the couch.

Maybe it was too much wine. Maybe I should have cut both of us off, but after everything that happened at the cook-off, I think we both needed it.

“You know, we were a good team out there despite all of it,” Karl said at one point, his words slurred. “Just like old times.”

I chuckled. My tongue felt thick and heavy in my mouth. “Old times, huh?”

He nodded and ran his hand through his hair. “I mean it. It reminded me so much of when we used to cook together in our old house…”

His voice trailed off, leaving a heavy silence between us. Memories came floating back in my drunken haze: the two of us cooking together, laughing over spilt flour and baking fails. The two of us getting lost in each other, covered in sugar. The feeling of Karl’s hands lifting me up onto the counter, his fingers tracing my thighs.

Before I knew it, I was on him. Our lips were locked, our tongues exploring each other’s mouths. My fingers were tangled in his hair, a soft moan escaping his lips as I tugged him closer, grinding my hips on him.

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. “I miss you, Abby,” he murmured.

“Shh.” I closed the distance between us again, my lips pressing against his. I didn’t want to talk right now. Didn’t want to think.

The world tilted for a moment as he flipped me around, pressing me into the couch. I was sandwiched between his body and the cushions, but found myself still able to roll my hips against him. His lips trailed down my neck as his fingers began to work their way into the waistband of my boxer shorts.

And then, there it was. His fingers on me, cool and smooth. He began rubbing my clit, slowly and gently at first, but then more firmly as my moans began to float through the air.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, and there I was again. Back in our old kitchen, Karl between my legs, his breath hot on my ear. I needed this. I wanted this.

Or did I?

Suddenly, I opened my eyes. I don’t know exactly what propelled me, but I suddenly pushed him away, scrambling to my feet. There was a heavy silence between the two of us for what felt like an eternity as we stared at each other, wide-eyed, unblinking and out of breath.

“Abby…”

“I need to go to sleep,” I murmured. “There… There’s a blanket you can use. Here.” I grabbed a thick blanket off of the back of my armchair and shoved it in his face.

And before he could respond, I was scurrying away. My bedroom door closed behind me like an impenetrable fortress, and I was cast in darkness in more ways than one.

Now, the memories of last night feel like a leaden weight in my chest. I run a hand through my tangled hair, wincing at the thought of what could have happened between the two of us last night if I hadn’t pushed him away.

Did I want it to go further? I’m not sure.

My head still feels foggy. Maybe, if I have some coffee, I can think more clearly. I climb out of bed and shuffle my way to the kitchen, stopping in the living room. Karl is still asleep on the couch. His jeans and his shirt are in a pile on the floor, and the thought of him in his boxers and nothing else makes me blush.

I barely have time to wrestle with the thought when Karl stirs, his eyes fluttering open to meet mine. “Good morning,” he mumbles, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“Morning,” I reply, my voice an awkward croak. I clear my throat in an attempt to sound more self-assured. “Do you want breakfast? I could make us something.”

He stretches, a grin breaking across his face. It’s surprising, given what happened between us last night. “I’d love to be your sous chef one last time before I head out,” he says.

Together, we shuffle into the kitchen, moving around each other in a familiar trance. I pull eggs and bread from the fridge while Karl finds a pan in the cupboard. There’s a comfortable silence, save for the clinking of utensils and the sizzle of butter in the pan.

As I crack eggs into a bowl, Karl brushes up behind me, ostensibly reaching for the salt. But his fingers brush the small of my back, lingering longer than necessary. The kitchen suddenly feels hotter than it should, and I tense up.

Before I can react, he’s leaning down over my shoulder, his breath wandering across my ear. I feel his lips gently caress the side of my neck, and I shudder, half from pleasure and half from shock.

“K-Karl,” I start, voice tight, “what are you doing?”

“I thought—” He trails off, and now his hands are on my waist, pulling me gently against him. There’s a mischievous look in his eyes as I turn to meet his gaze. “After last night…”

But I’m not the same person I was last night. I’m sober now, and I know this isn’t a good idea. I shove him away harder than I intend, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Stop,” I say, more forcefully than I mean to.

He looks shocked, his hands still hanging in the air where I once was. “I thought we were... I thought last night meant that we were heading somewhere. That you were just not ready yet,” he murmurs.

“No,” I reply, shaking my head, trying to dispel the confusion and sudden tightness in my chest. “It shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake. I was drunk, and didn’t mean for it to get so far.”

Karl’s face falls, and any warmth from the moment before evaporates. He picks up his coat from the back of a chair, his movements stiff.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” he says, voice flat, eyes avoiding mine.

Before I can stop him, he’s gone.

I watch the door click shut behind him, his presence lingering in the air. I’m alone in the kitchen now, but it still smells like him, his scent that’s so sweet and tantalizing that it leaves me wondering…

Did I shove him away because I really don’t want him like I used to, or am I just scared of how close we might get again if I finally let him in?