Kill The Luna

25

I lowered my gaze to my plate, my fingers tightly gripping the silver fork as the painful memories rushed back. "When I went to the bathroom at the stadium, I ran straight into my sister," I murmured, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. I let out a bitter, breathless laugh that did nothing to hide the ache in my chest. "As it turns out, she completely hates my guts. She wants to exact her sweet revenge on me, even though she was the very same person who went behind my back and stole my boyfriend."

Michael leaned back in his chair, a slow, dark smirk spreading across his handsome face as he absorbed my words. "Hmm," he rumbled, his deep voice vibrating with cold amusement. "What a truly lovely and supportive family you have."

I rolled my eyes, a sarcastic smile touching my lips despite the tears prickling the corners of my eyes. "Yeah, I guess so," I replied, looking up to meet his intense gaze. "I really couldn't have asked for a better, more loving family than the one I got."

As we kept talking, the sheer exhaustion and stress of the day finally caught up with my body, turning into a wild, uncontrollable hunger. Before I even realized it, I had already cleared two entire plates of luxury food—first a serving of perfectly seared Wagyu beef steak that melted like butter, followed by a rich, creamy plate of lobster bisque. My stomach was a bottomless pit tonight. Without a hint of shame, I reached across the table and pulled a third plate toward myself. This one was a mountain of garlic butter seafood pasta, smelling absolutely incredible.

However, as I looked down at the tray, I realized there wasn't a standard fork left. The only utensils resting beside the porcelain bowl were a pair of sleek, polished wooden chopsticks. I picked them up, wrapping my fingers clumsily around the sticks, but the slippery noodles kept sliding right back into the bowl. I tried again, my face flushing with embarrassment as a single shrimp rolled away from my grip. I huffed in frustration, totally struggling to get even a single bite to my mouth.

Sensing my struggle, Michael silently pushed his own chair back and stood up. His massive frame cast a long shadow over the table as he walked all the way down to my end. Without saying a word, he bent down slightly, his large, warm hand gently sliding over mine to collect the chopsticks from my clumsy fingers.

"Let me help you with that," he murmured, his tone dropping into something surprisingly soft and low.

He slid his thumb down the wood, gripping the sticks with expert ease. With a slow, deliberate movement, he twisted the pasta around the tips, lifting a perfect, bite-sized portion from the bowl. He guided it right to my lips, waiting patiently. I opened my mouth and took the bite from him, but as I started chewing, a stray noodle slipped. A drop of the thick sauce splashed right onto the front of my beautiful red dress, and a messy streak of grease stained the side of my lips.

Instead of reaching for a napkin, Michael simply leaned closer. His dark eyes locked onto mine as he raised his bare thumb, gently wiping the sauce away from my lips with a slow, smooth stroke of his finger. The warmth of his skin sent a sudden spark traveling straight down my spine. After cleaning my mouth, he calmly stepped back, using those exact same chopsticks to pick up a piece of the pasta from my plate and pop it right into his own mouth.

I sat perfectly still, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. I couldn't tear my eyes away from his face as he stood there chewing the food, his sharp jawline moving rhythmically. A few small traces of the pasta sauce had gotten caught in his thick, dark beard, and for some wild, insane reason, the sight of it made a sudden wave of heat pool deep in my stomach. It was turning me on.

My cheeks burned with a fierce blush, and I mentally slapped myself. *How on earth could I get turned on by a man I barely even know?* I thought frantically, squeezing my hands into tight fists in my lap. *No, it’s not that. It’s just adrenaline. It’s just the excitement of surviving the day, and absolutely nothing else.*

My gaze remained glued to the dark stain on his mouth, and my hand twitched on the table as a sudden impulse hit me to reach up and clean it for him. But before I could make a fool of myself, Michael quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, completely unaware of my inner meltdown. He just kept standing there, focusing entirely on feeding me bite after bite until the pasta was completely gone.

Once the bowl was empty, he gently shoved the plate aside to clear the space. He reached for a smaller, elegant crystal dish and placed it right in front of me. It was piled high with strange, perfectly round pink balls that looked almost like glossy jewels. I tilted my head, my brow furrowing in deep confusion. "What is this?" I asked, looking up at him curiously.

A mysterious, playful smile touched his lips as he looked down at me. "Don't worry about it," he instructed softly, gesturing toward the dish. "Just give it a try."

Intrigued, I picked up one of the pink spheres and popped it onto my tongue. The moment my teeth broke through the sweet outer layer, a burst of incredible flavor exploded across my mouth. It tasted completely different from how it looked—way richer, sweeter, and more complex. My eyes widened in pure delight, and a soft gasp escaped my throat. "Wow! What on earth is this?" I cheered.

Before he could answer, I completely lost all my manners. I reached out and scooped up a whole bunch of the pink balls from the plate, stuffing them all into my mouth at the exact same time until my cheeks puffed out. "Wow, this is amazing!" I mumbled loudly, talking with my mouth completely full of food as the sweet juices spilled over my tongue. "It’s like a pink grape, but Michael, this is so much better than a normal grape!"

Michael watched my childish excitement, a genuine, slow smile breaking through his usual icy expression. "I know," he replied quietly, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of me.

Right at that moment, the elegant sound of the piano began to echo through the large room again, the beautiful melody swelling and filling the spaces between us. Michael took a step back, straightening his posture as the flickering candlelight caught the sharp lines of his face. He slowly stretched his large hand out toward me, palm facing up, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the rest of the world vanish.

"Have a dance with me," he invited, waiting for me to take his hand.