Chapter 8
1180 Words
•Miguel•
I knew about her flight jitters and I tried my best to keep her distracted but the second the plane jolted and she landed on my lap, I regretted distracting her in the first place.
Because now her arms flew across my neck as she snuggled close to me, whispering something like a prayer.
She smelled like cinnamon and lemon—warm, homely, mine.
“You know, sweetheart you don't have to wait for turbulence to sit on my lap.” I murmured, hoping for a tease to ease her nerves.
“I hate you.” She mumbled into my shirt, still not lifting her head.
Christ, she was f*****g cute.
“Nuns don't lie, do they?”
“Exactly.” She lifted her head enough to glare at me, her cheeks flushed with wild eyes. She looked nothing like the girl who'd been confidently interrogating me minutes ago.
“I’m honored I got under your skin enough to make you lie.”
She narrowed her eyes but I could see the way her lips twitched, fighting a smile. “Don’t flatter yourself, oldie. I'm just a wreck right now and you just happen to be the only available support.”
I raised a brow. “Support?”
“You know, body heat helps with nerves.”
Her nose scrunched and I knew she was lying—not about body heat but about why she was on my lap. My pretty Shell wanted to feel me
“Are you sizing me up?”
She let out a soft breathy laugh, and my chest swelled with pride. God, her laugh was like a lazy '80s blues playlist, smooth, seductive and f*****g impossible to forget.
My shell, my pretty shell.
“You think I’m trying to feel you up? Oldie, you aren't my type really. And I mean if I weren't a nun in training.”
I looked down at her, my mouth merely inches away from hers. Her lips parted, tongue darting out to wet the bottom one.
Not her type my ass. I could bet my entire assets she's expecting me to cross the line, to kiss her senseless right now and rid her of the ache and guilt.
And hell I wanted to—I wanted to taste those pouty cherry lips and rip that scarf from her hair, and bury my fingers in it.
But she wasn't fully mine. Not yet.
Instead, I leaned in my breath warm at her ear.
“I think,” I whispered, "I am exactly your type, nun in training or not.”
She stiffened for a little bit before tilting her head toward me like she was asking for more. Dangerous girl.
“Is that what you tell yourself at night to sleep better?” She whispered but her voice didn't have the bite she wanted it to.
“Maybe,” I said, letting my lips almost graze the shell of her ear. “Or maybe I imagine you screaming my name in the comfort of your room.”
Her breath hitched and for a split second I imagined what it would feel like to have her fingers in my hair instead of clutching at my shirt.
But then the seatbelt light pinged and the Captain's voice crackled overhead. She pulled back a bit, still perched on my lap and those wild gray eyes tried so hard to look unbothered.
This was better than any foreplay I have ever had.
“You need God.” She murmured, more to herself than me but I caught it anyways.
Too late, princess. Too late.
Her words should have scared me away but I live off her squirms and discomfort.
“Are you offering to introduce me to Him?” I asked.
Her cheeks puffed as she exhaled through her nose, the slightest smile threatening to slip through before she stopped it. “Not exactly, He might strike you dead for being covetous.”
“That’s alright, Shell.” I said, brushing a slight dust away from her scarf. “I promise to be good, he will give you to me himself.”
She rolled her eyes in fake anger, like we were kids fighting over who was related to Superman.
The plan jolted again, harder this time and instinct had her fingers curling in my shirt again.
“You seem pleased with yourself.” She accused, voice low.
A little too much.
I tipped my head, my eyes dragging over her face, memorizing every twitch in her expression and the barely invisible freckles on her face. “Enjoying you? Always.”
She buried her face in my shoulder again, her voice muffled. “You’re an idiot.”
I rested my chin lightly on the top of her head. “Maybe. But I'm your personal i***t for the next two hours.”
A voice can up again, softer. “Only two?”
Fuck, she was sleepy and she yet she managed to still rile me up.
My grip tightened ever so slightly around her waist, needing to have proof that she's actually here with me. I needed to hold her before she went back to default.
Fuck, Penelope, you're driving me bonkers and I don't even f*****g care.
“Two for now,” I said low, almost to myself. “We will renegotiate when we land.”
“Sleep, sweetheart,” I murmured, my lips brushing the top of her scarf. “We’ve got a couple of hours before we land.”
“Mhm.”
It’s barely a sound, more like the vibration of a thought she’s too tired to finish. But she melts into me anyway, tucking herself closer like she’s trying to disappear inside my chest.
Her warmth seeps through my shirt, her heartbeat a steady little rhythm against my ribs.
I don’t move, I just hold her. Because moments like this remind me that no award, no reward, no fame could ever touch the way it feels when she chooses me. It’s not a prize, it’s possession. And I’ll lose everything else before I let it go.
Everyone thinks I saved her life that night, but the truth is she’s the only reason I made it out alive.
I was f*****g lost and it was impossible to talk about the pain of loneliness at my age.
But I saw Penelope at that club, not paying any heed to the men there. I watched how she danced with her friends, and my heart thugged for more than just a glance.
She made me want to live again, she's the proof I'm not just surviving for the sake of it.
After my mother died, I gave up the idea of a higher being and I stopped looking for signs a long time ago but then when I look at this stubborn, soft, infuriating woman I'm suddenly convinced God exists because there's no other explanation for someone like her existing.
I draw her in tighter, maybe a little too tight but doesn’t stir.
Good.
I’m not ready to let go just yet.
- Writer
