Written in the Stars(57)
She couldn’t speak, didn’t know what she’d say even if she could. Instead, Darcy let go of the railing and reached for Elle, resting her hand on Elle’s waist, thumb stroking her through the fabric. Elle lifted her chin, stars reflecting in her eyes, and the curve of her lips dared Darcy to take a chance, a leap of faith. Jump.
Lips covering Elle’s and fingers bunching in Elle’s hot pink sweater, Darcy threw herself off the cliff’s edge and let herself fall. Not to Earth, but toward Elle. Elle, who was magnetic and made it sound like nothing was impossible. That even gravity could be defied if Darcy simply believed. That even if she didn’t defy gravity, she could fall anyway and it would be okay because Elle would give Darcy a soft place to land. That Darcy could trust Elle with every fragile inch of herself.
What started slow and soft, a tentative exploration, turned desperate when Elle sucked Darcy’s lower lip into her mouth, teeth scraping her flesh. Darcy crushed herself closer, hands circling Elle’s neck, her fingers raking through the soft strands at her nape as she rocked her hips into Elle’s.
Now that she’d given herself permission to want, to want Elle, she wanted everything, wanted it all with an unbridled urgency. Tearing her mouth from Elle’s, she sucked in a gasp of air, lungs filling as she dragged her lips down Elle’s cheek, skimming the soft, silky skin of her neck where her pulse beat wildly, an echo to Darcy’s own. Tongue darting out to taste the salty sweetness of sweat dotting Elle’s throat, Darcy let her hands drift, explore, sliding from Elle’s waist down to her hips, around, fingers cupping her ass and squeezing, anything she could do to bring her closer, make her gasp, make her pulse dance harder under Darcy’s lips.
The sexiest mewl slipped from Elle’s lips when Darcy sucked on the lobe of Elle’s ear and tugged, teeth scraping her skin. The sound went straight to Darcy’s core, making her ache.
“I— Fuck, Darcy.” Elle shivered in Darcy’s arms, body going tense, then pliant, sagging against the railing at her back.
Fuck, yes. Darcy slotted her leg between Elle’s and rocked against her, delighting in the way Elle moaned, the sound vibrating against Darcy’s lips, and traveling all the way down to her curling toes.
She wanted more. Wanted more of Elle’s noises, more of Elle’s lips against hers, hers against Elle’s, the feel of Elle beneath her hands and between her thighs. She wanted to strip off the rest of Elle’s layers and lay her bare, physically, the way Elle had been brave enough to bare her soul beneath this clear, starry sky. She wanted all of Elle—the good, the bad, the messy.
Elle’s fingers, the ones that had crept under the cashmere of Darcy’s sweater, her nails raking against the sensitive skin above the waistline of Darcy’s jeans, pressed, pushing Darcy away.
Darcy stumbled backward, heart pounding. “Sorry.”
“Shut up.” Elle panted. Her fingers, those fingers that had pulled Darcy closer then pushed her away, slipped around the belt loops of Darcy’s jeans, keeping her from fleeing farther. “You’re just . . . ugh.” Elle’s head dropped back on her neck as she groaned, thumbs stroking the thin, sensitive skin over Darcy’s hip bones. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
The laugh bubbled up inside Darcy’s throat unbidden. “Me? I’m the impossible one?”
“I dream about impossible things, remember?” Elle grazed a nail against the skin beneath Darcy’s navel, making Darcy shiver. Elle’s smile was somehow both wicked and sweet. “Come home with me.”
Chapter Twelve
Please don’t let Margot be awake. Please don’t let Margot be awake.
It had occurred to Elle, as they pulled into the lot behind her building, that she should’ve suggested they go back to Darcy’s. Darcy had no roommates, but Elle had blurted out the invitation and could hardly walk it back without fear of it coming across like she was walking it all back.
Which was absolutely not the case. Nowhere close, not now, when this nebulous relationship between them had finally started to take shape and become something real.
Twisting the key, Elle pushed the front door open and peered into the dark living room. All the lights were off, save the pineapple-shaped light on the breakfast bar, the one they always kept on in the evenings, no matter what.
Breathing a sigh of relief at her luck, Elle stepped farther into the apartment, waving Darcy in after her.
Darcy had been here before, but only once, and she hadn’t stepped beyond the threshold. Now, her eyes made a curious sweep around Elle’s Cracker Jack box–size living room. Every now and then she’d pause, alighting on various knickknacks scattered on surfaces, precious memories and mementos Elle and Margot had collected. Turnabout was fair play and all; Elle had definitely taken her sweet time getting acquainted with Darcy’s spartan furnishings.
Elle’s apartment was decidedly more colorful. And cluttered. A sushi-shaped pushpin holder rested precariously near the edge of the breakfast bar. Photos inside bright, Pantone-colored frames hung crooked on the walls and a cloud-shaped storm glass sat on the windowsill, small dots in the liquid foretelling foggy weather. A floor-to-ceiling tapestry of the zodiac wheel took up most of the wall beside the couch. Shoes were piled beside the breakfast bar, mostly hers, save for a pair of boots that belonged to Margot. Smack-dab in the center of the floor sat one lone sock, and Elle couldn’t remember for the life of her how or why it had ended up there.