Lahat ng Kabanata ng Can I ride you, Luca?....Craving my best friend’s brother: Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Emma’s POVThe house was a tomb of silence, but my bedroom was a furnace. I didn’t know what time it was when I woke up in the pitch black, only that the air felt charged, as if the oxygen itself had been replaced by the lingering electricity of the rounds we’d already gone through. Luca was a heavy, warm weight beside me, his breathing deep and rhythmic.I shifted, the silk sheets sliding over my sensitized skin like a caress. The movement woke him. I felt his hand, large and calloused, find the curve of my hip in the dark. He didn't say a word; he didn't have to. He pulled me toward him, my back flushing against his chest."Again?" he rasped, his voice vibrating through my spine."I can't get enough," I whispered.The third round was different—slower, more agonizingly deliberate. Because we weren't fighting the clock or a nosy roommate, we took our time exploring the wreckage we’d made of each other. He turned me over, his mouth finding the dip of my waist, his tongue tracing the br

Emma’s POVThe week of final exams was a grueling marathon of caffeine-induced tremors and the smell of old paper. The Lodge, usually a place of chaotic social energy, transformed into a silent monastery. The only sounds were the scratching of pens, the rustle of flashcards, and the low hum of the coffee maker that seemed to run twenty-four hours a day.Monday was Macroeconomics—a three-hour beast that left my hand cramping and my brain feeling like fried circuit boards. Luca stayed true to his word; he kept his distance, sending only short, grounding texts.Luca: Focus, Reed. Crush the paper. I’ll be here when the ink dries.It was the space I needed, yet the lack of his presence felt like a physical ache. Hannah, Mia, and I fell into a rhythmic, mechanical routine. We sat at the dining table, surrounded by highlighters and half-eaten granola bars. Hannah was the "anchor," organized and intense, while Mia remained a silent, focused shadow across from me. We did mock tutorials, quizz

Emma’s POVThe clock in the grand foyer chimed 2:00 AM, a hollow, resonant sound that signaled the death of the party. Most of the rowing team had cleared out, leaving behind only the "survivors"—a few stragglers passed out on the velvet sofas and the lingering scent of stale beer. The high-octane bass had been replaced by a low, rhythmic hum of a chill-out playlist, making the vast rooms of the Carter estate feel even more cavernous and predatory."Emma," Hannah murmured, her hand hooking firmly into my elbow. Her grip was tight, her knuckles slightly pale. "Now. Garden. The talk."I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. I followed her out onto the limestone terrace. The moon was a jagged sliver of bone in the sky, casting long, distorted shadows over the manicured hedges. Hannah didn't stop at the terrace; she led me deep into the garden, toward the stone gazebo draped in ivy.On the way, she grabbed a bottle of tequila from a stray table and took a long, uncharact

Emma’s POVThe Saturday morning sun was too bright, too judgmental, and far too loud. It cut through the sheer curtains of the Lodge like a blade, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the wake of last night’s wreckage.I was sitting at the kitchen island, nursing a cup of black coffee that tasted like charcoal, when the front door groaned open.Hannah stumbled in, looking like a high-fashion ghost. Her crimson silk dress from the night before was gone, replaced by an oversized hoodie and leggings, but her face was a map of the evening's casualties. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin lacked its usual porcelain glow, and she was holding her head as if it might roll off her shoulders at any moment."God," she wheezed, collapsing into the chair next to me. "Make it stop. Make the world stop spinning.""Rough morning?" I asked, my voice cautious. I was mentally bracing myself, waiting to see if the "confession" from the gazebo had survived the sunrise."Luca," she groaned, burying her fac

Emma’s POVThe laundry room felt like it was shrinking. The hum of the dryer was a dull roar in my ears as I stared at Mia. She wasn't the quiet, brooding roommate anymore; she was a predator who had been watching me bleed out in slow motion."How?" I whispered, my voice finally cracking. "How long have you known?"Mia didn't blink. She leaned back against the washing machine, her arms crossed so tightly her knuckles were white. "Since the boathouse, Emma. You think you’re so careful, sneaking out in the middle of the night, coming back smelling like lake water and woodsmoke. But I’m not Hannah. I don't look at you and see a saint. I see a girl who’s addicted to the one person who could destroy her.""You followed me?" I felt a surge of cold fury."I didn't have to," Mia spat. "I saw his car. I saw the way he looked at you in the hallway before the gala—like he was deciding which part of you to eat first. And then the 'bushy path' lie? The leaves in your hair? You aren't as good at th