MMORPG: Birth of the World's Luckiest Player-Chapter 134: By the Lotus Pond [II]
’This is perfect. This feeling... it’s everything.’
Marcus’s mind was a whirlwind. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore: he hadn’t moved on from Anya. Reaching for her, pulling her close; the raw, simple happiness of it was undeniable. And instantly, it was followed by a sickening wave of self-disgust. He felt like a bastard. His own greed, this endless wanting, terrified him.
What surprised him most was that Anya did not pull away. When his fingers tightened around hers and his arm settled firmly around her slim, graceful frame, she gave a brief, startled shiver. For a heartbeat, her body went stiff, as if instinct demanded she resist, but then that tension melted away. She relaxed into him, allowing herself to be held, allowing his arm to draw her closer, until the soft curves of her body rested naturally against his side.
For Anya, this closeness was unfamiliar territory. No man had ever been allowed to hold her like this. Her first instinct had been to push him away, to protect herself, but the moment she realized who it was, all resistance drained from her. It was Marcus. That infuriating, heart-breaking jerk who’d lived rent-free in her head for years. All the fight drained out of her. The years of quiet ache finally found a harbor. The half-formed dream of coming back for grad school, of maybe seeing him again, had somehow, impossibly, turned real.
She went slack in his arms, her rigid posture giving way to something soft and yielding, like water flowing back to where it belonged. She leaned into his chest, breathing him in, the familiar scent stirring memories she had never truly escaped.
Marcus was the only man who had ever caught her eye, the only one who had ever occupied her thoughts late into the night. No one else had ever come close, let alone been allowed to touch her like this. To the world, Anya was composed, distant, and untouchable, but beneath that calm surface what she felt for him was a relentless tide that had long since swept her away. Without him, her life had felt drained of color, hollow in a way she could never explain.
From their very first meeting, her heart had belonged to him. From that clumsy, embarrassing collision that left him sprawled over her, to the awkward sincerity of the first love letter he ever wrote, he had claimed her completely. Whether she liked it or not, she had been his from the start.
She pressed herself more firmly against him, savoring the solid warmth of his chest, grounding herself in the reality of it. This was no longer a dream she woke from in the middle of the night, no illusion that dissolved with morning light. She was here, truly here, in the arms of the man she loved.
"Marcus..." she breathed into his shirt.
She could feel the heat coming off him, the firm strength of his frame. The steady thud-thud-thud of his heart was a drumbeat against her ear. She closed her eyes. In front of him, her pride meant nothing. She wasn’t her family’s "precious darling" or the university’s untouchable ice queen. She was just a girl, desperately in love and finally where she wanted to be.
Just like this.
’You absolute bastard, Marcus,’ she thought, the curse tinged with a hopeless fondness. She was dying to know what was going on in his head. Where did she stand? Was she still just second place to Serena, or had she finally carved out a real corner in his heart?
’Marcus, why? Why do you keep doing this to me?’
She thought about his selfishness, his maddening inability to choose. He’d stolen her heart, occupied every quiet moment of her life, and then just... walked away. Moved on to someone else.
She wanted to hate him for it. She’d tried. But the trying only ever twisted the feelings tighter. She was addicted to the idea of his love; she didn’t know how to function without it.
’Marcus, could I ever really be yours? Will you ever actually say it?’
The question screamed in her mind, but she was too scared of the answer. She decided to wait. She’d crossed an ocean to come back to him. She could be patient.
She’d tried to use graduation and distance like a scalpel, to cut him out. A miserable failure. He was etched into her bones.
’Marcus, I love you.’
She didn’t say it. Instead, she pressed closer, stealing his warmth. His chest was so broad it felt like a shelter. Only he ever made her feel this safe, and this completely terrified.
’Christ, Anya. Are you trying to kill me here?’ Marcus wondered.
Her closeness was a live wire against his self-control. He was torn; a primal urge to crush her against him, to finally ’claim’ what felt like his, warring with a panic about what came after. He wanted to tell her everything, to spill every locked-up feeling.
He looked down. Her eyes were shut, long dark lashes fanning over cheekbones. Her face was a study in serene, flawless beauty, so perfect it almost didn’t seem real. How did someone like her even exist?
As he looked, the full reality of their position crashed down on him. Anya was fitted against him, and the physical truth of it was becoming a distraction he couldn’t shut out. The soft, heavy curve of her breast was a warm weight against his side, shifting subtly with each breath she took. He could feel the heat of her skin bleeding through both their clothes, a sensation that sent a low current straight through him.
His gaze traveled the slender map of her. She was a masterpiece. His hand rested on the delicate shelf of her waist, a possessive claim he felt in his very fingertips.
But it was the way she was nestled, the gentle, unconscious press of her hip against his hand, that felt like a deliberate provocation. A silent, dangerous question.
The temptation was a physical ache. His mouth went dry, his pulse hammering in his ears as his restraint started to splinter.
He wanted to trace every line of her, to drown in the scent of her perfume mixed with the clean, warm scent of her skin. Every slight shift, every quiet sigh, was like a match strike. The air around them was thick with it.
Anya. The most elusive of the Four Campus Queens. The woman most guys couldn’t even get a polite conversation with. And here she was, tucked under his arm, her head on his chest, trusting and soft.
How could he not be losing his mind?
