And wanting any of the Bastards to touch me was very, very dangerous.
We stared at each other for what felt like forever, the air crackling between us. I was vaguely aware I was breathing heavy, and this time it wasn’t just danger that made my heart race.
It was Nolan, standing only an inch away, the chemical reaction between our bodies zinging in the air like a live wire.
He dropped the sweatshirt into the Jeep’s hatch and slid his hands into my hair until he was cradling my face, looking down at me.
“Say no,” he said, his voice full of anguish.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to say no.
Not this time.
“Say no, Lilah.” It was almost a command, like he wanted me to say no even though I knew it wasn’t what he really wanted because he was breathing hard too, his hands warm on my cheeks, his eyes the same blue-green as the sea and filled with desire.
“Shut up and kiss me before I change my mind,” I said.
And then his mouth crashed into mine.
23
LILAH
I’d never kissedanyone before.
It sounded crazy, but it was true. The night the Bastards had taken pictures of me, the night that had preceded my own personal hell, we hadn’t kissed, at least not that I remembered.
In fact, in the most embarrassing of my hazy memories of that night, I’d begged them to kiss me, only to be refused, their hands and mouths touching my heated skin but never my lips.
I’d spent the next six years avoiding men, arming myself against them. I’d told myself men were dangerous, that they only ever wanted one thing, that getting close would mean being used again, this time while I was sober and knew better.
Now all I could think was… why hadn’t someone told me kissing was like this?
Because kissing Nolan was like being carried away on a building wave. His tongue licked the seam of my mouth and I opened it instinctually, then felt a fireball burst to life at the center of my body, heat expanding to my limbs, my pussy.
The world tilted. I wrapped my arms around his neck to keep from falling and kissed him back, exploring his mouth with my tongue in a tangled dance I knew in my bones.
I pressed against him without shame, molding myself against the sculpted planes of his body, and felt the hard press of his dick against my stomach. A drumbeat of need pulsed at my center, wet heat pooling between my thighs as his tongue swept my mouth.
He loosened his grip on my face, his hands traveling down my neck, pausing to stroke my throat with his thumb before continuing to my chest.
I hated that I was wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt, hated that there was anything at all between us when all I wanted was to feel the heat of his skin on mine.
I settled for exploring his chest, letting my fingertips dance over his muscled pecs as he took possession of my mouth, his tongue growing more fevered as his hands traveled over my tits and down to my waist.
I was giving in to the temptation to let my hands dip lower, over the flat expanse of his stomach, when he slipped a hand under the hem of my shirt.
The heat of his palm was the best kind of shock, and I shivered as he closed his hands around my tits and squeezed, the sweeps of his tongue faster and more urgent.
I gasped as he broke contact with my mouth, then trailed kisses along my jaw.
“Tell me to stop, Lilah.”
He was giving me a chance. He was giving me a chance to rethink what we were doing, giving me a chance to be smart. But my body didn’t want to be smart and my mind was so damn tired of thinking.
About the Bastards, what they’d done to me, why they’d done it. About my mom and Matt. About my pathetically small life and how to keep my head above water.
I dropped my head to the side in answer, giving him better access to my neck, and felt the heat of his lips press a kiss under my ear.