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Misael reached over, resting a hand on my thigh, just above my knee. His palm was warm against my bare skin.
“Don’t worry about it too much, Princess,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft. “We got you, ya know?”
I looked down at the hand secure on my thigh. It was amazing how it wrapped around and dwarfed the limb, how it radiated heat against the growing chilliness of the night. A sudden rush of feeling rose inside me—a confusing mix of emotional and physical responses—and I sucked in a gasping breath before I could stop myself.
It was like we were both made of pure electricity, and when we touched, we closed a circuit, making high-voltage energy surge through my body.
The Lost Boys owned me.
They could do whatever they wanted to me.
But this wasn’t about that.
This wasn’t coercion or force. It was chemistry. Pure, untamable chemistry that scared me with its intensity.
It was a bad idea to indulge any of the feelings I had around these boys. But knowing that didn’t make my body any less reactive to Misael’s touch, nor did it stop the warmth his touch elicited in me from sinking low, low, low, deep down where it shouldn’t—
I moved my leg, subtly pulling it from under his hand. I looked away, pretending the moment hadn’t happened, trying to get my breath back under control.
But Misael, like the Lost Boy he was, took my chin in his hold. And then, against everything that should have been the trademark of a Lost Boy, he turned my head gently to face him, giving me time to look up at him when I did.
“Why do you always do that?” he asked curiously.
“What?”
“Hold back from what you want. I thought rich girls just did whatever they felt like, whenever they felt like it. You always hold back.”
I didn’t know what I was supposed to tell him. That despite what he knew of my father, or thought he knew, Gideon van Rensselaer hadn’t raised me like that? That I really didn’t and couldn’t just do what I wanted? That there had always been an element of control to my life—parents who dictated what I could do, who I could befriend, even what I could wear? That the very act of sitting in a car with someone I was pretty sure did illegal, dangerous things, went against everything my father had raised me to be—even if it was the only way I could survive this new world his arrest had thrown me into, whether intentionally or not?
Of course I couldn’t tell him any of that. It was far too intimate a confession to make, and one thing I was certain of was that I couldn’t let the Lost Boys any deeper under my skin than they already were.
But Misael was looking at me so intently, with such warmth and curiosity in his deep brown eyes, that I had to do something.
So I did.
I kissed him.
He tasted like bitter beer, and it clashed horribly with the wine cooler still sweetening my tongue, but I didn’t care. He gripped my hair, keeping me close to him, but his lips moved with mine in a soft hunger that was different from the dominating way Kace had kissed me, or the deep, desperate way Bishop had. It was as tender as it was powerful, and I let him do it because… it felt good.
It felt amazing, perfect, even though I knew it shouldn’t.
I gasped again as Misael’s hands wandered, drifting softly up my thigh, fingers trailing up under the edge of my shorts. My skin dimpled with goosebumps, and I moaned softly.
“Goddamn. You ma
ke it hard to be good, Princess.”
His words were quiet and teasing, and they made me smile against his lips. I had spent my life trying to be good, trying to be the best daughter and student and heir to my family name that I could be.
But at the moment, the very last thing in the world I wanted to be was good. Not when bad felt so much better.
I shifted toward him on the seat, trying to get closer in the awkward confines of the car. I wanted to feel my skin pressed against his, wanted to feel the taut strength of his muscles as he moved. I wanted to know if he was hard for me—to feel him pressing against my core like I’d felt Bishop and Kace.
There was no way to do that without crawling over the console, and I wasn’t quite sure I could manage it without ruining the moment, so I stayed where I was. But I didn’t let that stop my hands from exploring, and when I brushed my fingertips up his thigh and then even higher, I could feel his stiffening cock twitch under my touch.
He let out a hissed breath, his own hand finding my leg again, and the feel of his palm on my bare skin made sparks dance through my entire body.
He’d been wrong.
