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“Stop that,” I mutter, wriggling back against the car door. There’s barely an inch of space to move. My heart is battering against my ribs. I could jab him in the eyes with my fingernails, but the intensity of his green gaze has me holding on to his forearms instead. I don’t want him to stop looking at me exactly the way he is right now.
Like he really is jealous.
My eyes fasten on the scar that bisects his lips at the corner of his mouth. “How did you get that?”
“Fighting.” Staring right in my eyes and moving so slow it’s agony, Laz starts to pull my top up. I have eons of time to stop him, and he’s not holding the cotton so hard that I couldn’t shove it down. He pushes it high so that it’s tight under my arms, totally exposing my breasts. As usual, I’m not wearing a bra.
He drops his eyes and I stare at his face, terrified he’s going to laugh at me. I hate that Laz is good-looking. I hate that he has a long, straight nose, dark brows, and inky black lashes that are too goddamn lush for a man. A hard jaw, and those scarred, teasing lips. Only, they’re not teasing now. They’re full and soft. His eyes are soft, too, drinking me in like I’m a work of art.
Laz plucks my tender nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and it aches so good I moan softly. My waist arches involuntarily in his hands and I suck in a shaky breath.
“Fuck, you’re sexy,” he says in a roughened voice.
Mia Bianchi, whoring around in a car again, except this time I’m not misbehaving with a boyfriend from school, I’m showing my tits to a man who’s nearly thirty, and who happens to be my stepfather.
Laz wraps his arms around my back and pulls me closer to him. As he dips his head, his dark hair falls into his eyes. He runs his tongue slowly up one of my breasts, and then pinches my nipple with his teeth.
I moan in his arms and heat floods my pussy. Heat, and a sharp, sweet ache. I brace one hand on the dashboard and another on the roof of the car as I breathe unsteadily. I want to touch Laz and find out whether his muscles feel as good as they look, but I don’t dare touch him because Iknowhe will. He’ll feel better than anything I’ve ever felt before, and I won’t be able to let go of him.
He’s not yours, I remind myself frantically.
Don’t touch him because he’snot yours.
“What’s this guy’s name?” he murmurs coaxingly, running his soft tongue over my nipples. “The one who took the picture. I won’t do anything crazy. I’ll just make him delete the photo. You want that, don’t you, Bambi?”
My God, I might come from just his tongue on my tits. My pulse is racing wildly, and I push my sweaty hand against the dash, trying to think. Will he really not do anything crazy? But everything Laz does is crazy, including what he’s doing to me right now. “I don’t trust you.”
He takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks me. Hard. “Who, me?”
Oh,fuck. “You married my mom four weeks ago, and now you’re... now you’re...”
I feel him smile against my sensitized flesh. “Now I’m having the most fun I’ve had in years. I’m living under the same roof as a horny little bitch who’s been hungry for my cock the moment I met her. She’s got the prettiest fuck-me eyes I ever saw, and the sound of her moaning my name while I pound her sweet pussy is all I want for Christmas.”
He plants slow kisses up my neck, and like the horny little bitch he says I am, I bare my throat for him. I didn’t want him the first moment I saw him. I was just hyperaware of him the moment he stepped in the room with his smirk and those muscles. I was picking up on that big dick energy like my pussy was suddenly a goddamn radar. The more I tried to ignore him, the more violently he intruded in my thoughts.
Now we’re in his car and my tits are in his big, warm hands while he kisses my throat. How the hell did this happen?
Laz pulls back and our faces are inches away from each other’s. The scar across the corner of his mouth beckons me to kiss him, while the rest of the world feels very far away.
“Tell me, Bambi,” Laz murmurs, teasing my lips by not quite touching them with his. “Tell me who hurt you, and you’ll never have to worry about him again.”
“You care that some boy is tormenting me when tormenting me is your favorite thing to do?”
A wicked smile touches his lips. “I’m not tormenting you. This is foreplay.” He glances above our heads at my palm pressed tight against the roof of his car. “Why aren’t you touching me?”
I don’t want to know what he feels like. I don’t want to replay the feel of him beneath my hands over and over again as I lay in my bed in the dark, furiously rubbing my clit.
Laz tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Bambi, don’t look so terrified. I’m a mouthy bastard, but I’m not going to run off and tell anyone about this. You think I want to draw the wrath of the Bianchis down on my head by telling them I’m messing around with my stepdaughter?” He smiles wider, his white, shiny canines glinting. “So touch me.”
Nope. It’s a trap. He touches my body. I touch his. He kisses me. Next thing I know, I’m in the back seat of his car while he pounds the living daylights out of me. Yet another terrible decision.
I swallow, hard. “Let’s just go home.”
Laz takes a fistful of my T-shirt and drags it down and settles it carefully back into place over my ribs. He sits back, and finally I can breathe again. “Not until you give me that name.”
The world rushes back. Holy shit. How does he command one hundred and ten percent of my attention like that? “Don’t worry about it. I don’t care anymore.”
Laz’s expression darkens. “There’s a red mark on your cheek, Bambi. I’m fucking furious. Either we go home and I give your mom hell for putting it there, or you let me unleash it all on the bastard who caused this shit in the first place.”
