My palms flatten against his chest so I feel the thump of his heart battering inside his chest. Maybe it’s adrenaline from the fight because I think I can’t affect him this way. That’s crazy. The Devil is supposed to tempt the human, not the other way around.
Someone wolf-whistles and starts a slow clap, but still Ian doesn’t release me. He steals the breath from my lungs, sucking it into his own like an incubus. Only when my lungs are incinerated, gray dots hazing my vision, does he let go. I gulp in air greedily, but he doesn’t let me escape. He traps my face between his palms and silently demands I stay there.
He stares at me, his gaze locked on mine.
We stand there, the catcalls and drunken cheers fading away to nothing. Hot embers from the bonfire rise into the night sky and bathe him in orange light as smoke dances in the air above us. It’s just me and him now—no friends, no foes—just us, and I could stand here forever, entranced by him and the primal thing he awakens inside of me.
Finally, his fingers fall from my face to grab hold of my hand. He leads me away from Molly and Barley, from Raven and Archie, and all of his friends.
Classmates who have gathered around us to watch the spectacle stagger out of our way as he pulls me past the fire pit and the kegs of beer, past the couples making out and doing more wanton things in the shadows of the trees.
He snatches a hand towel from the outdoor bar and cleans his face as we walk. When I stumble, he doesn’t hesitate. He swoops down and lifts me into his arms.
I squeal, and his grip on me tightens, one arm below my knees and the other around my shoulders. Ian continues forward like he’s on a mission. He clumsily jerks his keys from his back pocket but manages to not drop me.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. He just hits a button, and the door to his Lamborghini lifts into the air.
“What are you doing?” I repeat.
He looks down at me. “We are leaving,” he says, his words gruff. “My place.”
I cross my arms over my chest indignantly. Well, as much as one can cross their arms over their chest indignantly while being held. “You’ve been drinking. You can’t drive.”
He turns, taking me along with him, and looks back at the house before muttering, “No way is our first time going to be in Aurora’s fucking lake house.”
“Our WHAT?!” I squirm and jerk until he drops me.
I catch myself, with his help, before backing away from him. I raise my hands as if it will protect me from him, which really is laughable. He stares at me, a quizzical confusion on his otherwise perfect face.
“I am not sleeping with you,” I say.
The quizzical expression continues, and I briefly wonder if I have broken him.
Ian steps forward. Somehow his one long step makes up for all of mine.
I lick my lips, and his gaze latches onto the movement.
“I…” I begin. Why is it so hard for me to say this? “I like you, Ian, but I’m not ready for that...” After last time. “I don’t know if I want that...” Again.
“You’re a virgin?” He doesn’t look sad or happy, just mildly surprised.
“Well, um,” I look at the ground, then past his shoulder at the house, then off into the trees. Why is my mouth so dry? “No.” I swallow. “It’s…I’d rather not talk about it.”
Why do I sound like I’m sitting in confessional? Should I ask for a couple of Hail Mary’s while I’m at it?
His gaze darkens with something—desire maybe? Possessiveness? He grabs my hands I now have latched over my belly and holds them in between his own.
“Did someone hurt you, Harlow?” His words threaten murder.
“No,” I shake my head quickly. “It’s not like that. It was a couple of months after William, and we were both just really drunk, and...” Please don’t make me talk about it. My eyes close as the fuzzy images float through my head.
Me giggling as we staggered up the stairs.
Him smiling before he attempted to rip his shirt off, got tangled in it, and once free, threw it across the room.
Me waking up alone and realizing I had added another notch to his never-ending bed post.
I shake the memories away and shut my mouth to prevent the continued spillage of words.
“I’ll wait, Stormy,” Ian says softly. “I will wait for you.”
His words send a crack straight through my porcelain heart.
Then he is tugging me toward the car again.
“Where are we going?” I laugh. “I thought we just had this conversation.”
Ian nudges me gently into the driver seat before strapping me into a crazy five-point harness, which only illustrates why I shouldn’t even be in this car, much less in the driver’s seat.
“You said no sex,” he says as he latches the last clip. “But you never said I couldn’t taste you.”
I have the fleeting realization that I don’t think he’s talking about my mouth before his lips crash into mine in an all-too-quick kiss and he shuts the door.
He jogs over to the other side of the car. As he buckles himself in, he asks, “Have you ever driven a stick?”
I snort because although my dad made me learn, it’s not high on my list of achievements. I’m not even sure I could classify it as an achievement. It’s more of a participation-award sort of thing.
“It’s been a while,” I say, looking over at our classmates still mingling about on the lawn. “Maybe we should…”
Ian shakes his head. “Don’t worry, sweetness. I’ll show you.”
He turns the key in
