Inside me. I want him inside me…
“Oh, God,” I breathed and wrenched myself away from Ronan, coming back to myself and where we were. “Not here.”
“Where?” Ronan said gruffly. “You want to go somewhere and…?”
Do anything. Everything. Last summer with Jalen had felt like ticking off a box on my To Do list. A job that needed doing. I was going to start a business right after graduation and wanted to jump into adulthood with both feet, nothing left in my way.
But kissing Ronan Wentz felt monumental. A seismic shift in my carefully constructed world that made my rules and protections feel flimsy and weak.
Ronan was pressed against me, waiting for me to tell him what came next, breathing hard, his eyes dark and dilated. The rain slid in rivulets down his cheekbones, down the sharp cut of his jaw, droplets falling from his lips… Then his gaze flickered to something down the street, and he pulled abruptly away from me.
“Let’s go.”
His sudden, cold tone felt like the rain, dousing the heat between us. He kept his jacket over me as we hurried to my car, but I got the impression it was more to hide me than to keep me dry.
We climbed in the Buick, me behind the wheel and him in the passenger seat. He glanced around, water dripping on the white upholstery.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Let’s just go.”
Ronan gave the address of his place, and I drove us in silence to the complex near the Cliffs, not far from my house.
“Which is yours?”
“Upper left.”
“Can I see it?”
“No.”
The word dropped, final and hard. Humiliating. Like a cold slap to the face after the perfect heat of his mouth on mine. Worse, my heart ached as if it had been slapped too. Hard.
That’s it. I’m done making a fool of myself.
“Fine,” I snapped. “See you around some—”
The words were stolen from my mouth as Ronan closed the space between us and kissed me again. With both hands, I shoved him back, ready to spit fire. But in the space of one heartbeat, I fell into the smoky haze of his eyes and in the next, I was straddling him on the seat and bending my mouth to his.
Damn him…
He leaned back against the seat, bringing me with him and kissing me deeply now, languidly. His tongue tasting every corner, indulgent and slow. My arms wrapped around his neck, my hands in his hair, cradling his head as we kissed, savoring the taste and touch and wet heat of his mouth.
Finally, I came up for air. I traced the line of his cheekbone, down to his cheek, to his full lips. Taking my time, examining every inch of that face that interrupted my minutes, and gazing into those gray eyes that were miles deep.
Don’t fall in, a tiny warning voice whispered, then was burned up in the small space between Ronan and me, in the car that was humid and hot.
“Put your hands on me,” I breathed.
His eyes widened and then darkened again. His hands that had been resting on my thighs slid up the loose linen, up to my waist, higher. With a feral grunt, his kiss turned raw and savage. His hands went under my sweater, found my breasts over my bra, cupping them and pinching my nipples while his mouth moved down my neck, leaving biting kisses that set fire to my skin.
Beneath me, I felt the iron hardness of his erection pressing through his jeans against the soft material of my pants. I ground down on him, and he answered by sliding his hands to my hips and doing it again. Moving me on him.
“My God,” I whispered, my head falling back. Ready to give him everything. Then Ronan froze. He wrenched his mouth from my neck, his eyes on the street through the windshield behind me.
“What…?”
I heard the squeal of tires and turned in time to see a flash of a white car swerve around and drive away.
“What was that?” I asked.
Ronan didn’t seem to hear me. “I’m so stupid,” he said, his voice heavy. “So fucking stupid…”
His words trailed and he gently but firmly removed me from his lap and pushed me away.
I blinked, still feeling him everywhere, my mouth swollen and raw from his kisses, my body aching from his sudden absence.
“I can’t do this. We can’t do this. Fuck.” He carved a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Shiloh,” he said, his tone gritty.
“What? Why? What is happening right now?”
But Ronan was already reaching for the door. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Feeling as if I were in a bad dream, I watched Ronan get out of the car, shut the door, and walk heavily to the shabby complex without looking back. He went up the stairs to the corner unit and vanished inside.
The rain came down steadily, the windshield fogged from our kisses. It was reminiscent of Mama’s cigarette smoke. The gaping pit in my stomach reminded me why I don’t let anyone get close. Because of that feeling. That hollow, hopeless feeling of sitting alone and watching a door close between me and what I wanted.
Stop it. It was only a kiss.
Except it didn’t feel like only anything.
Tears blurred my vision. Or maybe it was the rain. Because I didn’t cry. Not over a guy. Not over anything.
I turned on the windshield wipers and drove away.
Chapter Thirteen
“Fuck me,” I muttered and slammed my door shut behind me. I crossed to the kitchen in two steps and grabbed a bottle of beer from the nearly empty fridge.
I could still taste Shiloh—the sweetness of sugar and strawberries and her own clean warmth beneath. Kissing her was better than I’d imagined. My entire body had woken up, wanting her so goddamn bad I could hardly keep my hands from tearing at her clothes. To get at more of her skin, the heat of her…
I bit out a curse and took a long swallow of beer.
They followed us.
Outside the doughnut shop, it was Frankie Dowd and Mikey Grimaldi I’d seen leaning on Mikey’s white Jeep Rubicon parked in front of the burger joint. They’d nudged each other, watching us, smiling in a way I didn’t like. With an agenda. And then they did a drive-by as Shiloh and I went at each other in her car.
“Because they fucking followed us.”
If it were only Frankie and Mikey, I wouldn’t have given a shit. I could beat their asses one at a time or both together. But Mitch…
This is who you are. The criminal…
Outside my apartment, I heard a metallic scrape and footsteps. I strode over and threw open the door, ready to go, Mitch Dowd or not. Instead, I scared the shit out of Louis Maroney from 2F. The wiry, middle-aged guy shrank at my menacing glare.
“Rain’s pretty bad. There’s a leak in my ceiling so I was putting in a maintenance request.” He nodded at the metal box affixed to my door. “But it can wait…”
“No, it can’t,” I said. “I’ll handle it.”
“Thanks. Uh, thank you,” he said and practically ran back to his apartment.
He was right; the rain was coming down hard now, but I needed to wash Shiloh off of me. Kissing her had been a mistake. Taking what wasn’t mine in one reckless, selfish moment.
She wanted you too, I thought, remembering how she’d silently dared me to kiss the sugar off her mouth. How she’d been in the car, straddling me, grinding against me…