Page 4 of Forbidden Girl

That’s enough intimidation for one night. I don’t like the taste of it. I drop the pipe. It clangs against the concrete, rolling across the alleyway until it meets the foundation of an apartment building. I give his shoulder a light punch. “Good man. Hand over the cash.”

He digs into his left pocket, then his right, and produces two fat wads of crumpled bills. I should count it, but I have more important shit to do. “Let him go, Ben.”

Ben releases his hold on his shirt. “Better run and find yourself a job.”

He bolts with such speed, it’s as if he sprouted wings out of his ass. When he’s gone, Ben turns to me. “You can be really fucking terrifying sometimes.”

Ha. “Thanks.”

“So… Rapunzel’s letting her hair down for you tonight?” he wonders as we head back to the car.

That’s an inaccurate description of Jules. Essentially, she is a captive. But she wasn’t kidnapped by a wicked witch; she’s the seed of Voldemort. “If Calloway lets her out, yeah.”

“Didn’t her ‘bodyguard’ almost bust you two at the bar last week?”

“That was last week.”

“You like living dangerously. Too dangerously.”

He’s not wrong there.

“Shotgun!” Merrick calls to Ben as we hit the top of the alley.

“Until we get El. Then your ass is in the backseat,” I reply. “Manners.”

“Right. Manners. Of course, manners.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Get in the car, wiseass, or forget riding shotgun, I’ll strap you to the roof.”

THREE

JULES

I never used to be the kind of person who was down for a Smash and Dash. I understand that’s en vogue for my generation, but I can’t think of anything less appealing than the chronic avoidance of genuine human connection. I mean, I enjoy sex, it’s fun and it feels good, but how boring to not have to work for it. Make me earn it; I like a challenge. I think to myself Rowan’s never made me work for anything. It’s always been easy with her. From minute one. If anyone had to work for it, it was her. Probably harder than she’s ever had to. I know her reputation: She’s drowning in pussy.

I guess sometimes people do things that are out of character, against their better judgment or even their better angels. I wonder if that’s what I’m doing now, propped up on the gold-filigree bathroom vanity, my back against the lighted mirror as Rowan presses her lips to mine. It’s only a Smash and Dash because we don’t have any other choice. That’s how we have to do things. Still, this is risky, so public, and so soon after almost being caught. Worth it, though. It’s been a long week without her. Keeping our distance was my idea. Worst idea ever.

“I missed you.” She whispers it into my mouth as if she’s stolen the words from me. She reaches up, moves my long, loose hair away from my neck—kisses, then licks my skin, sweet like sugar. The bite that follows is less saccharine, more bitter, lips and teeth and just a hint of pain, but somehow still sweet. It’s everything I like about her in a single action.

“I missed you, too.”

She glides her hands under my tank top and they creep into my bra. She massages my breasts, traps my nipples between her fingers, gives them a tiny pinch. Rubbing. Mmm. Another bite on the side of my neck, harder. Sucking. She goes for my earlobe and I have no more words for her to steal, only low moans. I can’t take it anymore; I’m throbbing for her. I want her inside me, but she’s not going to give me what I want until I beg. She gets off on the power.

She can have it. “Please, Rowan. Please.”

“Good girl.” She nudges my legs open with her knee, runs her left palm up my inner thigh, up my skirt. Her slender fingers find their way into my panties, then into me—two to start with. If I want more, I’ll have to ask nicely. Her left eyebrow raises, but it’s involuntary. She’s marveling at my readiness as she always does—not surprised, amused. It’s no secret she gets me wetter than a Slip and Slide. She gets straight to work, thrusting deep, thumb teasing my clit, light and quick like the flutter of dragonfly wings.

Tonight, she’s a bit rougher from the get-go than usual, more frenzied, but I like it. And I understand the reason. The Boston Harbor Hotel is neutral territory for our families, though I’m not here unsupervised. “The henchmen,” as Rowan calls them, are waiting for me at the bar. Neither the round of fancy martinis I bought them nor chatting up Rose and Shannon will distract them for long. And the clock is ticking: The $100 bill Rowan slipped the washroom attendant only bought us fifteen minutes of the restroom being “closed for maintenance.” It’s not enough time. I want all night. I want to meet the sunrise with her arms around me. But this is all we ever get—precious pilfered moments. Jesus, that feels so good.

I don’t want to waste another second thinking. I reach out, palm the back of her head and pull her closer. We’re nose to nose and I’m panting into her mouth. “Kiss me,” she commands, and I do. I give her lower lip a nip, and then my tongue is in her mouth, tangling gracelessly with hers.

I paw at her jeans and feel her muscles tense. She backs out of the kiss, although her fingers keep up their steady tempo. “Please, Rowan. I want to touch you,” I murmur. She considers me, emerald eyes alight with awe. It’s not something I’ve done before—not to her—even a month and a half into our clandestine rendezvous. She’s always so attentive, so focused on making me feel good. She never thinks of herself. It’s time for that to change. She is all I ever think about.

My legs are beginning to shake. I feel the heat rising inside me as my climax builds. “Slow down.” I encircle her wrist. “Together, okay?”

There’s an expression I recognize, devilish delight, transforming into something unfamiliar—submission. “Anything you want, gorgeous.”

I’m barely able to contain my “thank you” as I undo her button, unzip her fly. She’s wearing teal lace underwear. Not such a tough girl, after all. I swallow a smile at the thought and slide my hand beneath the waistband. So smooth. Further. I dip a finger inside her, discovering that she’s already soaked just from touching me. Incredible. She seems like a two fingers kind of girl, so that’s what I give her. And I use her wetness to massage her clit with the side of my thumb, matching her speed on mine. She starts to do that thing that drives me wild—fingers spread, drumming quick and hard on my G-spot. The moan I release is guttural. Feral. Her lips twist into a sly, knowing grin. “You fucking love that don’t you?” she asks, a soft exhalation following each word.

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