Page 5 of Forbidden Girl

“God, yes.” Her confidence is so damn sexy. I have never wanted to give a woman an orgasm more in my entire life. I pick up the pace and hit my rhythm exactly right; her breath catches in her throat. She closes her eyes, chomps down on her bottom lip, and rocks against my hand. I can’t tear my gaze away from her. The look on her face is delicious. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy. “You’re so beautiful.”

I can tell she’s not used to hearing that and doesn’t know what to do with it, because her mouth is on mine again, silencing me. Her tongue slips in, brushes my tongue. The way she kisses me—like she’s been lost, wandering the desert for days, and my lips are crisp, cool water.

Her breathing is getting erratic. I feel her throbbing, the walls of her pussy clenching around my fingers. “I’m gonna come,” she whimpers. I snatch her chocolate-colored ponytail, tug her head back. I want to see those stunning eyes overflowing with desire.

“Me, too.” My entire body is quaking, edging closer to that moment. My muscles strain to the point of snapping. Hers do, too. And then it happens for both of us. It’s sublime, the birth of a star and its collapse all at once. “Oh my God!”

“Fuuuck!”

She pulls herself out of me and rests her forehead on my shoulder. Her breath is ragged and balmy—warm, wispy ghosts caressing my skin.

I free my fingers from her body and lick them clean under her scrutiny. “I’ve been curious to know what you taste like. Have you been eating pineapple?”

She laughs close to my ear. It’s loud and throaty, a sound I’ve never heard from her before. “I didn’t realize you were such a top.” She kisses my cheek and, without warning, drops to her knees. She looks up at me from between my legs. “My turn to taste you.” She reaches up my skirt, bunching the sides of my panties into her fists.

I stop her. “You should probably get back to your girlfriend.”

She sighs, the elastic snapping back against my hipbones, rises and nails me with those eyes, fierce and fiery. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s who my father wishes were my girlfriend.”

I watch her zip and button her jeans in one swift, sharp motion. She sidesteps me and turns on the tap, rinses away the remnants of me and dries off with a throwaway towel. We’re not in the backseat of her Jeep or my BMW as usual, yet her routine is the same. She barely broke a sweat, but she’ll still want to freshen up now that we’re done. It’s one of my favorite of her quirks, her fondness for cleanliness. It’s why she always smells so good, like lavender mixed with vanilla.

“I’m not sure there’s a difference,” I say.

Her fieriness extinguishes in an instant. “You know there is, Jules.”

I melt when she’s like this, bare and honest, without the hard and proud mask her family taught her to always wear. I catch a glimpse of the affection she feels for me. Her eyes are glistening with it, even though she can’t say it out loud. It’s so forbidden it could get her killed; my family is just as hard and proud and violently screwed up as hers.

“I’m sorry. Yes, I do know.”

“You’d better.” And the mask is back on. “I’ll leave first. Wait a few minutes, yeah?”

“Sure.”

She heads for the door, and I think that’s where we’re going to leave it for the night. Until I see her shake her head, so slight it’s almost imperceptible. She backtracks to me, takes my face into her hands, and kisses me. As she pulls away, she mutters, “I’m so soft for you, it’s ridiculous.”

That makes me smile. “Same.”

“Nah, you’re always soft.” She winks. “I’ll call you.” She opens the door and then she’s gone, returned to the real world, her friends, and the woman with the right last name who is, for all intents and purposes, her betrothed.

FOUR

ROWAN

“Yo, what the fuck, Rowan, you take a shit or something? You were gone for like an hour,” Ben comments. I collapse into a chair at our table near the windows overlooking the dark water.

He knows damn well what I was doing, and I generally don’t care how dirty his mouth is. Mine’s worse. But I eye Elisa, who seems offended by my brash friend’s filth. Her sensibilities are too delicate for Ben, Merrick and me. It’s hard to keep my language in check around her, though I do try. She’s not my girlfriend—in truth, I feel nothing for her—but she’s still a person and deserves respect, regardless.

“How many times have I told you to watch your mouth?”

Ben’s pale Irish skin flushes with embarrassment. He nods at Elisa, a poor excuse for an apology. Merrick smacks him upside the head, then says, “Sorry about him. He needs more training.”

She waves him off and chuckles. “Boys will be boys.”

“No, they will not,” I reply. To Ben, I say, “Do better, bro.”

He understands by my tone that I’m not playing. His gaze flits to the floor. “Okay.”

Then I see Jules across the bar, making her way toward her friends and the henchmen. She runs a hand through her disheveled blonde locks, smooths the hem of her black flare mini skirt. Her ice blue eyes find mine, but only linger for a millisecond. She really is dangerously beautiful, the kind of woman who, with nothing more than a smile, could get a man to leave his wife and kids. I’m ready to walk away from everything I’ve ever known, myself. Although it’s not her physical beauty that has me by the balls, rather it’s who she is: Intelligent—she’s an economics major, for crying out loud—and kindhearted, which I realized the very first time I met her at that costume party. Someone’s kid had tripped over his own feet and faceplanted onto the cobblestone pathway. She rushed over to him in her pink fairy costume, helped him up, hugged him, and whispered assurances into his ear until he stopped crying. Yet she still has a rebellious streak—that’s obvious, I’m a symptom of it. What I hadn’t realized until tonight is that she’s also wicked funny. Pineapple!

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