Page 27 of Lust
That first puff of smoke, the exhale that sounded like relief, it had triggered something within Liza. That night she had her first taste of what her soon-to-be Shaolin Warrior Masters called the Violent Calm. Mary’s training rushed to the surface. Liza’s instincts had stilled like she was underwater. She wasn’t angry. She was at peace because she knew exactly what would happen next.
Retribution.
She had methodically, and systematically jabbed Joe’s father in all the right pressure points to make him collapse in a paralyzed heap. Then she’d kneeled on his throat, put pressure on his carotid, and whispered as though the devil himself were inside her,“If you ever touch him again, I will hunt you down. If you ever mention this to Joey, I will hunt you down. And if you are ever anything less than the perfect father... I. Will. Hunt. You. Down. Capeesh?”
Wetness pooled on the broken ivy underfoot. He’d urinated in fear.
It took many years of exhaustive training and meditating to access that calm but violent space again, and Joe had never found out. His father never touched him again. But he failed at being perfect. He’d kicked Joe out of home when he finished high school. Liza had always wondered if she’d caused that, but being half a world away, she’d been powerless to stop it. Reuniting with Joe at the academy had been one of the best days in Liza’s life.
“Liza.” Joe’s voice snapped her back to the present. He shoved her into the car and she winced. “Why are you wearing gloves? What aren’t you telling me?”
Of all the things to focus on. “They’re just gloves.”
Movement at her wrist, at the glove. She panicked, whirled, and wrested out of his grip. Faster than she thought him capable, he recaptured both her wrists and pinned them to her side. He used his body to hold her against the car.
The man before her was furious. Neck tendons popped. Veins protruded. Pupils dilated. He was on the verge of a psychotic break, and exactly the kind of person she couldn’t reveal her secret identity too. He was the spitting image of his father, but nothing like him. She hoped. This was Joe, the man she’d wanted to protect her whole life, but who didn’t need it anymore.
Liza nudged her hips into him. There was something in her pocket he needed to see. She nudged again.
His mouth twitched at the corner. His eyes darted down. “What is that?”
She smirked. “It’s certainly not my gun.”
Amusement warred with anger until he wrested his expression back to stern.
“Why are you lying to me, Liza?” His voice deepened with threat. “Answer my question.”
“Frisk me, and find out.” She dared another push forward with her hips, a poke into his lap with the bulky item in her front pocket. A tease.
It was meant to be a joke, but once the words were out, she couldn’t stop thinking about Joe’s capable hands swiping up her legs, her thighs, her stomach, her—
Heat rushed between her legs. Her inner thighs clenched, and she stifled a moan as her body chose for her. Desire was a fizzy toxin, already winding itself through her system, replacing her blood with champagne. She’d never felt like this before. Not without the inevitable hangover that came with the drunken lust. The vomiting, the sickness. This was pure lust of her own making, and it wasintoxicating.
She wanted more.
Joe turned Liza to face the car and slammed her palms against the windows.
“Keep your hands there,” he ordered and kicked her feet apart.
But his voice was rougher than before, less sure. Satisfaction and anticipation climbed within Liza. Heat burned hotter as his hands lingered over hers. Ragged breath shifted hair at her ear. Tickled.
“Toe to top,” she whispered hoarsely, upping the stakes, testing. “Just in case you’ve forgotten how to do it.”
A hitched breath behind her. A pause. Nothing. No response. She pushed her rear back until it pressed against his hard front, but then the heat of his body disappeared.
Liza held her breath. Had she gone too far? Did he want to play this game, or was it all in her head?
The item he wanted was in her front pocket. He knew that. She knew that. There was no need to start at her toes. If he didn’t want this as much as she did, he would go straight to her pocket, and she would have her answer.
She waited.
Fabric rustled as he moved behind her. Light pressure at her ankle moved up her leg, rasping tightly over her jeans.
“Slower,” she burst out.
He paused.
Then resumed slowly. Two hands. He took her leg, inch by trembling inch. The higher he went, the more air released from her lungs until he got to her inner thigh and stopped.
