Page 37 of Live Love Steal
I counted out the exhale and took a deep inhale while trying not to scream at him. Once I got myself under control, I tried to correct the situation. “Let me out.”
“We’re getting your car.”
“Let me out, now.” I clarified. I couldn’t be here. I couldn’t do this.
He glanced in his mirrors, probably checking for cops because… drugs! I had to pace my breathing again. If anything warranted a panic attack, this had to qualify.
“Listen, I’m going to try to put this in a way you’d understand—” I started.
“Isobel, face it, I’m not a good guy. I know that. So do yourself a favor and just shut up until we get your car. Then you never have to see me again.”
No one tells me to shut up. “I’m the oldest, do you know that?”
“Oldest what? Pain in the ass?”
Dick. “Oldest sister. I don’t do things like this. Do you know why?” I didn’t let him answer and barreled on. “My little sister has horrible taste in men. Her last boyfriend dealt drugs.”
“Is he dead?”
“You will be if you keep interrupting me.”
That got him to shut up. But the glance he shot at me betrayed his amusement. There was nothing funny about this at all. I was serious. I was the good sister. The responsible one. The one who didn’t get in trouble. Sure, I had fun, rebelled just a little by bleaching part of my hair so I could wear the funky colors I loved, but then washed it out and did my nine-to-five. Like good girls should. They didn’t ride around in stolen cars with tattooed bad boys who thought killing people was funny. Nor did good girls sleep with someone who dealt drugs.
“Do go on,” he prompted when my silence went on too long.
“As I was saying…” What was I saying? I was still a little tipsy from slamming single-batch bourbon with a biker named Bear. And there was the whole problem, wasn’t it? Good girls didn’t think that was fun. They didn’t revel in teasing men twice their size. They certainly didn’t drink with bikers and feel right at home doing it, did they? I had to be honest... if only with myself. “I’m not a good girl, am I?”
Sketch pondered that. As he did, he licked his lips. “A good girl? No. You have been a very bad girl today.”
Why did that send a warm tingle from my groin to the top of my head and back? Was it the way he growled it, or the way his wolfish smile quirked up after saying it?
And I had to lay down some rules before this conversation went too far. “I don’t do spanking.”
Sketch’s eyes narrowed, and his grin slipped sideways. “Neither do I, but I’m sure I could punish a very bad girl. Maybe handcuffs? A feather…”
Holy shit. He was going to make me orgasm in a stolen car.
Why was that even hotter? “Please don’t.”
There was a second where his blue eyes locked on me before he returned to watching the road. The promise of what he’d do to me buzzed in the air like the vibration of a guitar string picking up sound you can’t hear. I crossed my legs to keep from reaching between them. His mouth had been there. His tongue… in there. He’d drawn me… naked. Wow. I didn’t need him to say a single word, and I was ready to pop off.
“Beg.”
Damn him and that infernal low rumble coming from his throat! “No.”
I tightened my legs together. I would not break. I was iron. I rubbed my tattoo.
Sketch reached across the console and pulled my hand to his lips, stopping me from my nervous tic. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
His tone had softened, and I missed that growl. “What?”
“I made you uncomfortable,” he clarified.
He most certainly had, but in a supremely, deliciously delightful fashion. But I realized what I must look like. I was closing myself off, fidgeting, acting like prey. I projected ‘wounded bird,’ not a strong woman. Which meant I had to act like a strong woman and own up to my feelings. “Uncomfortably horny.”
His fingers tightened. “Really?”
Oh yes. “Yes.” I tried to sound clinical. Tough.
