When She Falls (The Fallen, #3)(61)

And I am scared.

But something else is building beneath that fear, something heated by his gaze.

I sniff and wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “You were right back in Ibiza. I was angry. Angry that the only way my family can be safe is if I marry Rafaele. But I was also resigned to it. Maybe I’ll never be as beautiful as Vale, or as courageous as Cleo, but at least I am selfless. Doing things in service of my family gives me value. It garners me praise. A long time ago, I got into the habit of doing exactly what Papà expects of me.”

The diner’s sign flickers. Through the tinted window of the car, I watch the lone waitress stroll past the empty tables before disappearing in the back.

When I turn to Ras, our eyes lock.

A slow heat travels through my veins.

My feelings for Ras go against everything I’ve been taught is right. They’re selfish to the very bone.

But they’re real. I want him. I’ve tried to fight it, but the insistent need won’t leave. It hums beneath my skin whenever he’s around.

Why not listen to it? Why not listen to myself for once? Can I even make out what that little voice inside my head is saying? It’s all the way at the back, in the corner, silenced and pushed aside.

I grasp at it, pulling it to the forefront of my mind. “Maybe it’s time I stop doing what Papà wants me to do and do what I want for a change,” I whisper.

His face is shrouded in shadows, and I can’t read him, but I think he can sense my intention. His body grows still.

Time moves in slow motion as I lift my palm and press it to Ras’s bearded cheek.

He’s so damn warm.

My thumb drops to his bottom lip, and I pull on it slightly.

He lets me, his eyes turning coal black. “What do you want, Peaches?” he murmurs.

“I want to pretend. I want to be someone else,” I whisper.

“Who?”

“Someone who’s not engaged.”

Ras takes my left hand and slowly pulls off the emerald ring.

He drops it in the middle console with a clank. “Done.”

I swallow. “I want to be a normal twenty-year-old.”

“What do normal twenty-year-olds do?”

“At midnight, in cars with handsome, dangerous men? I’m not sure.”

His lips twitch, and he drags a thumb over my wrist. “I have a few ideas.”

My heart pounds against my ribcage. “Show me.”

His eyes flash, and he lets go of my wrist and slides his seat back. “Come here.” His voice is low and seductive, dragging over the place between my legs.

I reach for him. He wraps his palms around my waist and effortlessly deposits me onto his lap.

My thigh presses against something hard.

I reach behind his head, undo his hair, and watch it tumble down to frame his face. When I push my fingers into his locks, he slides his palms under the hem of my T-shirt and stops just below the underside of my breasts.

His touch leaves me impossibly hot.

“Higher,” I urge, tugging on his hair.

He smirks and takes his sweet ass time as he inches his hands to palm my breasts.

My teeth dig into my bottom lip. When he curls his fingers over the top of my bra and tweaks a nipple, I can’t help but whine.

I’m aroused, my mind turning hazy, and the words are coming easier now. “After the department store…I started having dreams.”

He leans in, pressing his lips to my throat. “Yeah? What happens in them?”

“You kiss my neck, just like that. I love how your beard drags against my skin. It makes me crazy in the dream. You touch me over my clothes, but it’s not enough. I wake up all hot and bothered.”

He drops one hand, his fingers curling over the waistband of my sweats and brushing against the edge of my underwear. “That must be uncomfortable.”

“It is. I…ache. But when I try to get rid of it, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“The first time it happened, I spent half an hour trying to…make myself come.”

He makes a strangled sound. “Oh fuck.”

“But I couldn’t do it. I’ve never done it before without a vibrator. I guess I don’t know how.”

One hand cups my nape, and Ras sits up straighter, bringing our faces within an inch of each other. His ragged breath hits my cheeks.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ll show you how.”

He kisses me.

This time, I’m not frozen. I don’t fight it.

This time, it feels right. Too damn right.

His tongue slips inside my mouth. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and plaster myself to his front. His erection presses to the apex of my thighs. The sudden pressure against my clit is enough to make me jump, but he presses me back down onto him and groans.

“Fuck, you even taste like peaches,” he mutters between kisses, his big hands roaming over my body.

I start to grind on his erection, the ache between my legs back on full force. He notices, and we’re suddenly moving. It takes me a moment to realize he’s lowering the back of his seat.

He cups my ass, kneading it for a moment. Then he fists the fabric of my sweats and makes a frustrated huff, like he finds them offensive. “Get these off. Lie down on me.”

I do. Somehow, we manage to get my pants off in an impressive display of teamwork.