My attempts to relieve myself from the growing ache between my legs tether on the edge of failure with each brush of his arm against my side. The fanning of his breath against my cheek.
Inhaling deeply, I pull up Bran’s number and find his text from last night that I wasn’t in the right state of mind to read, let alone reply to.
Brandon: Have you gotten home safe? I’m here to help if your brother causes you trouble.
Mia: Hey! Sorry for the late reply. Yeah, I got home okay, and don’t worry about Niko. I know how to handle him.
His reply is immediate.
Brandon: Good to know. I was worried something might’ve happened to you.
Something happened all right, and I’m currently paying the price for it in Landon’s arms.
Mia: Hey, Bran. I know you’ve always mentioned I should stay away from Landon （not that I’m getting close to him or anything）。 Do you have any pointers on how to remove myself from his radar?
Brandon: The most important step is to never get on his radar in the first place. Once you’re there, it’s impossible to shake him off unless he willingly chooses to back off. Is he bothering you?
More like he’s sucking the life out of me.
I’m about to tell Bran not to worry so as not to drive a wedge between him and his twin, but the phone is snatched from between my fingers.
I stare into Landon’s displeased face and instinctively suck in a breath. The bastard has a mysterious power of making people feel uncomfortable with a single glance.
“Keep your attention on me when sitting on my lap.”
I can feel heat flaring up my neck, but I lift my chin. “I would’ve if you didn’t happen to bore me to tears.”
“And yet I can feel you dripping on my trousers.”
My mind goes blank. Did the earlier arousal somehow transform into something physical?
No, it can’t be possible.
Landon is just trying to get in my head. If I let him, he’ll swallow me whole and leave nothing but scattered bones.
“That’s not true,” I sign.
He methodically removes the cigarette from his mouth and stubs it in a makeshift ashtray made of clay.
Then he retrieves a wet wipe and cleans both his hands, enveloping me in an accidental hug.
He does it once.
Twice.
After the third time, he places the used wipe on top of the murdered cigarettes crowding the ashtray.
The arm that’s snaked around my back grips my waist, strong fingers digging into the flesh.
His other hand slides across my dress before he bunches it up, using one finger at a time as if he’s unwrapping a gift.
My heartbeat skyrockets and goosebumps cover other goosebumps on my flesh. The visual of his bigger, veiny hands—of course, the asshole possesses hands that are worthy of porn—on my paler flesh leaves me breathless.
Unlike earlier, his hand doesn’t stop at my thigh and, instead, travels up and up, leaving a mayhem of tingles in its wake.
A part of me knows I need to stop this. Grab his hand and kick him in the nuts for daring to touch me so intimately.
But the other part is enamored. Completely and utterly taken by the monster who’s triggering these emotions in me.
That part wants to see where this is going and how far I’ll fall.
How hard it will be.
The closest I’ve been to this was with Brian from high school. He was nice and I convinced myself that I liked him, but the moment he touched me, I realized just how much I’d fooled myself into wanting something I didn’t.
The brief encounter felt explorative, innocent, and mild. And that’s when I discovered those weren’t my flavor.
In contrast, there’s nothing innocent about Landon. His touch is claiming, savage, and nonnegotiable.
I’m literally being held by a beast who wouldn’t know what explorative or mild is, even if it hit him in the face.
And my body is reacting to it.
Damn me and my damaged brain.
“You’re trembling.” He buries his nose in my hair and ribbons, inhaling me while continuing his path. “Will you also be trembling while riding my cock? Or when I mess up these soft thighs with my cum?”
The temperature shoots up to three digits so fast, I’m whiplashed. I grab onto his shoulder to push him away, but I end up digging my fingers into his bicep as he slides his middle finger against my folds over my panties.
“So wet and throbbing, my little muse.” His finger strokes again, this time finding my clit.
I don’t know if it’s because of all the time I’ve been sitting on his lap or the fact that his touch has awakened a side of me I don’t recognize, but a needy sound leaves my throat.