KINSLEY
Exactly twenty minutes later,a sleek matte-gray BMW pulls up in front of my house. The window slides down. Edge is sitting in the driver’s seat. He looks hot as fuck without even trying. I can only see his white button-down, the Viper tie hanging loosely around his neck, and a dark, expectant expression. It’s the opposite of inviting, more like daring me to challenge him.
“Are you going to stand there staring and continue to get soaked, or are you going to get your ass in the car?”
Those words are enough to snap me out of my trance. I open the car, then slide in. The door closes with a swoosh of finality. He’s got me in a car with him. I’m trapped, doomed.
You’re so stupid.
What’s worse is I’m not looking for a way out. I wipe the raindrops from my face with the sleeve of my blazer. I haven’t even looked at him yet, and already this hasbad ideawritten all over it. I pull the seat belt over my chest, then click it into place.
He tenderly touches my damp cheek. I look over at him. Slowly, he glides his finger down the side of my face through drops of rain I missed.
“Why do you look like this is a bad idea?” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he answers his own question. “Because you wouldn’t be wrong.” Those few words have so many layers, I don’t even know where to begin to decipher them.
Am I that transparent or does he feel the same way? “It is,” I agree. “A very bad idea.”
He leans over the console and grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger. In the small confines, there’s very little distance to cover. He tilts his head and brushes his lips with mine. The lightest touch sends shivers down every one of my nerve endings. He’s gone too soon when he settles back into the driver’s seat. His rolled cuff exposes his tan, lean forearm as he grasps the steering wheel. He pulls away from the curb.
My eyes follow the seductive movement of his mouth. He bites the corner of his bottom lip, and I don’t think he knows how sexy it is. But then again, this is Edge. He’s very aware of everything he does.
He gently lays his hand on my thigh. His thumb lazily glides back and forth on my bare skin. My back is warm, and I realize the seat heater is on. Fuck, I do not need any added heat right now.The sensations stirring low in my core have nothing to do with the heater toasting my ass. Edge has personally taken care of that detail with that tender kiss.
“I think you should let me take you somewhere and get you out of the wet clothes,” he suggests.
The pressure of his touch on my leg increases. I rest my head against the headrest and close my eyes. Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.
He continues with the fantasy I can too easily imagine. “Then, when you’re thoroughly dry, except for the wetness pooling between your legs, you let me taste you properly.” Just from the deep sensual suggestion of his tone, I could fucking come. He traces the seam of my panties with a featherlike touch.
“Edge.” My voice is raspy and pleading. It’s too much. I place my hand over his to stop the rush of sensation of what he’s promising. My pussy screams at volume ten that I’ve lost my damn mind. “We can’t.”
Dejected, he asks, “Tell me, why not?”
I roll my head to the left to look at him. “Because we…” I don’t even know what a reasonable argument is, except I can’t dive any deeper into whatever this is until I know for sure that he didn’t have anything to do with my dad’s murder.
His slate eyes catch on mine. I feel raw and exposed, as if he just stripped me of all my defenses.
His face turns stoic. “You have secrets, Ninja. We all do. But something tells me yours are going to fuck up whatever this is.”
He doesn’t have to indicate whatthisis. Thisis us. An invisible link between two people, drawn together, each wanting nothing more than to give in to their animalistic desires—rip each other’s clothes to shreds, then fuck like it’s the last day on earth until we’re completely spent and sore.
He moves his hand from my thigh, resting his elbow on the center console.
I don’t trust myself to say anything, so I stay quiet. It’s safe here—at least for a little bit. But my silence only does one thing, confirm his accusations. It dawns on me that he didn’t call me little Ninja, just Ninja. I wonder if I graduated to some unknown level or if he’s trying to be less condescending.
We drive in silence for several minutes. Low music I can’t make out fills in as muted background noise.
“Thank you for picking me up.”
He nods once. “You’re welcome.”
I’m not usually one to fill silence with meaningless small talk, but the moment is too heavy. Without thinking, I stick with a generic topic. “Are you doing anything over Thanksgiving break?”
“Probably dinner. You?”
Something else seems to have his attention, but he’s trying.
“Same, dinner with my uncle.” The conversation is so normal. There’s no challenge in his tone or fight in mine. It’s easy.
