Who’s got time for intros? Have a teaser instead!
“I didn’t actually offer you a ride,” I point out.
He raises both eyebrows, and I can feel his eyes moving down my face, from my eyes to my lips and back. I’m not short, but he’s way taller than me, and I almost feel dwarfed.
“You were going to,” he says, smiling one dimple into his cheek.
“You don’t know that,” I say. “My next sentence could have been good luck getting home.”
What the serious fuck are you doing right now? I think.
“Even after I got your keys back for you?” he asks.
He tilts his head slightly, like he’s just about to kiss me. Our faces are inches apart. He smells like motor oil and leather and saltwater, and my heart feels like it’s exploding in my chest.
“I know better than to be alone in a car with strange men,” I murmur.
Stone looks my face up and down again, like he’s debating something with himself, like there’s some internal struggle I don’t know about.
Yes, Jesus, I want you to kiss me already even though I sound like an asshole, I think at him.
I wish I could bring myself to say it out loud.
“Then I’ll stop being a stranger,” he says. His green eyes are boring into mine, and I feel like I can hardly breathe. “Right here, since that’s what you want.”
Stone presses his mouth against mine, hard enough to back me up against the side of my car. His hand slides around the back of my neck, his callouses rough and a little ticklish.
For a second, I’m perfectly still.
Then I open my mouth under his and his lips move against mine, his slight stubble scraping against me. I can just barely feel the hard edges of his teeth, he’s kissing me so fiercely, and there’s something desperate, something voracious about it.
He’s pressing my face to his with one hand, the other moving to the small of my back, his fingers warm and rough even through my thin shirt. Our bodies are pressed together. I think I might be melting.
I run my tongue along his lower lip and wind my hands through his dark hair, and then his tongue is on mine, snaking into my mouth. It’s slow but hard, needy and sensual all at once, like he can’t stop himself from doing this. Like he’s lost control.
His hand tightens on my back, and I arch my hips against him. Even through his jeans I can tell he’s half-hard. I can also tell I was not mistaken about what I saw him packing in that wetsuit.
I pull back for a moment, breathing hard, our lips millimeters apart. My eyes are still closed. I fight the urge to wrap my legs around him, right here in this parking lot. Even though we’re in public, I feel like something else entirely, something primal and animal, has taken over my brain.
Stone bites my lower lip, and I gasp. He chuckles, and then we’re making out again and I’m running one hand down his torso, beneath his open leather jacket, feeling the ripples and ridges of his muscles. I slide my fingers under the hem of his shirt before I can stop myself and run my fingertips over his warm, hard skin.
There’s a hand around my wrist. It’s not hard, but it’s firm, and Stone pulls my hand out from under his shirt, even though I can tell he’s getting harder by the second, his thick length pressing against me so hard I think it might bruise.
Finally he pulls back a few inches and looks at me, his eyes stormy, his hair wild. He slides his thumb along my face and just below my lower lip, his face so intense that I don’t even speak.
You can get in my car, I think. We can go to any shady motel you want, because my place is way too far away right now.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs. “I can tell.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. We’re both consenting adults. I’m at least ninety percent sure I can make it out of here with my clothes on.
I snort quietly.
“I’m anything but,” I say.
He looks at me, eyes blazing with pure concentration.
“It’s not you, detective,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “It’s me.”
Stone kisses me hard one more time, his hand on my face, his tongue in my mouth. Fire burns through me and I move my hips against him, his delicious hard length obvious through his jeans.
He pulls away, his forehead against mine. We’re both breathing hard, and I reach down and open my car door.
“I was kidding,” I say. “I can give you a ride.”
God, I can’t even say something sexy mid-makeout.
Stone takes a deep breath.
“I can’t,” he growls, his voice low and rough.
Can’t get a ride from me? I think, bewildered.
“I can’t do this, Luna,” he says, one thumb sliding along my cheekbone. “Fuck. Fuck. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Can’t—“ I start, but Stone pushes himself away.
He looks furious, his jaw clenched, eyes blazing, and he turns and jams his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Then he strides away down the dark sidewalk.
I’m still standing there, mouth open. I don’t call after him. He doesn’t look back.
I have no fucking idea what just happened. Was I trying to push things too fast? Did I come on too strong?
He can rub his boner against me but if I make a move it’s over?
I get in my car and start the engine, but for a long time, I just stare at the the license plate of the car in front of me, both hands on the steering wheel. I can still feel his lips on mine, his hand on my back, and then just: I can’t.
Maybe he’s some kind of crazy religious nut, I think. At least that would make sense.
I feel half used, half stood up, and half like if he came back right now I’d still drive him to a cheap motel. Yeah, it’s three halves, but I’m baffled and angry and fractions aren’t at the forefront of my mind right now.
I clear my throat and turn the keys. My car makes a scraping sound, because it’s already on, and I pull out of the spot and drive out of San Rafael. I don’t see Stone anywhere.
I drive home too fast, but I don’t get stopped.