She ran straight up to his window, knocking on the dark-tinted glass. He watched her with a subtle, amused grin on his lips.
What on earth got her so excited? He couldn’t, for the life of him, think of anything that could have stirred him more than the frantic, almost damaging knocks on his window.
"Get out of the fucking car!" she mouthed.
Oooooh, he whistled. Did she just cuss?
He pulled out his phone and called her.
"Get out of the fucking car, Laz, or I’m going to break the freaking glass!"
This threat stirred something hot in him. This was the Frida he knew, the crazy one.
Not the quiet, shy woman she showed everyone else, but the wild girl he had lost his mind to at a young age.
The real her.
Not the act EVERYONE ELSE KNOWS, including you...
He thought this while staring at her with a smirk.
"Step away from the glass, Frida," he drawled darkly. She took a few tentative steps back, which only excited him more. Such a good girl.
He opened the door and stepped out, leaning casually on the car. Dressed in all black, he was sure he blended into the night and the sleek vehicle.
Not on purpose, but shit happens.
"Are you fucking with me?" she growled, her voice laced with blind rage.
He arched a brow. "I wish," he said, his lips pulling into a smirk. Her cheeks tinged pink.
She punched him on the chest. "Stop!" Another hit. "Stop!"
She kept throwing harmless blows, frantically hitting his arms encased in leather.
"Stop it! It’s not funny, it’s not exciting, I don’t fucking like this, okay!"
She was heaving, breathless. And, oh, he stirred inside.
She was gorgeous.
He had warned himself, not to let her look so good in the moonlight.
But here she stood, kissed and bathed in the cold glow of the night sky. A goddess.
A literal blessing to the darkness.
To call her his sunrise would be an understatement, because what was his darkness if not bathed in her heavenly glow?
"Are you even listening to me?" she demanded, her voice snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Yes," he said simply, his eyes lingering on her lips. Would she mind if he held her waist?
She fit perfectly in his arms, her presence molding to his skin better than his own clothes ever could.
Her hair was softer than feathers, and nothing in the world could compare to the bliss of her fingers tangled in his.
He wanted her to kiss him with the same hunger that clawed at his chest right now, to devour him the way he was aching to devour her.
God, he couldn’t focus on a single word she was saying. She was going to be furious.
But damn it, her lips looked so unbelievably good.
Her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
"What did I say?" she snapped.
"Something about fucking dead birds," he grinned.
She looked pissed. So hot.
Her hand shot up again, ready to fight him. She shoved him, ready to throw her harmless jabs, but before his brain could process her next move, his body reacted first.
His hand reached out, grabbing her waist, pulling her soft form flush against his.
A groan of pleasure escaped him as her body molded perfectly to his. He was leaning on the car now, and she was a hostage between his legs, perched halfway onto his lap on the car’s hood.
"I’m fucking mad at you right now!" she panted, her hands pressing against his chest.
"I’m trying my best not to eat you out here in public on my car hood," he rasped.
Her jaw dropped.
His brain shut down as her wide, doe eyes stared at him. Without thinking, he took her lips in a searing, scorching kiss.
He groaned, delving his tongue past the softness of her lips, tasting her, claiming her. He sucked at her tongue, teasing, dueling, until she shivered in his arms. He traced her teeth, the roof of her mouth, her gums.
He wanted to memorize every single detail of her warm, perfect mouth.
She gasped, stepping back for air, but he caught her bottom lip, nibbling, sucking, until she moaned.
That sound. Heaven bless that sound.
Her soft form melted into him, and she smelled divine—her signature vanilla scent filling his senses.
"You have a tongue ring?" she asked suddenly, her chest heaving as she stared up at him.
How could someone have such magnificent eyes?
Warm, dark brown, melted chocolate framed by perfect lashes.
Before he could think, he kissed her lashes. She gasped, her cheeks flushing an irresistible pink.
"I meant it though. I’m scared," she said softly.
He ran his fingers through her hair. "Of what?"
"Of you," she whispered.
"You think I’d ever hurt you?" He tilted her jaw to make her look at him.
"Guess you don’t know how crazy I am about you," he murmured, rubbing his thumb across her bottom lip.
"I missed you, Frida," he said.
Her knees buckled, but her face stayed stoic. His cold, pretend princess.
He chuckled. "What about you?" His hands roamed, cupping her bare thigh, tracing the edge of her shorts.
She was breathless, struggling to speak, as his other hand slid up her abdomen, teasing the edge of her bra. His breaths came short and dark, especially whenever her perfect pink mouth parted.
"Laz," she gasped.
Ring!
The sound startled them, and they jumped. Reality crashed down on Frida 12 a.m. and in public. She pulled away.
He groaned in frustration as she slipped from his arms. How did her lips still taste so damn good after all these years?
It wasn’t just nostalgia, it was something new, something intoxicating, a flavor he could swear he’d never experienced in this lifetime. And now that he’d had a taste, he craved more.
He wanted to see her lips swollen and pink from his kisses, her eyes hazy and full of need, those soft, doe-like gazes locked on him under the moonlight.
But of course, Laurel had to ruin the moment.
He liked his stepmother, sure, but her timing? This had to be her worst interruption yet.
Laz answered the call. "Hey, Mom."
"We’re not done talking, Laz!" Frida hissed in a whisper, her voice low but angry.
He smirked, slipping his fingers into her mouth. Her eyes widened, then softened in surprise.
He held up a packet of Skittles, her eyes dilating.
"Laz, you still there?" Laurel asked over the phone.
"Yeah," he said, watching Frida slowly savor what he’d given her. "Just a bit...distracted."