The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)(27)

“Okay.”

We stared at one another.

Neither of us was willing to admit we’d been bluffing. Mine for the sake of Tyler’s well-being and his for the sake of his giant ego. Unease rattled in my chest. I didn’t think I was getting out of this.

“If I do this, you’ll keep it to yourself?” I unbuckled my seatbelt and his gaze tracked the movement.

His jaw ticked in thought, but the tension in his shoulders told me this was the last thing on earth he wanted to do. Maybe he shouldn’t underestimate his opponents then. His gaze came to me, one nod of his head, and those butterflies in my stomach took flight.

I told myself to get it over with, but the tingles of nervousness and expectation that vibrated under every inch of my skin slowed my movements.

I rested my hand on the console, planning not to touch him anywhere I didn’t need to, and leaned in. He watched me with an expression like he was in line at the DMV. Five inches away, four, three . . . I jumped the gap.

My lips touched his to Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your Neck playing on the radio. Soft and warm, his scent was concentrated and mind-numbing. I hadn’t even moved my lips, only pressed them to his, but a moan climbed up my throat. I kept it locked inside.

I couldn’t breathe; every inch of my skin was on fire.

Just like I’d done with Tyler, though nothing like it at all, I inhaled a breath of air from the slight part between his lips. One second, two seconds, three. I stole his breath, yet my head grew light as if he took mine.

I could hear nothing but the drumming of my blood in my ears. Feel nothing but the softness of his lips and the tingles beneath my skin. A heaviness settled between my legs.

Then I did something I shouldn’t have done. I couldn’t resist, couldn’t even think about stopping myself: My lips closed around his top one for a wet, warm moment. It was merely a pull on one of his lips, a tiny taste of what it would be like to truly kiss him. I pulled away, fell into my seat, and stared forward.

“See,” I breathed. “Completely platonic.”

His gaze burned my cheek for too many seconds. Though he must have agreed, because he only put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.





“I like to be myself. Misery loves company.”

—Anthony Corallo





THERE WERE TWO RULES I always followed.

Never leave the house without my .45.

And never put myself in a position I knew I couldn’t get out of.

I had more enemies than the President of the United States, and I’d only survived this long by following those two simple rules. I’d never been tempted to break them—up until I was locked in a car with Elena Abelli.

Gas station fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed above my head. Mist fell from a dark, starless sky, each drop sizzling on my skin. I was fucking burning up. I took my suit jacket off and tossed it in the backseat. Pulled on my tie and leaned against the car door. I inhaled, smelling nothing but rain and gasoline, and listened to the tire noise from the expressway.

I could have laughed, though I wasn’t amused at all. The smallest sexual interaction I’d ever had with a woman had gotten to me so much I had to pretend I needed gas just so I could get the fuck out of that car. Heat crawled beneath my skin, and I rolled up my long sleeves.

Elena Abelli pressing her lips to mine was in breach of rule number two. I’d known it wasn’t something I could handle, yet like an idiot I’d let my dick guide me. It hadn’t killed me, but fuck, it felt like it. I was more worked up than I’d ever been. I swore, straight lust in all its itchy, burning glory rushed through my veins.

I put a cigarette between my lips and slipped my hands into my pockets. I wasn’t going to light it. If I did, I’d have to admit she unsettled me, and I refused to do that over a fucking grade-school kiss.

I leaned against the car for far longer than it took to fill up the five dollars’ worth of tank space. I paid at the pump—couldn’t go in because I had a fucking hard-on.

The mist began to cool me down, but before I knew it, I was sucked back: her soft lips on mine, her shallow breath in my ears, the tiniest brush of her tongue, hot and wet, before she pulled away. Fuck me. Heat raced straight to my groin.

I didn’t know how I’d managed not to grab her nape, pull her closer, slide my tongue against hers and taste the inside of her mouth. It hadn’t felt like a want at the time—it felt like a need. And that realization gave me the strength to hold back. After the night before, especially. I’d thought she was materialistic and shallow, yet she watched documentaries, read history, and was reserved. I wanted to know what she did during the day and what kind of thoughts consumed such a pretty head.

A car door shut behind me.

I turned to see Elena looking at me over the top of the car. She wore a high ponytail I should’ve never wrapped around my fist. Now I could never forget how silky it really was.

She cocked her head toward the gas station. “Bathroom.”

I nodded once, then gave her my back, because the last thing I needed right now was to watch her ass as she walked away. She was wearing leggings—enough said.

I’d underestimated her. I’d thought she would refuse to reenact the stage kiss, therefore giving me a leg to stand on by calling that “platonic” excuse bullshit. Truthfully, I didn’t give a fuck if it had been. It pissed me off.