Time (Laws of Physics #3)(51)

Or, I debated, obviously not at all in my right mind, we could just leave. Now.

A laugh tumbled past my lips at the thought. Thankfully, it was well timed, as Marie had just said something to make everyone else laugh.

Then again, why not?

Why not just go?

Why stay if we didn’t want to stay? Why care whether we were photographed? Why care who knew? Or when? Why not leave? So many questions, and I couldn’t think of a single satisfactory answer other than go.

Go.

My eyes cut to Abram’s. Collided. Crashed. He was still watching me, sipping something the color of brandy or whiskey. But it was how he watched me—like we were already alone—that made up my mind.

No more waiting.

I stood, in some kind of bizarre trance, seeing only Abram, and crossed to him. He watched me come. Someone, my brother, was talking to him. Wordlessly, Abram handed his glass off.

“Let’s go,” I said, taking his hand, holding it in both of mine as I walked backward, pulling him toward the door. He said nothing. Just looked. Just followed.

“Don’t you want your shoes?” Allyn asked.

Abram stepped forward and, in one fluid motion, reached behind me for the door while using his leverage on my hands to twirl me, tucking me close against his side. He was strong and solid, and I loved it. He was also damp, and I loved that too.

“You guys.” I heard Marie call to us. “It’ll be peak crazy out there right now.”

Too late.

He’d opened the door. People screamed his name—excited screams, not the killing kind—from somewhere to our right. The security guard stationed at the door looked to Abram, nodded once, and then turned.

“Follow me,” the man said, walking down the mostly empty hall to our left. “Your car is ready.”

Flashes went off. We passed people in the hall, too stunned to do anything but back up, stop, and gape. Echoes of the frenzied shouts and screams followed us. We encountered a broken bottle of beer and Abram scooped me into his arms without saying a word, his boots crunching over the glass, not breaking his stride. More flashes.

Then we were outside. The limo was there. New shouts. Fans catching sight of him and running toward us. Cameras going off, flashes, screams—still the excited kind—the thunder of a sprinting crowd.

Sights and sounds caught up with me, yanked me out of this strange daze. My heart in my throat as the guard calmly opened the door, Abram placed me gently inside, I slid down the bench, and he followed. The guard closed the door, the locks engaged, we were off.

Abram turned to me as the car lurched forward, threaded his fingers through my hair, his eyes darting over my face. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, strangely out of breath.

We’re alone.

“Where to?”

BLARG! We’re not alone!

“Old Town,” I blurted before Abram could speak, announcing the precise address to our driver as I fumbled for the button that would lift the privacy screen. “Once you get there, drive around the block until we tell you to stop,” I hastened to add before the screen completely closed.

But as soon as it did close, I turned to Abram, prepared to fling myself at him. I was too late. He’d already grabbed my arm, tugged me forward, and fused his mouth to mine. Off-balance, all I could do was hold on to his shoulders, open my mouth while awkwardly straddling his leg, and take the hot, ardent invasion of his tongue.

One hand pressed me forward at the small of my back, urging me closer. His hold rough, determined, his fingers digging into my hip, like he was worried I might disappear or flee. I felt the palm of his other hand on my thigh, equally rough and frenzied, pushing my dress up until it bunched at my waist, his fingers sliding between my legs and cupping me firmly through my lace undies.

I gasped. He cursed. The sound a deep, rolling rumble as he pushed the scrap of fabric to one side and stroked my opening.

“Your mouth tastes so sweet,” he growled, biting my upturned jaw as I struggled to breathe. “Your skin is sweet.” My hips rolled instinctively, seeking his circling strokes, his breath hot against my neck. “I bet this tastes like candy.”

An overwhelmed, inelegant sound sprung from my lips as he entered me, stretching me with two fingers, making me pant, scattering my wits.

I couldn’t think. I had plans, ideas, things I wanted, things I hoped for, but they’d vanished from my mind, leaving it blank. I’d become a creature of reaction. I wasn’t used to this. Yes, the last time we’d done something, Abram had been in control. But in all my previous encounters with men other than Abram, I was used to calling the shots. I was the one who mapped out the course, set the boundaries and goalposts.

But this—the imbalance, the dizzying lack of control while he took and touched as he pleased—felt so good, so right and essential.

And yet, also mildly terrifying.

I loved it. I loved that I could smell him and me, his sweat and my sex. The fragrance pungent, and sweet. His mouth was at my breast, nuzzling, searching, and when he found my nipple, he caught it with his teeth, a sharp sting of pain making me cry out. And just like the last and only time he’d touched me, I was already close.

“Abram,” I moaned, my brain paralyzed as I gripped his shoulders, frustrated with myself because I hadn’t touched him anywhere. Yet my body was in motion, my back arching, pushing my breasts forward, my hips rolling, riding his fingers, everywhere heat, lava, fire.