“Wait,” Landon was saying, struggling to get the words out as I stroked his cock through his jeans. “Wait. Fuck. This... isn't right.”

But I didn't feel like talking anymore. So I leaned forward, and took his earlobe very gently between my teeth. I moved my hand from his crotch and felt him strain in my absence. Then, I unbuckled my seatbelt.

“I don't want to take advantage,” Landon continued—admirable, given his state. I was just about to lift my dizzy hips from the bucket seat when his last words seemed to reverberate in the car. Take advantage, take advantage, take advantage...I paused.

“You don't want to?” I asked him. “What about all that shit you said before? On the roof? When I fuck you, blah blah blah?” A strange silence fell. Then:

“I've seen St. Elmo's Fire. I know this whole...thing.” Landon's eyebrows scrunched together on his forehead, and for a moment he looked like an adorable basset hound puppy.

“I've never seen St. Elmo's Fire,”—I kissed him—“So, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Right. You'd be too young.”

“Oh, can we fucking cool it with that excuse? We're four years apart, plus I'm way smarter than you.”

This seemed to slough off some of his reserve. The smile started at the corner of his mouth, just a crooked little line appearing. For a stupid, girly second, I had to look away—he was just too damn cute.

“You had a terrible day,” Landon continued. I met his gaze again. His kind, warm gaze. In that second, I didn't think about my mom, or my sister, or the Pastor, or school, or Mr. Dempsey, or the past...there was just this humid car. There was just this man, before me.

I pressed my head towards his like all the bones had been magically removed from my neck, and he met me in kind. His mouth opened wider this time, and I found no resistance—just thirst. His fingers found the back of my scalp again, and he grappled with my tangling hair. The humidity was getting to me, in more ways than one.

Our breath co-mingled, becoming a hot cloud between our faces. It got hard to breathe, but I didn't care. His hands were on the sides of my face, the damp skin of my neck, just barely grazing my breasts through my shirt—still a little tentative, but secretly gunning for further contact. I kissed him deeply. I kissed him in a way I prayed would tell him: yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

His hands had found the bottom of my shirt before long, but he moved too slow for me. I brought my sweaty fingers to my sides and tugged, sharply—so sharply that my hair was briefly caught in a web of my clothes. This made Landon laugh. But no sooner had his face broken into another endearing smile than his eyes turned rapt at the sight of my décolletage. So long un-admired, so long a burden to me—sensing his eyes on my swollen rack sent me. I leaned back, and my hair fell against my shoulders. Landon seized the opportunity and buried his lips in my skin.

It felt incredibly right, to be fulfilling a pact we'd made months and months before. He knew exactly what to do. His mouth was soft and sweet on my bare skin, finding the sensitive hollows fast. I pressed against him. He grabbed my back, nails digging into my sticky surface.

“Landon!” I cried, bringing my fingers up to root through his hair. He rolled against my touch at the contact, though his lips managed to remain focused. I felt my nipples rise, hard, against my thin bralette. I wished it were cooler. I wished it were faster. Mostly, I wished.

Landon had apparently read my mind, as his fingers had wended their way to the back of my bra. He fumbled for a second, but then regained some expertise. Just as the hooks of my sheath fell away, his mouth had slid the fabric to the side so his tongue could attach itself to my nipple. Now it was my turn to whimper.

He sucked long and hard on my bare tit; he sucked like he was thirsty for me. I lost sight of the car and the world around us for a moment, as his rhythm grew urgent, back and forth, back and forth across my sensitive flesh. He’d ripped my bra clasp open in one cool gesture, so the fabric landed on the floor somewhere between our coiled forms. The gear shift, the bucket seat—everything was an impediment. I was unwilling to wait.

Yet.

“No,” Landon pressed. Just as I'd wrested the zipper of his jeans to half-mast, he pulled his muscular body all the way to the far side of the car, where he coiled like a rat.

“I don't want to do it like this,” he said, wiping the back of his bitten-looking mouth. His hair stuck up all over his head, a crown of funny angles. With an athlete's grace, he bent down, tossed me my bra, and turned the ignition in one fluid gesture.

“You're not seriously going to give me Lady Blue Balls, are you Landon?” I pawed at his bare chest, pulse quickening again when he involuntarily flexed against my palm. But no cigar.

Landon swiveled toward me, and took my cheeks in his open, warm palms. His dark eyes shone in the streetlight. He kept them fixed on my own.

“When we do this,” he said slowly, “we're going to do it right. Okay?” The rest of Austin, accomplice, began to seep back in—cars were honking somewhere, music was playing. I saw the effort in his gaze and understood that he was serious. And that maybe, just maybe—we could be serious.

“Fine,” I said, after a beat. Ever the gentleman, Landy waited for me to yank my bra across my bare chest before guiding the Saab back towards the freeway. I didn't ask where we were going. Landon seemed to know. I thought I would be disappointed, or feel humiliated at the least (it's not every day, after all, that a lady throws herself at her stepbrother and is brutally rejected)—but instead what lapsed between us felt comfortable. Landon switched the radio back on. We both wiggled a little bit to Blondie, in our seats. I caught his hammy dancing face in the rearview mirror, and we both broke into shy giggles.

“Oh!” Landon screeched—so loud and impromptu that I jumped a little. “I know where we're going. Don't you worry, Doll.”

There was plenty to worry about, but somehow—I listened.

Chapter Twenty-One

Landon

I know this sounds hella stupid, but I actually felt more awake than usual. It wasn't so different than a runner's high—colors looked sharper, music sounded better. Shit was broken all over the place—at school, at home, in all the fibers of our fucked-up family—but I still had this giddy, insane sensation that everything was going to be okay. And it was all because of her.

“You're going to dig this place,” I said, swinging le Saab into the last open spot behind the bar. Fucking victory, man. Signs were sprouting up everywhere.

She reached across the armrest and started to knead my thigh. With effort, I reached down and swatted her fingers away.

“Lan-don!” she giggled.

“Ash-leigh!” I echoed, mocking her. As I slid the gearshift into park, I took a second to look at us again. Was it painfully obvious that we'd just hooked up?

“God, you're beautiful,” I heard myself murmur. I cracked a smile immediately after. I'd never before found myself in the position of being surprised by the words tumbling out of my mouth, but there she was. Her pale face spread out before me like a moon. A few hours ago, she'd been a wreck of a frown, and here I'd managed to help her forget some of the pain. Her smile was almost as good as the feel of her deft little fingers on my back, pressing, pushing...

“Fuck. We have to get out of this car now.”

“Oh, I'm really so irresistible as all that?” Doll wiggled her eyebrows and bit her lip. I felt my better half quiver, hopeful, in my jeans. In one fast swoop, I rammed towards her face, dragging her mouth into mine.