Not just because of Ethan, but because I’ve lived way more than my biological age suggests. I might be thirty, but inside, I’m ancient. I’ve gone through more than most people will in a lifetime.
If I ever made her mine, it would spark an all-out war with my friend. He’s always known, without me ever needing to say, that I don’t trust women, and that to me, they’re what I hope to be for them: a release valve. A way to escape the pressure.
I'm no misogynist, but Maria’s betrayal left a mark too deep for even my adoptive mother to fix my faith in women.
And on top of that, Lilly is just a girl. How can I even consider getting involved with her?
There’s only one explanation: I need to fuck. The lust is clogging my brain, taking over logic.
I’m not thinking straight, and the way she gave herself to me earlier—so innocent—hit me like a drug.
How do you walk away from an angel begging to be taken when her light is promising you heaven?
I want to taste her. I want to lose myself in her softness, feel her hands on me, own her moans.
I pace the living room like a caged animal, and suddenly—I feel her.
Before I even turn around, I know she’s here.
“Amos.”
When I face her, I’m stunned as hell.
Lilly isn’t in casual clothes; she’s dressed for the night.
Jealousy hits me hard. “You’re going out.”
“Yeah. I’m going to a nightclub. I told you I wanted to have some fun.”
“With who?”
“Will you think I’m pathetic if I say I’m going alone?”
No. I’ll actually feel relieved.
“You’re not allowed to drink yet. Why a nightclub?”
“I want to dance. I’ve never done that before. Everything’s new. Are you staying here tonight? If so, we can talk tomorrow.”
I should be lecturing her about leaving her phone off last night—handle what I came here to deal with—but I’m hypnotized by her body in that tight little black dress.
Lilly isn’t just beautiful. She’s not just the blonde angel I thought she was. She’s . . .mouthwatering.
“Wanna come?”
“What?”
“Dance. It might help your bad mood.”
“I don’t go to clubs to dance.”
“Oh. You don’t know how to dance?”
“I do. I just don’t go to clubs for the music.”
First, she looks confused. Then her cheeks turn so red they might explode. “You go for the women?”
I don’t answer—and I see the exact moment when her eyes start to spark.
