Bastards and Scapegoats (Twisted Legacy Duet #1) - CoraLee June Page 0,27

to say that, and I could have kicked myself for being so lame and asking.

He smirked before leaning over to hover his lips over the shell of my ear. I felt his warm tongue run along my neck. My stomach became a flurry of nerves, and he whispered again. “Yes. You do.”

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” I whispered.

“Do what, Petal?” Hamilton asked while reaching up to wrap his fingers around my neck.

“This. It’s not right. Don’t kiss me,” I pleaded when his lips hovered over mine. He was just one mistake away from swallowing my lust whole. He lightly squeezed at my words, and my lips parted on a gasp. I wanted him in that moment. It would have been easy to give in—to strip naked and fuck him on every surface of the apartment his brother was paying for.

But I didn’t.

“As you wish,” he replied reluctantly before pulling away. “No kisses. But you really should change. I brought the motorcycle. I’m not sure you want to show the entire world your panties on the ride there.”

I pulled away to look down at my skirt and inhaled. Fuck. I could choke on the tension. His motorcycle? “Who says I’m wearing panties?” I replied before instantly regretting my statement. Talk about mixed signals. What was it about Hamilton that made me so bold? Maybe I just needed to get laid. Fuck.

Hamilton licked his lips. “You’re such a tease,” he whispered while brushing the tips of his fingers along my thigh. “I can’t kiss you, right? Is touching off the table?” I slammed my weak legs together and pressed my forehead to his chest.

“Stop,” I whispered.

“Stop what?” Hamilton asked while lifting higher and higher, running his thumb along my sensitive skin.

“Stop touching me,” I said. His other arm wrapped around my waist, and he chuckled.

“I just want to see one more thing,” he whispered before pressing at the apex of my thighs and running his hand along the now damp fabric covering me. My skirt had completely risen, and I was thankful we were in the privacy of my apartment. What would people say?

“I want you to stop,” I reiterated in a throaty whisper.

“Your thoughts are so fucking loud, Petal,” he pressed on before rocking his hand back and forth. I knotted my fingers in his shirt at the hot sensation. “And you’re a beautiful little liar.”

He withdrew his hand, and the temporary insanity that seemed to take over my body whenever Hamilton touched me faded. My phone started going off, and I stepped away from him. “You’re such a fucking pervert,” I cursed while grabbing my cell from my purse. Fuck. Mom was calling again.

“You going to answer that?” he asked teasingly.

“No. Let’s go.” I had zero desire to talk to my mother with Hamilton in the room. Besides, I was still avoiding her.

His brows raised. “You aren’t going to change?”

I probably should have, but I was feeling reckless. I shook my head.

“Alright then,” he replied before grabbing my hand and leading me back out of the apartment. I locked the door, and we made our way downstairs and to the parking lot. He kept silent as he let go of my hand and continued walking toward his parked motorcycle and mounting it. With a kick of his leg, the engine started roaring.

I debated walking away. The night air was still warm, but a chill traveled over my skin.

What was I doing?

I tugged at my skirt and got on the back of his bike, holding him close so I could use his body to hide my lacy black panties from the rest of the world. Lacy, black, drenched panties. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek to his muscular back, breathing in the smell of him while I had an excuse to hold him close. When he pulled out of the parking lot, I almost forgot how wrong it was to want Hamilton Beauregard.

7

The venue was a small café just off campus. The moment I walked through the door, I was hit with the stench of pot and sweat. It wasn’t crowded, not in the slightest, but the small stage at the front of the room was overflowing with instruments and wires. It looked like a fire hazard, but no band was on stage yet. Hamilton threaded his fingers through mine. “Come on, let’s get a drink,” he said while pulling me across the warm hardwood floors toward a small bar manned by a dude wearing a