Page 46 of Forbidden

Liar.

“You promise?” His voice is skeptical.

I nod, lips pressing together to hide the smile threatening to form. “No more funny business.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. For a second, I think he’ll call my bluff. Then he exhales, shaking his head like he’s already regretting this.

“Fine.”

Victory flares in me, but I keep my expression even.

“Ok, here it goes. Truth or dare?”

He sighs, then. “Truth.”

“I dare you not to stop me from sitting on your lap, Adriano.”

“I picked truth.” His tone should scare me, but it doesn’t.

“I know. But I can tell that isn’t what you really want.”

His eyes dart down to where my fingers wrap around his wrist, then back up to my face. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t relax either.

Like that is the invitation I need, I shift, moving onto his lap like it’s nothing, with my knees sinking into the couch on either side, like the press of his thighs beneath me isn’t short-circuiting my brain.

His body is rigid, those muscles locked under my weight. His hands stay at his sides, like he doesn’t trust himself to touch me.

I tilt my head. “See? Not so bad.”

His eyes burn into mine. “You’re playing with fire, Penelope.”

I lean in just slightly, my lips close enough to catch the breath he exhales. “Maybe I like the heat.”

His hands snap to my hips. Not rough. Not pulling me closer. Just holding. His fingers flex, a slow, deliberate press, and my pulse jumps in response.

“This isn’t funny,” he murmurs.

I should stop. I should climb off his lap and quit while I’m ahead.

But I don’t.

I let my hands skim up his body, slowly and teasing. “Then tell me to move.”

He doesn’t.

And that’s all the answer I need.

I roll my hips once and feel him hard under me. My breath stutters. Damn he is so big. He is going to wreck me.

“Penelope—”

“Relax,” I sneer, ignoring the way my pulse hammers against my ribs. “You’re acting like this is a big deal.”

He exhales through his nose, like this is causing him pain but his fingers flex against my thighs. “It is.”

The moment stretches tight between us, crackling with something unnamed, something waiting to detonate. I feel the heat of him through my thin shorts, the roughness of his jeans pressing between my legs. My hands slide up, slow, curious, testing.

I lean in anyway, my lips brushing near his—close, so fucking close—when the door bangs open.

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