My Father’s Wife Chapter 02

My Father’s Wife Chapter 02

Clara’s POV

“Everyone alright back there?” Arthur’s voice broke the heavy silence, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror before turning back to the road.

“Fine,” I managed, my voice a breathy lie.

In the shadow of the seats, Julian’s eyes gleamed with a wicked, knowing amusement. He knew my heart was hammering against my ribs.

He leaned forward, his mouth so close to my ear that the heat of his breath made me shiver.

“You know, for someone who pretends to love the finer things, you look like a miserable brat when you don’t get your way,” Julian whispered.

Arthur adjusted the radio, completely tuned out as a market podcast filled the cabin.

I kept my eyes fixed out the window, but I could feel the rapid pulse jumping in my throat.

“Shut up, Julian. You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know my dad bought you,” he murmured.

I felt his large hand slide along the center console, his knuckles lightly tracing the silk edge of my dress.

“I know exactly what kind of girl you are. You look at his black card the way a dog looks at a steak.”

I spun my head around, my eyes flashing.

“You think you’re so smart? You’re just a kid living off an allowance. You haven’t earned a single thing in your life.”

“Maybe,” Julian grinned, leaning even closer, his chest pressing against the back of my seat.

“But at least I don’t have to sleep with a grandfather to get my bills paid.”

My jaw tightened.

I reached down, intending to shove his knee away from my space, but the moment my hand wrapped around his lower thigh, I froze.

His muscle was pulsing with heat.

I wanted to let go, but my fingers wouldn’t move.

Julian didn’t back down. He pressed his leg harder against my palm, a low, challenging hum vibrating in his chest.

“Let go if it disgusts you so much,” he dared, his voice dropping to a gravelly register.

I didn’t let go.

I squeezed.

My fingers dug hard into his denim, punishing him, but Julian didn’t flinch.

Instead, he let out a sharp, dark gasp that sounded entirely too much like pleasure.

Before I could process it, his large hand slammed down over mine, pinning my palm flat against his rock-hard thigh.

He guided my hand, grinding it higher, forcing me to feel the raw, tensed power of his leg beneath the thin fabric.

The friction was blindingly hot.

My breathing turned shallow, my mouth parting as I stared straight into his arrogant, beautiful face. He was looking at me like he wanted to devour me right there in the backseat.

His thumb rubbed circles over the back of my hand, a silent, sinful command to keep touching him.

We were both trembling, suspended in a thick, suffocating cloud of lust and mutual hatred.

In the dead silence of the car, our erratic, heavy breathing was starting to drown out the radio.

“What is going on back there?”

Arthur’s sharp voice shattered the air.

His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, frowning at our tangled shadows. “Clara, stop squirming. You’re shaking my seat.”

The sudden call of my name snapped the thread.

Yanking my hand back felt like tearing skin away from a hot stove.

“Sorry,” I choked out, fixing my hair with trembling fingers, my face burning. “Just… trying to get comfortable.”

In the mirror, Julian casually leaned back, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as he watched me unravel.

The air in the Lincoln was completely ruined.