Catch Twenty-Two Page 11

  I’m panting with dry lips and as he kisses across my collarbone, I realize that while I’m dry up top, there’s no way I’m dry below. The thought is sobering as he moves his leg another inch, pressing against me. Can he tell? Can he feel what he’s doing to me? Will he just use it against me in the next breath?

  He doesn’t back away, doesn’t release my arms. He simply moves his mouth over mine, pecking sweet, gentle kisses to the corners of my mouth until I’m close to the point of begging him for more.

  “Frankie,” he whispers against my lips, and instead of pulling away like my brain is screaming for me to do, I obey my body and press my mouth to his.

  Everything changes in that moment. He’s no longer sweet and careful with me. With the first brush of my tongue, he turns into a feral beast, licking into me, grinding his leg at my core like he’s snapped and no longer possesses any form of control.

  And I love it.

  I love that he’s wild and uninhibited. I love that he’s just as affected by me as I am by him, telling from the thickness trapped in his jeans.

  Right now, in the middle of a haunted house, surrounded by goblins, demons, and all things spooky, I’m willing to do anything with him. He wouldn’t have to ask me twice if he wanted me to drop to my knees and participate in something I’ve never done. I’d wrap my lips around him and give him a hundred percent, give him the very same care and attention I gave the SATs last school year. I’d want his hands in my hair, hips flexing as he thrusts as deep as I can handle before pulling back only to shove in deeper.

  But he doesn’t ask me for that. He doesn’t move my hand from behind my back when he releases it to bring it to the front of his own jeans.

  Instead, it’s his hand that shifts toward the front of my shorts, squeezing in between us to tickle the exposed skin below the frayed edge. His mouth never leaves mine as a finger teases the hem before dipping inside. He’s still inches from my core, but I feel him everywhere.

  There’s passion in his kiss, in the touch of his other hand as he grips my hip, and I’ve had enough of not touching him. With straining effort, due to my arms being locked behind me for so long, I move them to his shoulders and down his back before lifting the back of his shirt so I can feel his skin against my palms.

  “Frankie,” he hisses when my nails dig into his lower back.

  His hips buck forward, pulling a low whimper from my lips as his fingers caress even closer to where I feel like I’ll die if he doesn’t touch me. His erection is digging into my hip, but his hand is commandeering all of my attention.

  “Please,” I beg against his mouth, not exactly sure what I’m asking for but hoping he understands.

  I jolt when his knuckles skate over the front of my panties, electricity ricocheting in all directions that leaves me both energized and drained. He smiles against my lips, but I press harder against him, my mouth begging for more, my lower half demanding it.

  “Damn,” he whispers, the word sounding like higher praise when his fingers slip past the lace band at my leg and his fingers slickened with the desire I was so embarrassed about only minutes ago.

  The glide of his fingers, made easy with my arousal, coasts back and forth and I swear he grows thicker against me.

  “Jesus, you’re so wet,” he hisses against my mouth as his other hand first grips my rib cage before cupping my small breast in his hands. I expect sounds of dissatisfaction to leave his lips, but he groans with his own need instead.

  “Zeke.” It seems to be the only word I’m capable of right now, but he still understands.

  “Right here, baby.” He dips the tip of one finger lower. “Is this where you need me?”

  I cry out, shaking in his clutch as an orgasm slams into me from nowhere. His mouth is on mine, his fingers tracing around my clit once again as my body convulses and shudders against his. My pulse is racing, hammering against my rib cage when I feel him smile against my lips. I’m orgasm-drunk and panting like I ran a marathon when Zeke pulls his fingers from my shorts, and the dampness between my legs has increased so much it can’t be ignored.

  “You need to move on.”

  I squeak at the unfamiliar masculine voice, and Zeke stiffens in front of me, leaning closer as if he’s territorial and protecting me.

  “Fuck off,” Zeke hisses over his shoulder, but when I look around him, I see a huge guy wearing a t-shirt that says STAFF on the front. It’s the same one all the carnival workers are wearing.

  “I mean,” the guy states, holding his hands out to his side, “I enjoyed the show, but you need to get moving.”

  Even humiliated, knowing this guy just witnessed the most sexually intimate moment of my life, I’m still cognizant enough to grab Zeke by the shoulders before he can rush the guy.

  Chapter 19

  Zeke

  “Give me a fucking minute,” I hiss at the piece of shit that just intruded on our private moment.

  My cock is raging in my jeans, and I can’t seem to catch my breath.

  “Sixty seconds,” the guy agrees with a chuckle before disappearing back into the haunted house.

  “Shit,” I pant as I turn back around to face Frankie.

  I cup her face in my hands, leaning forward, pressing my forehead to hers, hoping to calm down so I don’t walk out of here and let the world know what we were doing, but the scent of her sweet pussy is on my fingers. I lick into her mouth one last time, but she’s frozen, unreceptive. She took what I was offering and is no longer interested.

  “Right,” I mutter as I release her face and take a step back.

  “We should leave like he said.”

  “Sure. Give me a second. I’ll meet you outside.”

  She nods quickly, ready for her escape and slides past me. I don’t know if she’s avoiding touching me on purpose but not a single inch of her body brushes mine as she exits the small alcove we’ve been tucked inside.

  Despite the glacier change in atmosphere, I resist the urge to lick her from my fingers, and use my time adjusting my cock. I know it takes longer than the sixty seconds I promised the interrupting asshole to get myself under control, but he never comes back to tell me to leave a second time. I bet he’s having the laugh of a lifetime, having witnessed me nearly coming in my fucking jeans without so much as her fingers on me. Jesus, the way she pulsed against me.

  “Enough,” I hiss at myself, hating that she’s left me feeling rejected and vulnerable.

  But I shouldn’t be surprised. Frankie takes without offering anything in return.

  That’s a lie and I damn well know it, but I cling to that falsehood as I shift my heavy nuts over a few more inches and walk out of the haunted house with a still half-hard dick.

  “You okay?” Frankie asks as I step back into the chaos of the night.

  I blink, my eyes having a hard time readjusting to the light after being in the darkness for so long. “I’m fine.”

  She rolls her lips between her teeth to keep from laughing, but I ignore her mocking eyes and walk past her.

  “Do you want to go on the Ferris wheel?” she asks when she catches up with me.

  “No.”

  “How about that scary looking roller coaster?”

  I don’t bother to look to where she’s pointing.

  “No.”

  “So, I guess I wouldn’t be able to convince you to go on that spinning octopus looking thing?”

  “Not a chance.” I shift away when she tries to loop her arm through mine, and I do my best not to feel like the biggest asshole in the world when her steps falter.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks on a whisper.

  I don’t respond. I don’t understand my own damn feelings right now. There’s no way I could explain them to her. She doesn’t want to hear about my struggle to maintain control around her, or that I handed every ounce of my power to her back there. She wouldn’t be sympathetic if I tried to tell her that I feel like my life is spiraling out of control and she’s the only rock in my world. S
he definitely wouldn’t understand that I hate her for it all.

  She couldn’t accept that needing her the way I desperately do will only end in tragedy. And that thought reminds me of what is left waiting at home. A dying dad and a broken mom. Love is tragic. Loving people only ends with pain, heartache, and regret, and I know if I keep spending time with her like this, it’s only a matter of time before I fall head over heels for her.

  I can’t need her.

  I won’t.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she hisses, clamping down on my arm and refusing to be ignored.

  “Nothing.” I shrug but won’t look her in the eye. I don’t want to see the pain I know is simmering there.

  “Don’t nothing me, Zeke Benson. This hot-and-cold routine of yours is getting really old.”

  My jaw ticks, flexing as I look around and see people turning to watch us. She’d be embarrassed with the attention if she were aware of it, but she’s too busy glaring lasers in the side of my face to notice the small crowd gathering.

  “Let’s go then.”

  I don’t reach for her or touch her arm to get her moving. I simply walk away and pray she’s following behind me.

  I’m pissed at the world, and at my cock which still hasn’t fully deflated. I would’ve taken her against that wall tonight given the chance, if that asshole wouldn’t have interrupted us. Despite the number of girls I’ve turned down, despite knowing that Frankie is a virgin, I would’ve taken my dick out and slammed inside of her right then and there. None of the rules, none of the waiting mattered any longer.

  I growl my frustration, kicking an empty soda can as I stride past the trash collecting near the concession stand trashcan. A mother standing nearby with her two small children isn’t impressed, but I can’t handle being the respectful young man my mother tried to raise right now.

  Emotions tear through me. They tell me to stop and talk to her. They remind me why I can’t. Things would be so much easier if I just stopped putting myself in positions that only leave her with regret burning in her eyes.

  I come on to her, and she gives me what I need, only for me to turn around and hurt her. The contempt in her eyes each and every time I do it strengthens, and before long the girl is going to hate the very sight of me, but I can’t seem to stop. I’ve never wanted and hated the idea of someone so much in my life.

  I hear my name called twice as I make my way across the fairgrounds, but I don’t even slow my steps. The rage I’m feeling right now will easily spew over if I don’t find a way to get myself under control.

  “Zeke!”

  It’s Frankie’s voice this time, but I ignore her, too.

  Even out in the open, I feel like a caged animal, a raging beast ready to tear into anyone with the simplest provocation. I hate being this guy, but it seems he’s who I’ve become.

  “Zeke!” Frankie yells again as she runs to catch up with me. “Quit ignoring me!”

  I spin around the second I feel her fingers clamp over my arm.

  “What do you want, City Girl?”

  “Why are you acting like this?” Tears pool on her lower lashes, but she blinks them away.

  “Like what?”

  “Like we didn’t just… like the stuff in the haunted house didn’t happen,” she whispers, her eyes darting around to make sure no one’s listening. We’ve made it close to the truck, so there’s a good chance we’re alone.

  “Oh, but it did, City Girl.” I hate the sound of the nickname on my lips. “And it was a mistake.”

  “A m-mistake?” Her chin quivers, and I fight the urge to reach out for her.

  Fuck, why is she so hard to resist?

  “Tell me, City Girl, how many boys have you let inside of you?”

  “What?” she snaps. “I’ve nev—”

  “Ten? Twenty?” I interrupt. “How many guys have you spread open for like that?”

  “I haven’t.” She takes a step back, pure disgust registering on her pretty face.

  “You must’ve. It was too easy to get my hands on your pussy.”

  Her face pales, and the tears she was holding back now make hot trails down her face.

  Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart. The next time I try to hurt you, steel that spine and walk away. It’s killing me, too.

  “Yo, Zeke!” Unable to look at her pain any longer, I turn my eyes to Paul’s voice. “Wanna go to the field with us?”

  The field is a secluded stretch of land on a gravel road not traveled very often. During football season, it’s where we go to party and blow off steam. It seems like the perfect thing for tonight.

  “Here.” I reach into my jeans and pull out my keys, tossing them to Frankie.

  Surprisingly she catches them, but her mouth is gaping open when I walk away toward Paul’s Jeep. Jason is in the passenger seat and the three girls from earlier are in the back.

  I hoist my body into the back, pulling a giggling Cheryl onto my lap so there’s enough room for all of us.

  “Don’t wreck my truck, City Girl,” I call out as Paul drives off.

  Chapter 20

  Frankie

  My mouth is gaping open at his audacity as I watch the Jeep’s taillights disappear down the road.

  I just experienced the biggest sexual encounter of my life and yet here I stand without him, without the warmth of his hands, or the fire I catch burning in his eyes when he looks at me.

  I have my escape, the keys he so carelessly tossed in my direction before pulling that pretty girl onto his lap, and yet I’m frozen solid, unable to wipe the tears away as they begin to run down my face.

  “Did that really happen?” I ask out loud on a ragged sob.

  “He’s a fool.”

  I dash my tears away before turning toward the familiar voice. Rowdy is standing to the side, his handsome face marked with a frown. I hate that someone else is witnessing my pain. I hate that I shared something so intimate with Zeke. But, most importantly, I hate myself for allowing him to hurt me again.

  “It’s nothing,” I lie, trying my best and failing to give him a reassuring smile.

  “Some people enjoy hurting others.”

  “Hurt people, hurt people,” I mutter, suddenly feeling like a fool for making an excuse for Zeke’s actions even after the reprehensible way he just treated me.

  “Frankie.” The caring tone in his voice only renews my tears.

  “It’s fine,” I lie again.

  “No, it’s not, but he’s young and immature. You honestly need someone who knows how to treat a woman.”

  “Let me guess, you’re that man?”

  His eyes light up as he releases a soft chuckle, but he doesn’t answer me. We’re friends. We’ve been chatting and sharing and getting to know each other since he arrived at the ranch. I don’t get the vibe that he wants more than that, but I’ve never been the greatest at judging people, having spent more time avoiding social situations because they always tend to lead to me being insulted or treated poorly.

  I hate that I’ve become a punching bag, and I can’t help but wonder if this is who I am, as if I have an aura around me that’s begging people to treat me poorly.

  “Hey, babe.” I take a sidestep in front of Rowdy, my eyes darting to the approaching man. His eyes widen when he sees me. “Oh, shit.”

  Rowdy clears his throat, never taking his eyes from mine. My eyebrow hitches, but I can feel a soft smile tugging up the corner of my mouth. Alarm grows on his face the longer I stand there without responding, and I’m suddenly saddened by his worry about how I’ll respond.

  “Please don’t tell your grandma. I can’t lose my job.”

  I open my mouth to tell him that she’s not like that, that she wouldn’t terminate someone just because he’s gay, but honestly, I don’t know my grandma that well. I’d like to think that she’d be fine with it, but it’s not a subject that’s ever come up, and I can’t speak for her.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” I assure him.

/>   The new guy still looks nervous, eyes darting everywhere like he’s trying to plan an escape route.

  “Who’s your friend,” I prompt when they both seem too reluctant to speak.

  Rowdy steps to the side, so the new guy can walk forward. “This is Shawn, my…” His eyes dart between the two of us. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  Shawn beams as if that confession is a big deal and he holds out his hand.

  “I’m Frankie.” He clasps his hand in mine.

  “So you’re the girl that he spends all day flirting with?”

  Unease settles in me until I look at Rowdy to find him smiling, and I realize Shawn is joking.

  “That’s me.”

  Shawn grins wider. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  I don’t respond that I’ve heard a lot about him, too, because I had no idea, and Rowdy’s reluctance to even call him his boyfriend seems like a point of contention in his relationship.

  Sensing my nervousness, Shawn releases my hand, but his smile never leaves his face. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

  “This?”

  “Finding out that Rowdy is gay and in an active relationship with another man,” he clarifies.

  “Not one bit,” I answer truthfully.

  The tension flowing off both of them seems to fade into the night surrounding us.

  “Well,” I begin, looking back at Zeke’s truck, “I think I’ll head home.”

  “Why don’t you hang out with us for a little while,” Rowdy offers.

  Shawn nods his encouragement. “We can go back inside the carnival or we can grab something to eat.”

  “I’ve already eaten, but I’d love to join you.”

  The truth is, I just don’t want to go home. Knowing my luck lately, Nan will be waiting by the door wanting a blow-by-blow of events from tonight. I would never tell her the truth, not to protect Zeke, but to protect her image of me, but I’m still too raw, too flayed open right now to pretend everything is fine.

  “There’s an all-night pancake place in the next town over,” Shawn supplies. “Do you want to ride with us or follow us?”