Курок Дуглас Пенелопа

I was fast and clumsy, and I couldn’t keep up with his kisses and tongue in my mouth, but I loved every second.

He nibbled and bit and took with force, gripping the back of my hair to tip my head back and eat at my neck. He moved from my throat to my chin to my jaw and then back to my mouth, and I clutched at his shoulders, tugging on his sweatshirt as I dry-humped him. God, I couldn’t stop myself. He felt so good. It was like an itch that I needed to scratch more and harder.

I tugged at my bow tie, unable to breathe.

Pulling it loose, I unbuttoned my top button, finally feeling freer and diving in, hugging him to where he was sucking on my neck.

My hips moved back and forth, grinding into him

“Winter…” he groaned, pulling back. “I don’t want to…”

I picked up pace, and he grabbed my ass, helping me move.

“Don’t want to what?” I gasped out.

“Make you dirty.”

I slowed, touching his mouth with mine and kissing him softly.

Why would he think that?

“You won’t.” I shook my head, touching his face. “We won’t go all the way. We’ll just play.”

He breathed out a laugh.

I kissed him, and he dug his fingers in again, making my body explode and every inch of skin come alive. God, I loved it when he did that.

“Hey, man, what are we doing?” someone shouted outside. “You want us to wait or what?”

I startled, taking a moment to register he had friends with him. I threaded my fingers into his hair, going for his mouth again.

Don’t leave.

“Dude!” the guy barked again. “Girls your own age, right out here! What the fuck?”

A breathy laugh rumbled from his chest. “I don’t think I can wait for her to be legal, man,” he whispered to his friend but only loud enough for me to hear.

I nibbled his mouth, playing. “Sixteen is the legal age of consent in thirty-three states,” I teased. “Just not ours. It’s a technicality.”

“Researched it, have you?”

I started to grin, but the guy outside grew impatient. “Man, come on!”

But the boy in my arms shot out his fist, slamming it into the window to shut his friend up, and I heard the glass crack and splinter under his fist.

“Ah, Jesus,” the guy whined, and I heard more laughter from others. “Let’s give them some room, guys.”

Their voices drifted off, and he slowed down, touching me, devouring my neck, and getting to know my body. His hands drifted up my skirt, teasing the line but never crossing it, and I slid my hands under his sweatshirt and T-shirt, feeling his hot skin, taut body, and narrow waist.

I brushed across raised pieces of skin under his arms, and paused, noticing they reminded me of what I’d felt under his hair two years ago. I rubbed over them with my thumb several times.

“Why were you upset earlier?” he asked. “When you left work?”

That’s right. He saw me leave the theater. I looked upset?

I guess I kind of whipped the door closed rather vehemently.

“Did someone else do something to you?” He pulled back to look at me as he buttoned my top button and retied my bow tie.

Normally, I hated when people handled me like a kid and assumed they should do things for me, but I got the impression it was more for him. About putting me ‘right’ again.

“Just a bad night all around,” I told him.

“What happened?”

“Nothing important.”

He finished and settled his hands on my waist, waiting.

I laughed quietly, giving in. “I think I quit my job tonight,” I told him. “I’ve been working the ticket booth at Bridge Bay Theater. They’d asked me not to dance on the premises anymore, and I…” I paused, searching for a way to explain so I didn’t sound pathetic, “did whatever I could to stay involved there, maybe change their minds. But she won’t budge.”

I drew in a deep breath and exhaled, reiterating my boss’s words. “‘It’s unsafe, and I could hurt myself,’ I told him, getting angry all over again and starting to tear up. “My boss said something like “God has a path, and I need to go where life leads me.”

“What the fuck?”

“Right?” I said, my voice thick with tears. “I just wanted to, like…burn the whole place down.”

He snorted, shaking with laughter, and after a moment, I started laughing, too. He kissed me, reminding me that no matter how the night started, it was ending very well. I wanted to stay with him, but he had friends with him, and I wasn’t sure if he already had plans.

“So…” I said, changing the subject. “You have friends.”

It was kind of weird, confirming that he was a regular guy with an everyday life. And here I thought he was a vampire, rising only when the sun set.

“Can I meet them?” I asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re mine, not yours,” he warned, moving his mouth under my ear. “And you’re mine, not theirs.”

“Well that narrows down your identity,” I replied. “An only child, because you never learned to share.”

I’d figure it out eventually. Or find a way to make him tell me. After all, I was keeping him a secret from others, too.

But, it occurred to me, I wasn’t a secret to him. While he was one to me.

Why?

I didn’t feel guilty about hiding him from others, but he was hiding himself from me. There was a reason for that.

Was he old? Attached? Psychotic?

Or maybe…embarrassed by me?

But he suddenly spoke up, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Where does your boss live?” he asked.

My boss?

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

 

 

 

Damon

 

Five Years Ago

 

We left Anderson’s car where it was and climbed in mine, the guys having already moved on, as I drove her back through town and to her boss’s house.

“What are you going to do?” she asked me.

I pulled up, parking along the curb, across the street from the theater manager’s house, a craftsman-style home with a large wraparound porch and several gables. The yard was green and pristine and only a single light shone from outside the front door.

I wasn’t sure yet. But I always came up with something.

Emory Scott lived in this neighborhood. It was nice and clean but boasted none of the mansions the seaside area of town did. I actually preferred it here. Houses close together, neighbors…it would’ve been a nice place to grow up.

I put the car in Neutral and pulled up the e-brake. “What do you want me to do?”

I looked over at her, her hands clasped in her lap, looking kind of nervous, and I smiled. Her mouth twisted, and I could see the apprehension all over her face. So scared of getting into trouble.

But I was sorry. No one told her what she could and could not do.

Except maybe me.

“I don’t know,” she muttered, looking uncertain. “Let’s just leave.”

“You want to dance?” I prodded. “I’ll get you anything you want.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I get anything I want,” I stated quite plainly.

She laughed under her breath, probably thinking I was joking, and I went weak for a moment, the light in her eyes the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long time.

But she shook her head. “No.”

Jesus. Is this how she wanted it? Me taking care of shit that hurt her or pissed her off behind her back because she was too timid? Because that’s what would happen. I didn’t let things slide.

“No one denies you,” I said.

“But not like this,” she told me. “I won’t like how it feels if I don’t earn it honestly.”

Yeah, I got it. I’d probably feel the same way about basketball.

But…

“She deserves to cry like she made you cry, at least,” I pointed out. “At the very least, a pout.”

Telling Winter to give up dancing—encouraging anyone to not do what they wanted to do—was arrogant, presumptive, and smug. I wanted to shut her up.

“I can probably have her fired,” I said.

But Winter just laughed.

I frowned. “Can I at least flood her yard and do donuts?”

“Nothing destructive,” she ordered me. “Nothing mean. It’s got to be funny. And like…easy to clean up. You know? Something elegant.”

“Something middle school,” I corrected her snidely.

She rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat again, smiling to herself.

I relaxed into the headrest, pondering what I had in my trunk. My buddies and I had all been summoned back to town from college to host Devil’s Night tomorrow night, and as soon as we got back today, we’d gone supply shopping. I had bottles of liquor in my trunk, but Winter didn’t want to start any fires. There was plaster, glue, flashlights, and the guys had some other shit, like rope, smoke bombs, and sledge hammers. Most of this stuff we probably wouldn’t use tomorrow, but we’d been so into it after having not taken part in the Thunder Bay night of mischief for a couple years, we lost our heads and got excited.

Something non-destructive, though.

We didn’t do anything non-destructive.

And then I remembered. I also had some air horns and duct tape in my trunk.

Jesus. Well, that was it then. I knew what we had to do.

I couldn’t believe I was sinking this low, for Christ’s sake.

“Buckle up,” I told her, shaking my head at myself. “I know what we’re going to do.”

 

 

She held the back of my sweatshirt, following me as I jogged down the pathway, around the corner, and past the elevators. I’d been forced to come to Bridge Bay Theater dozens of times growing up to see performances my parents sponsored or to visit my mother when she deigned to perform as if the town should be so grateful to have a genuine Bolshoi ballerina in their midst. Really, it was just an ego boost for her, since she hadn’t performed on a grand scale since she was fifteen. My father married her, brought her to America, and that was that.

I knew this place like the back of my hand, even though I hadn’t been here in years. Luckily, the basement window still didn’t lock.

“You’ve done this before?” Winter asked me.

I held the door open, pulling her into the ladies’ bathroom and turning on the lights and my flashlight off.

“My sister and I did it at our house and once again at the pizza parlor,” I told her.

We were like fourteen, but I remember it being pretty funny.

Oh, how times had changed and what made me smile.

“Here, hop up on the counter,” I told her.

She did, and I dumped my duffel bag in the sink, digging out some air horns, wooden sticks, and duct tape.

Diving into one of the stalls, I measured the stick’s length from underneath the toilet seat to the button on the horn, seeing how it fit.

Perfect.

Good.

I came back to her at the sinks and put the bottle in her hand, fitting her fist around the can and the stick, to hold it in place.

“Hold that right there,” I instructed. “Hold it tight.”

She nodded, and I got busy making the can, wrapping tape to keep the stick in place on the button, so when someone put weight on it, like sitting on the toilet seat, for example, it would sound off, creating an ear-splitting cry loud enough to shake the foundations of this whole fucking place.

And make every single person inside choke on their coffee.

“So you have a sister,” she inquired, continuing our conversation.

“Yep. Not an only child,” I corrected her and her assumption about my lack of manners in sharing.

“How old is she?”

“A year younger than me.”

The roll of tape screeched as I wrapped it around the bottle and then set it down, grabbing another can and stick and putting them in her hand to do the same thing.

“And how old are you?” she asked, playing for information.

“Older than you.”

She laughed. “You’re not like sixty, are you?”

Sixty? Did I feel sixty when she touched me?

I stopped what I was doing and got down in her face. “Old enough to vote, not old enough to buy liquor,” I told her. “But I can still get liquor. If you want.”

She just grinned and let it go.

It was amazing she hadn’t figured it out yet, but I was careful to take off the rosary when I met her, and I always showered before I came. I thought it would be tough, not smoking to give myself away, but when I was around her, I just wanted to stay around her. My nic fit wasn’t worth leaving her until I was damn good and ready.

I’d also never worn my mask, because then she would know I was a horseman.

But if I told her I was nineteen, she’d figure out which class I graduated, and with my lurking and scaring her just like Damon did in the janitor’s closet and in the lunchroom, she’d eventually have to face the reality of who I really was, and for now… I liked that she liked me.

I wasn’t trying to get her into bed. I wasn’t trying to prove how tough I was. I wasn’t angry or weighed down or tired of my stupid, fucking life. I was the only place I wanted to be.

Everything was new to her. She was an escape. I could feel anything and feel things again for the first time in her words, her body’s reaction, and her face.

It had been hard to stay away, but I knew I had to. The closer we got, the sooner I’d hurt her or she’d find out, and then it would be over.

It only occurred to me tonight, though, when I saw her get into Anderson’s fucking car, that she was old enough for things, and it was only a matter of time. I’d wanted to wait until I showed myself again. Wait until she got older, but I just needed to get her out of that prick’s car.

I didn’t know if I was ever going to take her to bed, but I definitely knew he wasn’t going to.

I finished up, making seven cans, and I took one into a stall, affixing it to the floor with the wooden stick underneath the seat, which lifted it up just a hair. I secured everything with tape and came back out, pulling her off the counter.

Lifting her up into my arms, I guided her legs around me and held her there, looking up at her.

“You been good?” I asked her.

Mischief pulled at the corners of her lips, and I stared at them, drawn in to the supple skin and how she’d tasted earlier. She tasted like watermelon. It must’ve been a lip gloss. Her cheekbones were more pronounced than two years ago, and her blue eyes more piercing with the mascara she’d started wearing.

She circled her arms around my neck, whispering, “Yeah.”

“You gonna keep being good?”

Her chest rose and fell against mine, our lips inches from each other.

But she didn’t say anything.

“Answer me.” I jostled her. “Tell me you’ll be good.”

She swallowed, but still didn’t answer. Instead, she whispered, “What will you do to me if I’m not good?”

Oh, Jesus. She sounded almost hopeful, and my cock swelled as I stared at her dark pink mouth, her parted lips, and I wanted to take them in mine and taste those fucking crazy words on her breath.

What wouldn’t I do to her…

“What will I do?” I repeated, brushing her mouth with mine as I carried her into the stall. “I’m going to throw you down…” I lowered us, leaning forward as she held onto me, breathless. “And give you…” Lower, lower. “A big…” Lower. “Fat…” Lower… “Spanking.”

And I dropped her ass on the toilet seat, the blaring, banshee cry of the air horn ripping through the theater, splitting my ears.

She screamed and scrambled off the toilet, grabbing onto me and bursting into laughter.

“Oh, my God!” Her face shined, and she looked fucking delighted.

I rolled my eyes, hoping no one heard that out on the street, so they wouldn’t find out my shame.

She lowered herself to the seat again, the horn blasted its shrill cry, and she startled, breaking out in laughter again.

I shook my head, pulling her off the seat. “You’re so gay.”

“Tame compared to what you’re used to?” she teased.

“Yes.”

God, if the guys found out about this… I needed to get her home before she made me T.P. a house tonight.

Maybe someday I’d take her on a real adventure.

Working quickly, I taped up all the horns, including the one in her boss’s office, so when the dancers, employees, and she came in tomorrow, they had a nice little scare.

I packed up all our gear, grabbed Winter, and turned off the lights and my flashlight on, leaving the building.

Once outside, I dumped everything back in the trunk, and moved to open the door.

“Wait,” Winter called out.

I looked up, seeing her head turn as if hearing something.

“The fountain,” she said, moving around to my side of the car. “In the square. Can you take me to it?”

I listened, faintly hearing it, too. I’d forgotten about it. As a kid, I remembered I’d wanted to play in it, but of course, it wasn’t allowed.

Looking around, I noticed the village wasn’t that busy and the traffic was nearly dead. It had to be after midnight by now, and since everyone was saving their energy for tomorrow night, it was pretty quiet. Still, though, I had no idea where the guys were, and there was some noise coming from Sticks. I didn’t want anyone seeing me and calling my name or seeing her with me.

Fuck.

I pulled up my hood and took her hand, leading up the hill to where the small pond with a bridge sat, a large fountain in a garden, and a witch’s hat gazebo off to the right. It was a nice, elevated little oasis from the busy village center.

The water spilling into the fountain grew louder, and she let go of my hand, approaching it. She held out her palms, feeling the spray and smiling, and I wanted to take her and climb in with her right now.

Digging into the pocket of her jacket, she pulled something out, turned with her back to the fountain, closed her eyes, and then tossed the coin over her shoulder and into the water.

“Wanna do one?” she asked me, pulling another coin out of her pocket.

I walked up to her, taking in her little bow tie, her hair, almost white with strands of gold, parted and falling on one side, and her lips, the color of bubble gum. Unable to tear my eyes away, I took the coin and flung it over her shoulder and into the water, never taking my gaze off her face.

Using my shoulder to keep herself steady, she slipped off her flats and hopped up on the rim of the fountain and then let me go, having some fun doing ballet moves and balancing herself.

Her phone rang, though, and she stopped, pulling it out and turning it off without answering it.

“Parents calling?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

She must’ve had a particular ringtone to identify them.

Watching her move, twirl, bend, and dip, I followed her around the fountain as she pointed her toes and flexed the muscles in her legs.

What would happen when she grew up? Who would have her? Where would she move? How would this all change?

And all I knew in that moment was that I would fight for nothing more than to keep her like this. Innocent and happy and pure.

Dancing in fountains.

Wobbling, she suddenly reached out for me, and I stepped up to her, catching her before she fell.

She laughed, putting her hands on my shoulders.

“Training hard?” I asked, lifting up her foot to look at the bruises and redness from her toenails cutting into her skin.

“Always,” she replied.

These were a dancer’s feet.

“Does it hurt?”

She shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

Then she wrapped her arms around me and jumped into my hold, forcing me to circle her waist to catch her. She smiled at me, and I held her like that, refusing to put her down as we just stayed there.

But then, tightening her hold, she slowly brought herself in and hugged me.

My chest swelled, aching like shit, and everything washed over me at once. Her smell, her warmth, her hair and body… My lungs caved, and I didn’t know why, but it felt so fucking good. I wrapped my arms around her like a steel band, almost feeling relief at holding something—or someone—for the first time in forever.

When was the last time this happened? I never gave fucking hugs, except when Banks needed to talk me down, and that was more like hanging on to something than…

Than actual affection. Than someone actually liking me.

I wasn’t weak. I didn’t need this shit.

But God, she felt good.

“You dance?” she said in my ear.

“No.”

“You are right now,” she pointed out.