by Mary Frame
I open the laptop and sign into my email account.
Dear applicant,
We regret to inform you . . .
“I didn’t get it.” And Dear applicant? Really? Reduced to a generic form letter.
“Are you kidding me? They are stupider than stupid!” Grace slams the fridge shut and opens the freezer, grabbing a pint of ice cream.
“I think I’m the stupid one in this situation.”
I knew I didn’t have a shot, but a huge part of me is still crushed by the rejection. This was literally a once-in-a-lifetime dream job. Another, smaller part of me is relieved to be able to stay in Blue Falls a little longer. Then I’m angry at myself for even wanting to stay longer at all. I won’t be the old Fred who lets go of her dreams.
Grace hops up on the counter, digging into the ice cream. “At least it means you can stay longer.”
I walk over and put a hand on her shoulder. “You know, I have to move back eventually, but we’ll always be friends. No matter where I’m living. You’re like the little sister I never wanted.”
Grace snorts out a laugh and pokes at her ice cream with a fork.
“Why do you always use a fork with ice cream? It’s not natural.”
She shrugs and swallows. “I like it this way.”
“Well, when I move back to New York and have a swanky apartment—which means my room will at least be bigger than a closet—you can come stay with me.”
The fork lowers and her eyes widen. “You mean it?”
“Of course. As long as it’s okay with Granny and everyone. We would have so much fun. You’d love Coney Island. And in the big city, I can teach you how to use a spoon like a normal human.”
She rolls her eyes, lets out a beleaguered sigh, and grabs a tiny bite with her fork. “Are you going to apply for more jobs?”
“I have my résumé out to a bunch of places, but yeah. I should keep looking.”
The thought of schlepping my résumé to more places, places I don’t really want to work anyway, makes my heart sink into my stomach. I highly doubt I’ll find anything as good as a nerdy chain of restaurants comprised of everything I love.
Grace is frowning down into her ice cream tub, poking at it with her fork. A flash of affection trips through me. It’s sweet that she cares.
“Hey.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “I’ll apply for jobs that will build up my résumé so the next time Comix has an opening, I’ll be even more perfect and they can’t possibly refuse me.”
Grace meets my eyes, then smiles slowly and nods. “I’ll help you search.”
We spend the afternoon in Grace’s room. She even helps me complete auto forms and submit my résumé on her computer while I use the laptop and we get double the applications done.
Before leaving for work, I give her an impulsive hug. “Hey. Thanks for helping me today.”
She pats me on the back with two sharp taps. “No sweat.”
Work is much less stressful without Caroline. And every time I leave the kitchen and peer at the door, Beast is there all beefy and brutally handsome. Knowing he’s all mine makes wings take flight in my stomach. Nothing as tame as butterflies, we’re talking full on pterodactyls.
During his break, I bring him dinner to the office, as per usual.
Except this time after I set his plate on the table, he yanks me down into his lap and kisses me senseless.
Then his hands move. I miss you.
“Really? You miss me? I’m literally within a hundred yards of you, like, every second of the day.”
His head tilts on a grin, then he lands a quick kiss on my neck, inciting a shiver down my spine.
“You miss kissing me,” I deduce.
The smile turns mischievous. He nods.
“Same, Beast, same. But I gotta get back. And you only have a few more minutes to eat.”
I try for one last hurried graze of lips, but instead of a quick goodbye, it morphs into a full-blown make out. After a few minutes, I pry myself off him. Not because he’s holding on too tight, but because I don’t want to go.
The rest of the shift takes a million years. I could have watched Avengers: Endgame three times before the clock finally hits one and Eliza hollers for last call.
Time continues to move at a snail’s pace but then finally, finally, we’re walking out together.
He opens the passenger door, but before I can climb in, he’s leaning into my space, and his mouth covers mine. We kiss for long enough that I lose track of where I am until a wolf whistle pierces the air.
“Get it, girl!” Eliza yells.
The others are walking to their cars, laughing and clapping.
Beast doesn’t immediately release me. Instead, he gives me one last biting kiss before jogging around to the other side to get in.
“Well, that was embarrassing.”
Shameless, Beast shrugs and offers me a hint of a smile, but the smug satisfaction is clear even in the small movement.
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
He nods.
“I didn’t take you for someone who would be into public displays of affection.”
His head tilts and points at me, then signs, Only you.
My breath catches. “We don’t have to go back to the ranch yet, right?’
He stares at me for a long second and then starts the truck. He tugs me into his side, waiting until I’ve buckled in with the middle belt before pulling out of the lot.
The heat of his palm sears my leg while he drives one-handed.
He parks us under the tree again, in what I now consider to be our spot.
There’s a heated pause as we both stare out the window at the tree. His hand clenches on my leg and I face him.
“Beast.”
He looks at me.
And then we’re kissing. His tongue strokes against mine, his hand clenching my leg. I trace my fingers up the corded muscles of his arm and tug at his shirt.
“Take this off.” The command is breathless and he immediately complies. I unbutton my blouse but then stop when his chest is exposed to the subtle lights of the dash, my gaze fixed on each curve and valley lined with heavy muscle.
Beast brushes aside my frozen fingers, unbuttoning my shirt for me while I continue to admire his masculine beauty, tracing him with my eyes and then my fingers, the heat of his skin swamping me with hunger.
I shrug out of my blouse. His gaze is a hot stroke as I unhook my bra and toss it somewhere on the floor.
His eyes spark with restrained passion. He signs, Show me.
“Show you what?”
What you like.
I grasp one big hand and pull it up to my breast. “You already know some of what I like.” I encourage him to hold me, and he takes over with slow strokes of his fingers.
Our breathing is loud and ragged, filling the small cab.
He leans down and takes one nipple into his mouth with a soft suck. The pleasure is almost painful.
“Beast.” I couldn’t stop the moan if I tried. I should be embarrassed at my own need, but I don’t even care. “More.”
He immediately pulls away.
“No.” I reach for him, but his focus is on unbuttoning my pants. I help him yank them off and then he’s staring down at my simple yellow panties like he’s Indiana Jones and they’re the Holy Grail.
Show me, he signs again.
I lie there trying not to combust for maybe three seconds, catching my breath. Tired of waiting, he picks up my hand and puts it between my legs.
I chuckle at his stern expression but I’m too turned on to deny him, or myself, this pleasure. Especially when my eyes drop from his face to the erection straining his pants. I lick my lips and his breath falters. I rub myself through the thin fabric of my underwear and his breathing gets even more jagged.
“Beast.” His name is a moan. “Touch me.”
He shifts on the seat, leaning closer to where my fingers move faster, but he doesn’t follow my command.
> I move the fabric aside and that snaps him. His hands grip my thighs, pushing them out to reveal my actions to his devouring gaze.
He is the epitome of focus, observing and learning with single-minded concentration. I’ve never done anything like this. It’s the most intimate, vulnerable position I can imagine, but with Beast I’m not uncomfortable or embarrassed. I’m safe in his careful hands. Which makes all of it doubly thrilling and arousing, especially knowing he’s never done this with anyone else—or anything close either.
He gets closer, his breath caressing my thigh, his face inches from where my hand circles and plays. Watching him enjoy me in this way is so erotic I nearly come.
He leans in, patience wearing thin, and his tongue flicks against me, brushing my fingers and the flesh between. He presses his tongue against me, following the same pattern. And that does it. I’m shuddering into his mouth and he’s tasting me like he could devour me whole.
I ride out the orgasm, his mouth still on me until sensitivity peaks. “Beast.” I shove at his shoulder with a half laugh, half strangled groan. “It’s too much.”
He leans back, still breathing heavy, his eyes opaque with arousal.
“Let me take care of you, too.” Sitting up on the seat, I slide next to him, tugging his jeans open before reaching into his pants, gripping his hard length.
Ideas, images flash through my head of all the things I could do with him. Do to him. Ply him with my hands. My mouth. Both? I pull him out and stroke him up and down, gripping his shaft, marveling at his size—which really is proportional to the rest of him.
A few hard strokes later he’s convulsing—shuddering silently, gripping me against him, so strong, but even now while he’s out of control, he’s careful not to crush me. I feel that restraint down inside my soul.
The moment his body relaxes, a small smile appears.
Wow, he signs.
I lean in and kiss his full lips, wanting to take the sheepish look out of his eyes.
“I could kiss you forever.” The words leave my mouth without thought and then I’m mentally cringing. He’s going to think I’m a lunatic. In love with him. Desperate and out of my mind.
Well, aren’t you? Delores Umbridge asks.
If not, it won’t be long.
But he doesn’t seem freaked out by my declaration. If anything, his responding ghost of a smile is pleased.
We spend more time kissing, until my mouth is swollen and we have to clean up and get back to the ranch before the sun starts to rise.
We part at the stairs. I stand on the third step up, from a height where we can kiss without him having to bend over. “I wish we could stay the night together,” I say against his lips.
He nods, his hands clenching my waist once. I race up the steps to bed, not looking back, otherwise I might not want to leave.
I am in so much trouble.
Chapter Nineteen
He’s famous for his long—sword.
–Cyrano de Bergerac
* * *
The next week passes in a flurry of work and heated moments: shifts at Bodean’s, chores for Granny, Beast’s wandering hands, more rejections from New York, Beast stealing scorching kisses at work, or in Granny’s hallway, or in the barn while everyone else is cleaning up after supper. We barely have any time alone. We can’t get any peace at Granny’s, not with her and Grace under the same roof, and if we go to Jude’s, although the party scene has calmed, there are still people coming and going all the time, even with school out of session.
We haven’t told anyone we’re together, other than Granny, but we haven’t kept it a secret either. Although there is a lingering worry about Grace’s potential reaction, which is enough for both of us to keep it relatively quiet and between ourselves.
I don’t mind. I kind of like it that Beast waits until no one is looking before he brushes back my hair when we’re target shooting out on the back lawn. Or during dinner, when I touch his leg or hold his hand under the table. It’s like a secret world between us and no one else knows the language.
By all appearances, Grace is none the wiser, but the others, not so much.
One night, Jude and I run into the house to grab the fixings for s’mores. We’ve finished Sunday supper and chores and decided to have an impromptu bonfire in the firepit out back.
We’re about to head outside, arms laden with chocolate bars, marshmallows, and graham crackers, when Jude stops.
“Fred.” His lips are quirked up, but his eyes are serious. “Beast is a big man. His heart is twice the size of us mere mortals’. Be careful with it.”
The corresponding organ in my chest twists. I swallow. “The last thing I ever want to do is hurt him.”
Jude watches me carefully and then nods once.
Back at the bonfire, we hand out goodies. Grace and Reese scoured the trees for enough sticks for everyone, and before long we all have marshmallows toasting over the flickering flames. The conversation turns to an upcoming trip.
“You won’t stay away long, right?” Grace asks Jude.
“It’s just a weekend trip, Gracie. Fitz and Annabel haven’t seen their parents in months, and I should probably meet them before Annabel’s daddy comes after me with his shotgun.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Annabel says. “He has a .357.”
“Beast is staying to look after you and Mr. Bojangles.”
My eyes lock with Beast’s across the fire. There are more than mere physical flames heating the air between us. As if he can read my thoughts, one of his brows quirks up. I tear my gaze away.
“When are you leaving?” I ask.
“Next weekend,” Reese says. “Leaving Friday, won’t be back until Monday. We’ll miss Sunday supper.”
When the next Sunday supper arrives, it is quiet and subdued with only Granny, Grace, Beast, and me. And then Beast has to go home to feed Mr. Bojangles, Jude’s fluffy white cat, and take care of some work for Jude in his absence.
He has to rearrange his schedule to accommodate their needs, and he does it without question. And they just assume he has no other plans or needs of his own. I want to screech at them on his behalf, but I let it go. None of my business. Except, isn’t it? If for no other reason than that I want to spend time with Beast, and they’re impinging on it. No, no, let it go.
Later that night, I’m on the roof staring up at the stars, alone. Granny fell asleep on the couch downstairs watching American Horror Story. I got her sucked into it. She loved the season with the witches, thought it was a hoot, and has been binge-watching it since at every opportunity.
Grace is in her room, where she will likely stay for the rest of the night, and I’m thinking about Beast. In town. At his place. Alone.
Alone.
The word becomes a drum beat pulsing inside me. This might be our only chance to actually be alone until . . . until for-ev-errrr. Okay, slightly dramatic, but still. I can feel time slipping away, as inexorable as the tide. Within another month—sooner maybe—I’ll have enough savings to move back to NYC and find a place to live while continuing to search for work.
But there’s no way I can get to Beast’s place tonight. I can’t take Granny’s car. They would hear me leave. They can’t know I’m gone. Grace would freak and Granny would probably shoot me. It’s at least ten miles, which would take forever to walk.
But there is one other option.
An hour later, I’ve parked the old beach cruiser on the side of Jude’s house. I cleaned it up and helped Granny put on new tires the other week. I’ll get it back in the morning before anyone can miss it. Grace doesn’t know it exists yet, so no risk of anger from the teen queen.
I knock at the front door and a few moments later, it swings open.
“Hi.”
He’s staring, motionless. My heart beats faster. The lack of expression kickstarts my urge to ramble.
“Sorry to barge in on you like this. It’s just I wanted to see—”
In one quick slice of mo
vement, his hands cup my face and his lips are against mine.
I manage to squeak out words between kisses. “Oh, good.” His mouth presses against the corner of my jaw. “I was worried you would think me,” he nips at my ear, eliciting a gasp that doesn’t stop the flow of words, “weird, desperate,” a lick at my neck, “wanton. But I needed to see you.”
He shuts the door and locks it, his eyes on me. He slides his arms down to my waist. His big, strong hands hoist me up against him like I weigh less than Mr. Bojangles. My legs lock around his waist and he presses me back against the wall. His mouth is on me, melting me from the inside out. I’m about to turn into a puddle of Fred when he pulls away and turns his head to look down at the floor.
Mr. Bojangles is weaving around Beast’s legs, purring up a storm.
I stifle a laugh. “Bad kitty.”
Beast kisses my smile and then steps away from the wall, walking down the hallway toward his room without ever putting me down. Mr. Bojangles prances after us, but Beast slips into his room and shuts him out.
Next thing I know, a soft mattress is under my back, and Beast is towering over me, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush me, eyes heavy lidded.
I’m ready to start peeling off clothes and riding this stallion. I push my hips up against his, needier than Mr. Bojangles, rubbing myself against his hard length.
He pulls away, far enough to take my face in his hands, eyes searching mine. Then he traces over my features, gazing at me with clear devotion. It’s everything. He’s loving me with his eyes in a way Jack never did. Like I’m a treasure. A prize. Like I’m the Firefly Legacy Edition, signed by Joss Whedon.
This kind of care requires no words. And it’s more effective than anything anyone could ever say with mere words.
“Beast,” his name is a whisper of need on my lips, “I want you.”
He points at himself, then me. Me, too.
I press into him, sliding my tongue into his mouth, absorbing the sensations, memorizing everything to lock it away for safekeeping.
He pulls back to sign, Scared.
