All the Rage

by T. M. Frazier

  Now.

  Because she was mine.

  I didn’t want to control her.

  I wanted to own her.

  That meant I couldn’t fuck her until she held up her end of the agreement. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Summoning all the restraint I never knew I had, I put my hands on Rage’s arms and pulled her back. Her eyes opened. Her lips were swollen from my kiss. Her tits were full, her nipples were standing at attention and they were right in front of my fucking face. I swallowed hard. “First, I gotta hear your story,” I said. Rage whimpered and ground down on my lap. “Ahhh,” I groaned. “You dirty bitch. If you’re trying to get out of this deal, it’s not going to work. But after you tell me what I need to hear, I promise I’ll make you come in every way possible.” I bit the skin between her neck and shoulder. Her head fell back. “Then I’ll make you come and come and come…”

  Not being able to resist one little taste, I wrapped my hands around her back and pulled her into me so I could suck one of her perfect tits into my mouth. If anyone walked by on the beach or through the alley between the cottage and the condos, they would be able to see us, but I didn’t give a fuck. I’d let her ride my face out there after she told me what I wanted to know. I slid my hands to her arms and again attempted to lift her off of me, reluctantly releasing her nipple from my mouth.

  “Please,” she begged, sliding her heat up and down my cock, which was about to explode. “Just one first. I want you to do what you did to me before.”

  What the fuck is this girl doing to me?

  I’ve always thought of myself as accommodating. I threaded my hands through the back of her hair and tugged it back, exposing her long, beautiful neck to me. “Just one?” I asked, although it wasn’t really a question.

  She nodded enthusiastically, her eyes still closed. No matter how hard I held on to her arms to keep her still, she still managed to rub against my cock. “I’ll make you come once. I’ll give you what you need, baby, and then it’s back to business. This is going to be quick and dirty.”

  I stood with her still on my lap and set her on the ground just long enough to shove down her flimsy running shorts, exposing her bare pussy. I wanted to look. I wanted to spread her legs and taste her again, but I needed to regain some control. Even though she was getting her way, she needed to know who called the shots. I picked her back up and she wrapped her arms around my neck. I sat back in the chair, her legs again spread over me, the heat on my stomach almost unbearable. In that moment, I understood the connection between pleasure and pain. My cock was dripping from the tip, the front of my swim trunks drenched in a mixture of both her and me.

  “Put your face here,” I ordered, pulling her head down so her face was buried between my neck and my shoulder. Her every little breath and brush of her lips against my skin made my cock twitch. My balls were drawn up tight like I could come at a moment’s notice, but this wasn’t about me. I reached around the back of her thigh with one hand and ran my fingertips up and down the crack of her ass. I pulled her up so that her ass was slightly angled in the air, but her clit was still connected to the steel pole in my shorts.

  “Please,” she begged.

  The second my index finger came in contact with the hottest, wettest pussy I’d ever touched, I pushed a finger inside and she cried out into my neck. She was so fucking tight, it was like a vice squeezing around my finger. If that Cody person had fucked her, he didn’t do it right, or he had a micro dick because as far as I could tell, Rage was in tact.

  And all fucking mine.

  The longer we kept this up, the lesser the chances were of me dragging some semblance of truth from her. I pumped my finger in and out of her, dragging her wetness over her clit in a circular motion then pushing back inside again. She ground against my hand and I sped up my pace, fucking her faster, harder with my hand. She was so swollen. So slick. But so tight that when I tried to push in another finger, I couldn’t get far.

  I kept her anchored to me, my hand on the back of her neck. My fingers plunging in and out of her heat. “Keep grinding against me, baby. Ride my cock. Rub your clit on me. Pretend I’m fucking you. That it’s my cock inside you.” I groaned when her pussy contracted around my finger, sucking it deeper. “You’re so fucking close baby.”

  “Tell me ho..how,” she muttered. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about at first, but then it hit me.

  “You wanna know how I killed them?” I asked, pushing in deeper. She did what I told her and was dragging her pussy up and down my length, and for the second time in the same day, I was seconds away from coming in a place that wasn’t Rage’s pussy, which wasn’t what I wanted.

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  “I made them kneel in the Gulf, facing the moon. I made them apologize first. Then I ended them with a bullet each to the backs of their heads and they died cowards deaths because that’s exactly what they were.”

  Rage moaned and ground harder against me, shamelessly and without abandon. “Aaaaahhhhh,” she cried out, along with some other words I couldn’t make out.

  I don’t know why I said what came next. Maybe it was because I needed her to know. Maybe because I wanted to feed the twisted side of my girl that was turned on by the idea of me killing someone.

  “I’d kill for you, Rage,” I growled against her ear, holding her even tighter, fucking her even harder. “If anyone tried to hurt you. If anyone fucking touched what’s mine, I’d end them…for you.” Rage’s thighs started to shake and her pussy clamped down hard around my finger. She pulled off my shoulder and stared right into my eyes as she came, rocking against me, riding out her orgasm.

  She collapsed on top of me and I breathed into her hair, trying to calm myself down after witnessing the sexiest girl I’d ever met come on my hand. I kissed the top of her head.

  If I didn’t have it bad before, I did now.

  Because I think I just fell in love with Rage.

  The place on my neck where her nose landed when she collapsed grew hot under her even breaths. Her bare back rose and fell in a gentle rhythm as I mindlessly traced circles on her arms with my fingers.

  Rage was fast asleep.

  “Fuck, baby,” I whispered into her hair. “You really are gonna fucking kill me.”

  Rage

  Music was playing. Over and over again, the same short melody flitted through the air. It grew louder and louder. My eyes popped open and I attempted to sit up but a heavy arm was resting over my stomach.

  I was in Nolan’s bed. He was curled up next to me on his side, his hair covering his face as he lightly snored. I reached over and pushed his hair back, rubbing my thumb over his forehead and then the bridge of his nose, which he wrinkled when I touched the tip. He shifted closer and sniffled. Sighing deeply.

  All that yawning practice had paid off. Nolan truly believed I’d fallen asleep. I wished it really were that easy to fall asleep for real. Instead, I had to pretend I didn’t feel him lift me up and carry me against him to bed. I had to pretend I didn’t feel his hands on me as he tucked me in. But the worst was having to pretend that I didn’t want his hands on me all over again.

  I waited there, in my fake state of sleep for over an hour, before I felt Nolan doze off next to me.

  The conversation he wanted to have with me could never happen. I was wrong when I thought I could tell him the truth. He could never know. There was too much at stake.

  Joker. Of all the fucking people in the world to be Nolan’s uncle, it had to be Joker. The president of the Warriors and the man who wanted nothing more than to see me hanging from his clubhouse with my ponytail wrapped around my neck. He’d never liked me. He liked me even less when he’d shorted me on a payment and I’d turned his house into a blazing ball of fire. It was a little over the top, so was calling him while his house burned to play the song “Burning Down the House” through the receiver while I changed out the headlight on my scooter.

  The music started again and that’s when I reali
zed it wasn’t music at all. It was my phone. I took one last look at Nolan, memorizing the way he slept, the way his eyelids fluttered. Then, ever so slowly, I slinked out from under his arm and tiptoed out into the living room where my phone was plugged in.

  Smokey the Bear’s picture flashed on the screen.

  “Yeah,” I answered in a loud whisper.

  “Checking in,” Smoke said. “You get what I need?”

  “Yeah. The parents are dead.” I looked around the living room. The full moon casting light over the little living space I’d been stupid enough to start to like. To get used to. A place I’d fooled myself into thinking was my home, even though I knew all along it was temporary. For someone who had a problem with attachment, I quickly grew attached to not only a house…but a Nolan. “I’m out.” I glanced back through the open bedroom door at the mound of man under the covers. “You want me to take him out?” I asked, holding my breath while I waited for an answer.

  Goon and Rage never stood a chance.

  Maybe in another lifetime, Hope and Nolan could be together, but this wasn’t another lifetime, and I hadn’t been Hope in years, if ever.

  “Not tonight,” he said, I covered the phone while I exhaled.

  “You sure you’re done there?” Smoke asked.

  “Positive. If I got you what you needed then I’m on to the next,” I said, clicking the End button and picking up my bag. I took one last glance around the room and my chest grew tighter.

  The feeling only worsened when I drove off on my scooter.

  For the first time since I’d left home, the freedom I’d longed for, the freedom I gave up everything for, that had held me together for so long, now felt dark and empty.

  “Fuck, baby. You really are gonna kill me,” Nolan had said.

  Tears formed in my eyes. I tried to blink them away. I managed to allow for only one to fall down my cheek.

  “Not today at least,” I said, wiping my face and sniffling. “Not today.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Nolan

  I should have known the fucking yawn was fake. I even saw her practicing weeks ago, but I still couldn’t see past my blue balls long enough to put two and two together.

  I’m not a fucking pussy. I wasn’t raised to be a pussy. I didn’t cry during sad movies.

  When my grandparents died, it fucking sucked.

  When I had to kill my parents, it was revenge. Sweet dick-hardening revenge.

  The way I felt at my grandparent’s funeral, as shitty as that was, had nothing on the way I felt when I woke up in an empty bed.

  Again I knew.

  Rage was gone.

  Nothing I’d ever felt before compared to how I felt when I saw the note she’d left, written in letter magnets on the refrigerator.

  I AM 1 OF THE BAD ONES

  I’d always thought a “broken heart” was just a saying, an exaggeration. I realized I’d been wrong the moment I saw her note, because it felt as if all the air was being sucked out of my chest. I could feel the snaking lines of breakage slicing through me, like someone was slashing through my heart with a razor blade.

  That’s the moment I felt my heart actually break. It actually fucking hurt. I bent in half and grabbed my chest as if I’d been shot.

  I wish she had shot me.

  It would have hurt less.

  I was shattered…and then so was the sliding glass door.

  I picked up a chair from the dining room table and launched it through the glass with a guttural roar as deep and agonizing as being left behind by the only person I’d ever really loved with only a fucking magnet note as a shitty good-bye.

  I watched the jagged pieces of glass as they crashed to the floor. They cut into my feet as I stepped over them onto the deck. The hurt turned into something else entirely, and I only felt one thing.

  Rage.

  I didn’t give a fuck what she thought. This wasn’t over. It was far from fucking over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Nolan

  Six months later

  Restless.

  That’s what I’d grown in the months since Rage left without so much as a good-bye.

  Fridge magnets didn’t fucking count.

  So restless, in fact, that I finally got around to cleaning the pool and fixing the filter. What was once a green mote of filth was now aqua blue and sparkling.

  Syphilis free.

  Rage would approve.

  Which only pissed me off more.

  It may sound stupid, but my biggest regret was not claiming her pussy before she took off. That way, at least I’d have the satisfaction of knowing that she was somewhere out in the world with my invisible mark on her. Although a visible one would have worked too. A tattoo. A fucking forehead stamp.

  Rage was mine and I needed the world to know it.

  First, I needed her to know it.

  My leg had gotten much stronger. I was no longer using the crutches, and I’d been spending a lot of time running on the beach and working out on the deck to gain the strength back I’d lost.

  No amount of working out was going to strengthen my mind into not thinking about her, though. No amount of running. No amount of jerking my cock.

  And I’d been fucking trying.

  Day in and day out was a lesson in patience and willpower and every day, when I hoped it would be the day that either my thoughts of her would start to fade or that I’d get a call with her location, neither happened. Search after search after search without a damn thing to show for it.

  I was also in memory hell, tortured by the thoughts of a girl who’d been gone for a lot longer than the time I’d had her.

  Actually, it was more like a purgatory of my own making. I was at a complete and utter standstill.

  I’d hung my cut on a nail by the front door—a reminder of what was waiting for me. Putting it back on meant that I’d given up on hockey and on getting my scholarship back, something I wasn’t entirely ready to do. My leg was in good shape. All I had to do was make a call to the coach, ask for one of the team doctors to check me out, and see what they thought.

  I didn’t.

  Until I found my girl, everything else was on hold.

  Maybe my inner turmoil was partially due to going so long without pussy.

  “Don’t matter how long you stare at that cut, it ain’t gonna suck your dick,” a voice said from behind me. A voice I recognized instantly.

  Joker.

  I swiveled in my chair, the afternoon sun shone against his back, his grey beard longer than ever.

  “You never did know how to fucking knock,” I said.

  Joker shrugged and leaned up against the couch. He pointed to my wrinkled shirt and unshaven face. “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks. Hello to you too,” I said, taking a swig of my beer.

  “So let me get this straight,” he started, running his hand down his long silver beard, which was braided and tied together at the end with a red elastic band. “Is all this self-pity shit still over hockey? ’Cause you look like you got some pussy problems to me. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share myself, can recognize that pitiful shit from a mile away.” Joker walked over to the fridge and helped himself to a beer. “So who’s the pussy that’s gotten away with your balls? It’s not that cunt Jessica is it?”

  “Fuck no. I haven’t thought about that bitch since the day I rolled into this place,” I scoffed. Rage was it for me. It was like the second she came into my life, Jessica ceased to exist.

  “Yeah, I saw the Instagram video. Bitch looks like she gives lousy head anyway,” Joker said, twisting the top off his beer and tossing it across the room into the sink.

  “You have an Instagram account?” I asked. The man had trouble working the remote.