by S. M. Shade
The song ends and it appears we’ve caught the tail end of the concert. Noble and Jani find us, and Jani announces, “The kid’s movie is over. They’re showing a horror movie in ten minutes. We’ve got a couple blankets in the car. Do you two want to watch?”
Becca grins up at me. “I’m in if you are.”
“Let’s stop and grab a funnel cake first.”
Grabbing my hand, she laughs, and we all start toward the concession area. “Stop being so damned perfect. You’re scaring me,” she teases.
Fuck.
The movie is just starting as we settle down on the blanket. Becca gets closer and closer to me as the movie plays, and it’s so amusing. She’s usually so fearless, but she’s freaking out over a movie.
When she glances at the tree line behind us, I whisper in her ear. “Aw, you aren’t scared, are you?”
“Of course not. But who thought it was a good idea to show a horror movie at night, near the woods?”
“The woods?” She glares at my chuckle. “You can see the light from the gas station on the other side of the trees. It’s not exactly the wilderness.”
“Serial killers can be everywhere,” she argues.
Pulling her into my lap, I kiss just beneath her ear, making her shiver. The faint smell of sunblock and chlorine mix with her scent, and I breathe it in. God, I’m sniffing her like she’s a drug. Being with her is starting to feel like an addiction, so maybe it’s not a bad comparison.
“Do you really think a killer would choose the same night we watch a movie about serial killers to murder us? No way. Too much of a coincidence. Law of averages is against it. Statistically, we’re probably safe for a week at least.”
That draws a giggle from her, and she relaxes in my arms. My chin rests on her shoulder as we watch the end of the show.
“I had a lot of fun today,” she says as we climb into my car and head home. A yawn interrupts her before she continues. “But I’m ready to crash.”
My hand rests on her knee, and I raise it for a moment to flip off Noble when I realize they’re driving right behind us. Becca laughs, then sits up. “Look! Isn’t that the guy from down the street?”
“Damn it,” I mumble. It’s Barry, Violent Circle’s resident alcoholic, better known as Barney to everyone since he gives The Simpson’s character a run for his money. He’s sitting on the bank of a ditch, looking around like he’s not sure how he got there. It isn’t until I pull over that I see the flipped over riding mower in the bottom of the ditch. It’s still running, though at least the blades are turned off.
Noble parks behind me, and we all get out to make sure he’s okay. I can’t count the times one of us has taken him home and spared him a public intoxication charge. “Is he all right?” Becca murmurs as we approach him.
“Probably drunk off his ass.”
“And cutting grass?” she asks, confused.
Jani laughs as they catch up to us. “He lost his license for DUI a long time ago. Five bucks says he was riding the mower to the liquor store.”
“Barney!” I call out, and his nodding head jerks up. A wide smile runs across his face.
“Frat Hell is here! You boys got a beer? Gary won’t sell me no beer, the inbred swamp rat.”
Noble glances at me. “That was pretty creative considering he can’t stand up.”
“Come on. Let’s get him moving before the dumbass gets arrested again.”
“What happened, man?” Noble asks, pointing toward the mower.
Barney shrugs and looks at him like he’s stupid. “Tipped over.”
“I see that.” Barney grins at Jani and starts talking to her as Noble turns off the mower. We each grab a side, and manage to get it upright again, but the ditch is deep, and pulling it out of here won’t be easy.
A figure appears over Noble’s shoulder, making its way down toward us. “Cops are here,” I mumble.
“Barry,” Officer Samuels calls, shaking his head. “This is the second call we’ve had about you tonight.”
Barney staggers to his feet. “I ain’t done nothing. Just heading home with my friends.” He gestures to us.
“Uh-huh.” Officer Samuel’s lips twitch in amusement. Everyone is well acquainted with Barney, and though he’s usually trashed, he’s never hateful or violent. It’s hard not to like him when he’s such a friendly drunk. “And how did this happen? Did you crash your mower?”
I’ll give Barney credit where it’s due. His blank, innocent look would be convincing if you didn’t know him. “That’s not my mower. I just found it here.”
Noble stifles a chuckle.
“Is that so? Just stumbled onto a running mower, huh?”
“That’s zacktly how it went down,” Barney slurs.
“You realize you’re missing a shoe.”
Barney looks down at his one bare foot. “I lost it.”
“Looks like it’s wedged under the back of the mower.” Officer Samuels walks over and retrieves his shoe. “Now, how did that happen if you weren’t on the mower?”
Barney wavers on his feet, and Becca grabs his arm to steady him. “That’s not my shoe.”
Jani covers a smile as Officer Samuels holds up the bright green sneaker. “Not yours, huh? Even though the one on your foot is identical?”
“Circus stanial evidence your honor. Never stand up in court,” Barney insists.
Officer Samuels chuckles and hands him the shoe. “I know you don’t have a license, but you can’t drive a mower down the road. Especially not drunk. Drunk driving doesn’t just apply to cars.”
Barney crosses his arms. “I wasn’t driving it. It ain’t even mine.”
“I can see that,” Officer Samuels says, noticing the property stamp on the back that says it belongs to our apartment complex. Shit. He swiped it from the maintenance shed. Our plans to get it out of the ditch and get him home aren’t going to work this time.
“Come on, on your feet, Barry. Time to go downtown.”
“What about my mower?” he asks indignantly.
“For fuck’s sake,” Jani sighs.
“We’ll take care of it,” Officer Samuels says, cuffing him and walking him up toward his car. The grass is a little damp because it’s been so humid. Barney slips, and Officer Samuels tries to keep him from falling. It works, but makes the officer lose his balance, and he falls on his ass, sliding a few feet down the slope.
Barney hoots with laughter and continues to the cruiser.
“Are you okay?” Noble calls.
Officer Samuels is already back on his feet and gives him a wave as he heads back up. Barney is now leaning against the cruiser, singing Wonderwall at the top of his lungs.
“And you thought tonight’s show was over,” I tell Becca.
“I’m starting to realize there’s always something to watch on Violent Circle.” She links her arm through mine, and we start back to our cars.
“I said maayyybeeeeee,” Barney belts out suddenly, as the officer tries to get him in the backseat.
“Do you think he’ll get charged for stealing the mower?” Becca asks.
“I don’t know. Depends on whether management presses charges. Hopefully, it’s not damaged.” I sling my arm around her neck as we walk back to our cars.
By the time we get home and shower, we’re both exhausted. Becca cuddles up next to me in bed, resting her head on my chest. A moan followed by a giggle comes from Trey’s room. His door was already closed when we got in, but apparently, he isn’t alone.
“I guess he met someone at the festival,” Becca whispers.
“Sounds like it.” A few moments later, her breaths become slow and even. It strikes me as I’m dozing off that I’ve never felt so content.
Chapter Eleven
Becca
The sound of the front door closing wakes me, but Denton is still dead to the world. Quietly, I creep out of bed to pee and brush my teeth. I don’t have to be at work for a few hours, and crawling back in bed is tempting, but when I
spot my sketch book beside the bed, I have another urge.
Denton doesn’t budge when I sit on the bed beside him with the sketch pad in my lap. He looks so young and peaceful, stretched out on his stomach, the blanket twisted around his waist, revealing only the top curve of his ass.
I need to draw him.
Time ticks by as I fall into the zone, totally consumed with catching every nuance, every line and crease of muscle. Lean and tan, he’s an artist’s dream, especially when I get to his face. His thick shapely lips, straight nose, and angular jaw are things of beauty. I have to do them justice, though no one will probably ever see this but me.
A mark on his shoulder blade draws my attention. It looks like someone drew on him with a pen, but that makes no sense. Setting my sketch pad aside, I run a fingertip over the little line that isn’t quite two inches long. It’s ink, but not from a pen.
“If you’re going to feel me up in my sleep, I’ll be happy to roll over,” he says, his voice all sleep raspy. Fuck, that’s sexy.
“This is a tattoo. Why do you have a tiny line tattooed on your back?”
He quickly rolls over and pulls me down to lie on his chest. Ignoring my question, he says. “I’ve got some wicked morning wood, babe. We don’t want to waste it.”
“Dent,” I scoff.
“Do women get a form of morning wood? I guess it wouldn’t be wood, though.” He grins down at me. “Do you have morning dew?”
“Oh my god. Do not call it morning dew. That sounds awful.” Propping myself up on my elbow beside him, I can’t help but crack a grin at his cheeky smile. I’m still not letting him change the subject. “Now where—”
“You know I get you moister than an oyster. No need to hide it. I—” My hand lands over his mouth.
“Stop. Why do you have a two inch tattoo?”
His tongue darts out and licks my hand. I guess I should’ve seen that coming. Once I move my hand, he says, “I started to get a tattoo, then changed my mind.” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but his pink cheeks and the way he’s avoiding my eyes give him away. He’s embarrassed.
“Were you drunk or something?”
“No.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, and he sighs. “It fucking hurt, okay? I changed my mind. And wipe that smile off your face.”
He’s so adorable I can’t stand it. Throwing my leg over him, I straddle his hips and capture his mouth with mine. His hands run up my thighs as we deepen the kiss. Talk about morning dew. I’m producing a damn flood, but I really want to do something for him.
He relaxes beneath me as I lick across his nipple, then kiss down his chest. He looks down at me when I pull the blanket off of him, and his eyes plead with me not to stop. His cock twitches at the heat of my breath, before I ever touch him. This isn’t going to take long. I’m going to blow his mind.
His groan is long and probably loud enough for the others to hear, but I don’t care. His hand buries itself in my hair, and the next few minutes are all about him. The sounds he makes, the way his hand tightens and loosens as he tries to control himself strikes a fire in me. I love the way he reacts to me, like he can’t help himself.
“Wait,” he gasps, and I pause. “Turn around so I can make you come too.”
I’ve never really enjoyed the whole sit on a guy’s face thing. It just makes me…uncomfortable.
“Roll on your side,” I tell him, moving around and lying on my side so we’re lined up correctly.
His tongue finds its target just as I’m taking him back in my mouth, and now I’m the one groaning too loud. It takes every bit of my concentration to keep sucking him while he treats my clit like his favorite brand of ice cream.
“Becca, gonna come,” he gasps, and I push him to the back of my throat, swallowing. I’m so caught up in his reaction and the way his body first tightens then relaxes, I don’t even realize he’s stopped licking me.
The second I notice, he’s already moving. Kneeling between my legs, he grins. “You look so fucking sexy right now.”
I’m sure I’ll replay his sweet words later, but right now I don’t care. I’m right on the edge and dying to get off. The tiny smirk on his face and glint in his eye says he knows exactly how I feel. Slowly, he slides a finger inside me, and my hips jerk upward. “Denton.” God, the way his name came out of my mouth was desperate and pleading and if he doesn’t make me come soon I’m going to do it myself.
His smirk widens to a teasing grin. “Hmm? What do you want, babe?”
Fine.
My fingers almost reach my clit when he grabs my hand in his left one, still slowly fingering me with his right. “Ah, ah. Patience.”
He slips another finger inside me and they go straight to my g-spot, sending pleasure streaking through me. “Yes,” I moan, closing my eyes as I teeter on the brink. One brush of my clit would do it now, but instead he keeps going with his fingers, and leans forward to give me a firm, blistering kiss.
He brings his hand still clutching mine above my head, and drops his lips to my nipple, and I swear I could burn up on the spot. Heat races across my skin, turning it fever hot, a sensation I’ve never experienced during any kind of sex before.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, moving to give my other nipple the same attention. “You’re going to come just like this.”
I’ve never come with only internal stimulation. I usually need both, but I’ve never felt like this just from being fingered either. “I don’t know if I can,” I whimper.
The words are barely past my lips when he changes the pace of his fingers, rubbing his fingertips over the spot that suddenly contains my whole world. He leans down and nips at my nipple with his teeth, just enough to pinch, and I’m gone.
It feels like my whole body contracts, over and over. I feel his weight shift, and a cry leaps from my lips as he plants his mouth over my clit mid orgasm and sucks me right into another one.
My hand fists his hair while my other scrabbles across the sheet, trying to find something else to hold onto since the earth no longer exists beneath me.
Slowly, the spasms die down and my body sinks into the bed.
My first thought after regaining the ability to form coherent thoughts is that I’m in so much trouble. I’m not the clingy type and I don’t fall in love overnight, so I haven’t been worried about falling too hard for him. For such a sweet, easy going, kind guy, he’s a savage in bed. Feelings, so many feelings.
Yeah, I’m screwed.
We lie wrapped around each other for a few minutes, just recovering. I love the way he always touches me, even when it isn’t leading up to anything. His hands wander my body, and I do the same to him.
“Don’t get me started again,” he teases, when I run my fingers over his balls. I’m not trying to get him going again. After two orgasms that close together, I’m probably not even capable of another. When I was blowing him, I thought I felt something on the underside of his balls, and when I run my finger over him again, it’s still there.
“Feel this,” I mumble, taking his hand and leading him to the spot. “You have a bug bite or a scratch or something?”
His eyes widen. “I don’t know.”
I lift them up for a closer look. “Uh, don’t freak out. It’s a tick.”
“Are you serious? Get it off!”
“I will. Hold still.” The tick is tiny and really hard to get a hold of, even with my fingernails. Denton hisses as I scratch him while trying to get a grip on it. “We need some tweezers. I think there’s some in the medicine cabinet.”
He throws the blanket over his hips as I throw some clothes on and go in search of tweezers. Some antiseptic wouldn’t be a bad idea either. There’s a bottle of antiseptic in the medicine cabinet, but no tweezers.
Jani, Noble, and Trey are hanging out in the living room when I poke my head in. “Jani, do you have any tweezers?”
“Need a magnifying glass to find it too?” Noble quips.
Jani reaches for her purse and starts ru
mmaging. After she hands them to me, the bottle in my hand catches her attention. “Uh, what do you plan to do with them?”
“Denton has a tick stuck to him. I’ll sanitize them before I give them back.”
“That lawn where they showed the movie last night must’ve been infested. I picked two off my ankle this morning,” Noble says.
They continue to discuss it as I return to the bedroom. Denton glances at the antiseptic in my hand, along with the tweezers and utters a soft, “Fuck.”
“Don’t be a big baby. You live in the south. This can’t be the first tick you’ve pulled off. Noble said he had two on his ankle this morning.”
“Big difference between ankle and balls, Becca.”
This is true.
After rinsing the tweezers with the antiseptic, I wave my hand at him. “Sit on the edge of the bed so I can get to it easier.”
He perches on the edge of the mattress, and I kneel down in front of him. The tick is on the underside of his sack, not exactly an easy place to reach or he could’ve done this himself. He tenses as I come at him with the tweezers.
“Ah! That hurt. Did you get it?”
“Uh, no, not yet.” Have I mentioned the tick is tiny? It’s really hard to get a grip on it. I can’t blame him for his reaction. Having your nuts pinched by tweezers can’t feel good.
He takes a deep breath, lies back and covers his eyes with his arm as I try again. This time I manage to catch the tick between the tweezers, and slowly tug at it.
Denton yelps and jumps, making me lose my grip again.
“It has to come out slow, so we get the head too unless you want a bout with Lyme disease,” I scold. “You have to hold still!”
“Let’s see you hold still while someone tries to pop your nuts like a balloon!”
“I don’t have nuts.” It’s a ridiculous argument, made even more so when I look up to see Trey standing beside me, trying not to laugh. He hands me a little blue stick. “Uh, I thought you might need this. You slide the tick between the plastic prongs and twist. It comes right out without leaving the head behind. I bought it last year after I walked into a patch of them while hiking.”
