N9ne: The Tale of Kevin Clearwater (King, #9)(60)

I both love and hate the way my body reacts to him, but kidnapper or not, I do like this playful side to Nine.

He lowers my hand, but doesn’t release it, instead linking his fingers with mine. He leads me through the gates after showing our tickets to the undead wife of the zombie who greeted us. He catches me staring at our linked hands. “For zombie protection, of course,” he assures me with a wink.

“What exactly is this sort-of fair?” I ask, using his earlier words.

It is a festival, that much I know. There’s rides and carnival games and booths with sugary treats and fried everything, but it’s not like any festival I’ve ever been to before, like the shrimp festival or the annual charity wine festival. For one thing, this place is packed with people, and none are wearing formal attire. In fact, most are dressed in tattered clothes like the greeter, and full faces of elaborate paint. Black circles around their eyes and mouths, splatters of red to make it look like their leaking blood. Some of the makeup is so elaborate and well done, it’s made to look as if they have gaping holes in the sides of their faces or heads. A tall, skinny man passes by and hisses, he’s shirtless, and his entire body is painted to make it look like his internal organs are hanging on the outside.

“Welcome to Zombie Fest!” Nine announces.

I raise my shoulders and let them fall again, relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. The energy in the air hums all around me. “It’s…it’s fantastic.”

Nine tugs on my hand, leading me further inside the fairgrounds. “Come on. Unless you’re too scared.” He wags his eyebrows.

I straighten my shoulders and stick out my chest. “I’m not scared.”

Not of the zombies, anyway.

What scares me isn’t fake blood or gore or the hundreds of undead walking by. It’s the way Nine’s looking at me. The way his hand feels in mind. The way he’s smiling as he leads me around the fairgrounds and the way he laughs at what we discover in each booth. It’s how his eyes are filled with wonder and excitement. It’s a child-like enthusiasm that I’m both jealous of and at the same time makes me wonder other things about him. Like how it would feel to feel the full weight of him on top of me. Inside of me. Skin. Heat. Sweat. Lips… I shudder at the erotic thought.

Nine notices.

“Cold?” he asks.

It’s eighty degrees outside. I’m far from cold. In fact, my entire body is beading up in a sheen of sweat, but it has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the man holding my hand.

“Still afraid?” he teases with a nudge. He pulls me deeper toward a booth with a bar and orders a couple of beers.

My whispered reply is lost amongst the music and the roar of the crowd.

“Terrified.”

I spot an ice cream stand right away, specializing in a cherry syrup topping that looks like blood.

Nine chuckles. “Do you want some of that, or are you just planning on eye fucking the ice cream stand?”

“Can we?” I ask, bouncing on the balls of my feet like a kid.

Nine takes my hand and walks me over to the ice cream stand. “What flavor do you want, Miss?” The zombie behind the counter asks. He’s got fake blood splattered on his apron and his paper hat.

“I’ll take vanilla,” I reply.

“You want the blood topping? It’s our specialty.”

My smile brightens. “Then, of course!”

The zombie grabs a red cone and swirls the ice cream on top from the machine. He squirts on the oozing red topping containing chunks of cherries and strawberries. Nine reaches over the tall booth and passes me the cone.

“You’re not going to have any?” I ask him as he pays.

His eyes are full of mischief. “They don’t have the flavor I want.”

I take a big bite from the top of the cone, and it tastes like heaven. I close my eyes and groan out loud as the flavors explode in my mouth. When I open them again, Nine’s staring at me like he’s suddenly hungry. “What flavor do you want that they don’t have? I’m pretty sure the menu lists every flavor known to man.” I take another bite and groan yet again.

Nine’s lips are suddenly at my ear. He whispers, “Lenny’s pussy. It’s my new favorite flavor. It’s a pity they don’t have it.”

I choke on the ice cream sliding down my throat. It’s the first time he’s mentioned what happened the other night. I was wondering if he forgot or if he just didn’t think much of it, considering his abrupt departure afterward.

Nine chuckles. “Come on, little bird. There’s more to this place than ice cream.”

But suddenly, I’m not interested in the ice cream or the festival because all I can think about is Nine’s face between my spread legs. How it felt. How much I want to feel it again.

I shudder as a delicious chill rakes over me, and he again takes my hand in his.

We spend hours at the fair. First, we gather around a makeshift stage to watch a zombie show where the zombies fight against the humans for world domination. Spoiler alert, the zombies win. We walk from booth to booth sampling treats, laughing at the costumes, and playing games.

After a while we find ourselves standing in front of a trio of wonky mirrors that distort your height and shape. I laugh as our heads are contorted into stretchy oblong shapes in one of them. “They’re all the same,” Nine says.