ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(54)

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, f*cking 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 f*cking you. That it’s my cock inside you.” I groaned when her * contracted around my finger, sucking it deeper. “You’re so f*cking 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 * 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 *, 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, f*cking her even harder. “If anyone tried to hurt you. If anyone f*cking touched what’s mine, I’d end them…for you.” Rage’s thighs started to shake and her * 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 realized 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.