Carnival Nights: Carnival #2 (5 page)

When she’s down to nothing but her panties, I close in on her. When we meet, I plant a kiss against her neck. Slowly, I inch my way up her neck until I reach her ear—her hot spot of ‘
Oh, my God, would you just fuck me already?’

I live, breathe, and die for the moments when she moans in ecstasy, especially when I’m barely touching her. Her quiet screams remind me what I’m in for. Soon, the tables will be reversed, and I’ll be the one screaming for release.

One hand travels south, rubbing against her opening through thin fabric. She moves into my touch, simultaneously trying to get away from it. It’s never enough, but always too much. My cock jumps when she raises a hand against the bars of metal behind her. She holds onto it tight as I push her panties down and they form a puddle on the ground.

Flesh on flesh, I rub her. Prepare her. But I’m tired of foreplay, so I lift her off the ground and swing her legs around my hips. We’ve been down this road before, and she knows the best way to strap herself in for the ride is to lock her heels around my ass.

I kiss her passionately while entering her slowly. My entire body shakes, my mouth quivers as she falls deeper onto me. When she moans my name, I get harder still. Harder than I’d ever been. I’m on the verge of exploding and we’ve only just begun.

When I pull my hips back and push in again, I create a rhythm to the beat of the blaring music in front of us. It’s a song that seems stuck on repeat, and we’re at the calm of the storm, right before the insanity kicks in.

Her fingers dig into my back, craving more than what I’m giving her. She wants fast and hard, and I’m giving her deliberate and slow. It’s just as torturous for me as it is for her, but when the beat kicks in, I’ll give her what we both desire.

My body pins her against the stacks. Our naked flesh pressed tight together. Then the music kicks in and I give her a smile that screams
‘Are you ready?’

I slam into her, and then pull back only to slam back again. My cock feels a million different sensations, only outpaced by my heart. Guys aren’t in the business of thinking about love while they’re fucking a girl’s brains out, but I’m not your typical guy.

Every time my cock reaches the deepest parts of her, I shake. Every thrust brings us closer to mutual satisfaction. I fuck her wildly and her face says everything I need to know—I’m doing my job right. She’s only able to breathe for milliseconds at a time in the moments when I’m drawing my dick back. Every thrust forward is cutting off her lifeline to her heart.

Her entire body trembles, her most private parts tighten around me. She throws her head back and stares into the lights as she is fucked into her version of heaven. It’s only a few out-of-control pumps later that I’m coming into her.

My entire body tenses and I’m barely able to hold her against my hips, but like a true soldier, I keep my love safe in my arms as I empty myself inside her. It is only now that I realize how utterly drenched in sweat we’ve both become.

I lean into her, breathing against her neck as I come down from my release, unable to move with fear of a heart attack overtaking me. It’s not a logical fear, but between the drugs and the sex, my heart feels as if it’s about to beat right out of my chest.

She rubs the back of my head, drawing circles with her shivering fingers. It’s here in the aftermath of a good fuck that I feel the safest. Safe from the world and safe from our past. It’s here that I’m reminded that I’ve got her and she’s got me. And the hot sex is just an added fucking bonus.

Then, the music comes to a screeching halt. The teeth-grinding sound of metal scraping rings through the warehouse before the DJ breathes against his mic. “Now would be a good time for everyone to leave,” he exclaims, then giggles. He’s higher than fuck. “I’ve just received a report that the police are on their way. May God be with you all.”

Then the music begins again.

“Should we go?” Charlie asks.

The answer to that question varies wildly on the truthfulness of the DJ. I don’t want this night to end, but our mug shots in the local paper might not end in a satisfying manner—being on the run and all.

“We should probably go.”

I reach down to pull up my boxers and jeans. She leans past me to pick her jeans up off the floor.

“Shit,” I hear the DJ breathe into the microphone, followed by a brief fit of commotion.

There is a quick tap on the mic. “Attention, this is the Gilmer County Sheriff. Please exit the building in an orderly manner.”

My eyes lock with Charlie’s as she slides into her jeans. “Let’s go!” I grab her hand and we’re off, stumbling through the dark corners of the warehouse. The music thumps against the walls and I can only imagine the commotion in the other side of the warehouse. A whole lot of drugs and a whole lot of prison time waiting for that strange girl who sold me the drugs.

We manage to find an exit in a corner and push through it with ease. Once we’re outside and the door shuts, blaring music is replaced with panicked yells as party-goers race away from the warehouse. Flashing blue and red lights illuminate the scene, painting everyone in shades of criminality. A line of police cars is formed behind the makeshift parking area, so most everyone—the smart people, at least—race toward the line of trees behind the warehouse. But Charlie and I run straight for the cornfields—my irrational fear of Children of the Corn, be damned.

The flashing lights and symphony of chaos begins to fade as we fight against the stacks of corn. And if there’s one thing I know now that I never knew before, is that shit isn’t easy. Running through a cornfield hurts. I mean, really hurts. Hurts enough to feel it through the euphoria of drugs and ecstasy. The only thing I felt a few minutes ago—ecstasy—has now been replaced with dying corn cobs slapping me in the face.

When we’re far enough that we think we’re safe from the fate of sitting in the back of a cruiser, we stop to catch our breath. Charlie spins to face me, trying to laugh through hard bits of air.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“I wonder if the others are waiting for us.” She laughs again. “At the designated spot.”

“That certainly wouldn’t be smart of them.” I grin and place that image in my mind. It goes something like this...

Cookie’s back is pressed against the wall while a mob of misfits rush past him, trying to escape the grasp of the cruel police. A man in uniform approaches Cookie and asks for his ID. Cookie, of course, says he doesn’t have it on him.

“You’re going to need to exit the building,” the cop says.

“Oh,” Cookie exclaims. “I’m just waiting for my friends...”

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHARLIE

M
y head thumps. I groan and pull a blanket over my head, a fruitless attempt to pull myself back into a deep sleep, though the blanket does a good enough job of blocking the blazing sunlight. These motel beds are the furthest thing from comfortable.

I miss my bed.

I fumble around, turning on my side and coming face to face with Blue. Through squinted eyes, he’s adorable as he sleeps. His mouth is hitched open, looking like he’s about to snore, but he’s always been a quiet sleeper, thank God.

I don’t want to go to work.

“Fuck,” I scream, and throw myself up in bed. Blue’s eyes fling open and he does the thing he always does when he awakes in a panic—he reaches for his gun.

“What’s wrong?” he questions, his head searching the room.

“We’re very fucking late for work,” I say in a hurry. “We have to go now.”

“Shit,” he says as he throws the covers off and rolls out of bed. Even in a ‘
we’re-very-fucked’
kind of mindset, I still can’t be mad about seeing his bare-ass this soon after waking up. A thing of wonder, I tell you. Big, tight and—

“C’mon,” he commands. “We need to go now.”

I jump out of bed, my feet hitting the torn carpets. “Where’s Cookie and Gina?”

He shrugs as he fastens the buttons on his jeans. “I’ll go start the Jeep.”

“You’re going to need these.” I rip the keys off the nightstand and throw them to him. He stumbles backward but still manages to catch them. I think he’s still drunk.
I definitely am.
Not wanting him to put on his shirt, but also knowing that he has to, I reach beside the bed and grab a wrinkled tee and toss it to him.

He exits the room in a hurry, a wave of heat blowing through the door. I imagine it’s a phantom-heat because summer is long past. But still, I burn up from the inside.
I’m never drinking—or doing drugs—again.

“God dammit,” Cookie yells from the bathroom. I spin my head to see him rush out of the bathroom, his hair an absolute mess, and vomit trailing down his shirt. “It’s five-o-fucking-clock.”

“You’re shitting me,” Blue says. When I crane my neck to see him standing in the doorway, I feel the dizziness setting in and fall to the bed. “We’re so fucked.”

The foul language is surely being thrown around this room like a scene in a gangster movie. But they’re both right, we’re fucked. If we still have jobs by the time we get to the carnival, it’d be the biggest miracle on this side of the Dallas Cowboys winning a game.

“Gina,” Cookie calls behind him. “We need to go.”

I raise an eyebrow, wondering if Cookie finally got lucky, but also wondering what happened with Shane. The last thing I remember is collapsing in a cornfield, out of energy and tired of running. Oh, the parallels of that statement. I’m too hung over to fully grasp the situation, but I can already feel a storm brewing from within.

Gina appears from the bathroom looking like she’s been smashed by a wrecking ball and slides down the door frame to rest on the ground. “I’m too sick to go anywhere. I wonder if we get sick days,” she muses aloud, but without direction. “Where’s Shane?”

“We need to go,” Blue says. “Now.

I bite into my lip and prepare myself to march out that door, into the blinding sunlight, and into the trenches of the battlefield. Mr. Locke, our manager, isn’t the most pleasant man to be around when he’s happy. When four employees are seven hours late for work? Welcome to the apocalypse. I run my palm across my forehead, wiping off a layer of sweat. I’m going to melt.

A pound against the door steals all our attention. Another knock causes me to flinch.
Who the hell would knock on our door? Maid service is pretty much nonexistent in this slum.

Blue twists on his foot and turns the knob, taking a gulp as he opens the door to find Mr. Locke standing there.

“I figured I’d find you here,” Locke says as he brushes past Blue and into our room. “Do you know what today is?”

“Tuesday,” I say, but a little unsure what day it actually is.

Locke simply smiles. “Yes, it’s Tuesday.”

“We’re really sorry...” Blue says.

“Don’t be sorry,” Locke says, then takes a long glance around the room. Gina stands up and attempts to straighten herself out. “You guys go to that rave last night?”

Blue’s eyes light up and widen. A familiar look of
oh, shit
passes across his lip before he speaks, assuredly, “No.”

Locke wags a finger at Blue and shakes off a grin. “You’re lying.” He then moves in close, invading Blue’s personal space by a measure of at least a foot. “I can see it in your bloodshot eyes.”

“Mr. Locke—”

“Shut up,” he commands.

I want to step in and say something, do something, but I have nothing to offer. He’s made up his mind like a judge. We’re all on trial awaiting our sentence, and being fired is the emotional equivalent of death.

Locke steps back and puts his hand on the doorknob. “I would tell you all to show up bright and early tomorrow, but checks won’t be cut until Friday.” He opens the door and steps out, turning to face us before he leaves. “You’re all fired.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHARLIE

M
y mind races against the raging beat of my heart. I could collapse to the floor and call it quits. Even though, it might not seem so bad on the surface, there’s a proverbial bullet hole through our plan. That plan involved working the carnival circuit until we saved up enough money to settle down somewhere. Without a job, that is no longer a possibility. More than that, we have less than seven hundred dollars to our names, with no useful identity to find any kind of gainful employment.

Shit just went south real fucking quick. My body’s too tired to pace, but my feet pad against the floor. Running without moving. “What the hell are we going to do?”

“Well, I, for one, am going to go puke my guts out,” Cookie says as he bolts for the door and exits in a hurry.

“Let’s just think about this calmly,” Gina says, standing beside the door frame of the bathroom. “The world is our oyster and all that shit.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Gina,” I snap. “You can go back home. Hell, you’re already here. Just walk down the street a few blocks and knock on your mom’s door.”

“Yeah...” she muses out loud, “that’s a wonderful concept.”

“It’s something.”

“Anything is better than staying in this shithole town!” She moves and parks herself on the bed in front of me. “I can’t stay here.”

Since she hasn’t been upfront and honest with me, I still have no idea why she hates this place so much. “Why the hell not?”

“Because I can’t be around him.” She points a finger toward the door—where nobody actually stands. “I can’t be around Shane.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “I just don’t get you. He was good enough for you last night.”

“That’s because I love him.”

Involuntarily, I throw my hands to the air. “You realize that makes no fucking sense, right?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“It’s simple, just don’t say anything. I need to think.”

Against my wishes, she speaks, “I love him more than anything in this world, but I know that he’s the worst thing for me. I can’t be a part of his world, but when I’m around him, he’s my only world.”

Well, that fucking resonates—minus the overuse of the word ‘world.’

Is she me? Am I her? Is she smarter than I am? Stronger? I love Blue—no questions, no doubts—but I also know that my life would be a lot different if I would’ve been strong enough to walk away when things took a turn. I sure as hell wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.

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