Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

“Have you had fun tonight?” he asks as his fingers trail down my arms.

A wave of chill bumps makes me shiver, but I don’t think it’s fear that’s drawing them to the surface this time. He wraps his pinky fingers around mine, and the move seems more intimate, more important than the hand holding we’ve been doing all evening.

“Frankie?” His breath is warm on my face, but he’s still not touching me anywhere but those two fingers. “Have you had a good time?”

“Yes, until you brought me in here of course.”

His laugh is low and husky. “I’m glad you’ve had fun. I’ve been looking forward to tonight for a long time.”

“You have?” We’re both whispering, and I have no idea why, but it just feels right in this moment.

He nods, the movement of his face creepier in the green light than I’d like, but his body is blocking anything that might try to scare me, and I have a feeling, just by the way he’s looking down at me, that he’s not interested in my fear any longer. Zeke Benson has something else on his mind, and just the anticipation of what that might be sends a thrill of excitement through me.

“Are you cold?” he asks, not letting the shiver go unnoticed.

I shake my head as he digs his teeth into his lower lip.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

He answers his own question by taking another step closer, and the action makes me have to tilt my head back even further to maintain eye contact with him. He still doesn’t touch me any other place than my fingers, but the heat of his body is enough to ignite the sparks that have been firing for him all night.

“What are we doing?” I feel a desperate need for explanation. I don’t want to read him wrong. I don’t want to get our wires crossed, like I apparently did with our kiss in the truck.

I also don’t want him to see the pure desire for his lips on mine again when he looks at me, so I turn my head, swallowing to try to push those feelings down. We’re at least a half a mile from the truck and if he’s mean to me right now, I know I’d never make it away from the hundreds of eyes that will follow me there if he hurts me again.

Already dreading the worst, I attempt to tug my hands from him, but rather than release me, he clasps my full hands in his and shifts us so my arms are behind my back. His breath comes out harsher, sharp pants on my cheek as he bends his knees to line our faces up better.

“Zeke?” I whisper, his name a plea, a prayer not to hurt me again.

“Your heart is racing,” he says the second he presses fully against me.

“I’m scared,” I confess. There’s no sense in denying it.

“Of the haunted house or of me?”

“Yes.”

He chuckles, but it doesn’t sound like he’s making fun of me, and I can’t analyze anything when he presses his soft lips to my throat.

I whimper, the sound escaping my mouth before I even register the action enough to stop it.

“You smell amazing, fresh and perfect.” He runs his nose down the column of my neck. “Innocent yet willing.”

Oh, God. Did the temperature in here just go up twenty degrees?

My legs tremble, but Zeke either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He also doesn’t let me crumble to the dirty floor either.

I flex my hands in his, begging without words for him to let me go, but he doesn’t respond the way I expect him to. Instead of releasing my hands, he steps even closer, shifting his thigh between my legs and pressing harder against me. The action presses my chest further into his, and I inwardly wonder if he can feel the sharp points of my now peaked nipples against his chest.

I’m panting with dry lips and as he kisses across my collarbone, I realize that while I’m dry up top, there’s no way I’m dry below. The thought is sobering as he moves his leg another inch, pressing against me. Can he tell? Can he feel what he’s doing to me? Will he just use it against me in the next breath?

He doesn’t back away, doesn’t release my arms. He simply moves his mouth over mine, pecking sweet, gentle kisses to the corners of my mouth until I’m close to the point of begging him for more.

“Frankie,” he whispers against my lips, and instead of pulling away like my brain is screaming for me to do, I obey my body and press my mouth to his.

Everything changes in that moment. He’s no longer sweet and careful with me. With the first brush of my tongue, he turns into a feral beast, licking into me, grinding his leg at my core like he’s snapped and no longer possesses any form of control.