“There you go with that word again,” I choke out, but I'm finding it very hard to breathe.
“I've always liked cute things,” he says, moving his hands down my sides, his gaze almost too intense to look at. And yet, I can't pull myself away either. “Soft, vulnerable things.”
“I'm not soft or vulnerable,” I huff as Ranger pushes the hair back from my face. His smile is lascivious, crafted in equal parts anger and lust. He's upset about what we've just discovered, but it's almost like looking at me soothes away some of that rage. I swallow a lump in my throat.
“It's okay to be soft and vulnerable sometimes. That's why I like that shit. It reminds me that I don't have to be on top of Mark Grandam, beating the shit out of him, to be happy. Life is balance, Chuck. Hard and soft. I'm too fucking hard sometimes; I need something to take the edge off.”
He curls a single finger under the waistband of my panties, one on either side as I stand there motionless, transfixed with him, with the hard line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, his gently slanted eyes, the dark blue color that reminds me of an endless galaxy.
“You put your panties on over your garter belt and thigh-highs,” he remarks, his smile turning several levels away from cute and charming, and much closer to lascivious. “Only a naughty girl knows you put the panties on top, so you can take them off without removing the rest.”
“I read it in a book somewhere!” I howl, but it's too late: Ranger is pushing them down my hips, dropping to his knees, so he can help me pull them over my shoes. After he got naked, he slipped his feet back into his boots, so at least we're both still wearing footwear.
He stands up and grabs the apron, tossing it over my head, and then turning me around to tie the back.
We've come full circle, haven't we? I think, remembering when I first stumbled onto his naked baking, how we almost had sex at his mother's house, how I couldn't forget this moment for the rest of my life, even if I tried.
“Let's make some dark chocolate avocado pudding,” he says finally, and I swear to god, I've never heard a word come out as sexually as pudding. Pudding. Holy shit. My hands twist together in front of my apron as Ranger moves back over to the counter, removing the lemon meringue pie from the oven and then grabbing a knife to cut the avocado in half. “Maybe some brownies, too.” He nods his chin in the direction of his discarded pants. “Check the back pocket—I think I have some weed in there. Wouldn’t say no to ‘special brownies’ right about now.”
I do as he asked, bending down to dig through the jeans when I realize that the room's gone completely silent.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see him staring at me with wide eyes and realize what I must look like.
Naked, wearing shiny shoes and thigh-highs, a frilly apron aaaaand … nothing else. The view must be, um, intense.
I barely have time to stand up and turn around before Ranger's there, pushing me up against the first island, his forehead to mine, his breathing harsh and ragged.
“Goddamn it, Chuck,” he murmurs, rubbing his face against mine. With a shudder, I close my eyes and grab onto the front of his apron. I'm not the only one trembling, apparently, and I can't get enough of this, of him.
“Oh, Ranger,” I whisper back, sliding my palms down the corded muscles in his arms. He responds with a shiver, putting his hands under my thighs and lifting me up to sit on the counter. Because of his height, and the height of the countertop, he's now settled comfortably between my thighs. I can feel the hardness beneath his apron, the same way I did that day in his mother's kitchen. “The twins and Church,” I start, swallowing hard as Ranger grinds against that fervent heat between my legs, “they were afraid for you to find out my secret; they were afraid you'd turn me into your sister.”
The laugh that escapes his throat is best described as bawdy, this dark sound that has my nipples tightening to hard points.
“Does it seem like I consider you a sister? Because if so, then I've either fucked up royally, or you've seen some kinky shit in your day.”
I snort a laugh, but the sound is cut off when Ranger crushes his mouth to mine.
Holy mother of unicorns, I think, throwing my arms around his neck.
Ranger's mouth is a fervid, wild mess of heat and blind need, but underneath it all, in the careful way he touches me, in the frantic beat of his heart as he presses his body to mine … there's affection and tenderness there.
He likes me! My brain squeals as we gasp, coming up for air and looking right at each other.
“What did you say?” he asks me, as I blink stupidly back at him.
“Did I say that out loud?” I choke, flushing from head to toe. “I did, didn't I? Oh my god, I'm so freaking embarrassed. Why am I always blurting out random shit?”
Ranger gives me a feral grin, capturing my lips with his, the faintest hint of lemons and sugar on his tongue.
“He does like you,” Ranger growls out, sucking my lower lip between his teeth. “A lot. He's just hoping you like him back.”
“I love him,” I blurt, and then we both pause.
Swear to the God of Dark-Holes-For-Embarrassed-People-to-Crawl-Into, I better not have just messed this all up. But instead of pulling away from me or acting like I’ve just committed the worst cardinal sin known to man, Ranger takes it in stride.
“I love you, too, Chuck,” he replies easily, the edge of his mouth turning up in a genuine smile. “I have since the moment you asked for that hug at the Valentine's Day dance.” Ranger cups the back of my head, kissing me long and deep, his tongue swirling against mine, and then he pulls back to put his forehead to mine. “Now. Get off this counter and turn around. I'm slapping that ass, and fucking you in that apron—just like I promised. We'll finish our baking afterward.”
My heart is beating so fast, my body flooded with happy hormones, pushing away the fear of the … whatever that stupid cult is calling themselves. Of Jenica's last sad, soft memories. I've got her brother now, and I'm not going to let him get hurt again.
Ranger pulls me off the counter and spins me around, putting his hands on my hips and then kissing his way down the side of my neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. When he lets go of me briefly to retrieve the bag of flour from the island, my jaw drops open.
“I thought you were kidding,” I whisper as he dumps some out on the counter and then powders his hands in white.
“I want to see all the places I've touched you.” His voice is dark with a possessiveness that I'm not sure I'm going to like … until he touches me again, putting white handprints on my hips. When he pulls back and cracks me across the ass with his palm, my breath hitches, and my fingers curl against the surface of the stone countertop. “Jesus, I've been wanting to do that for an entire year. You're such a brat, Chuck. You needed a good spanking.”
“Hey, I resent—” I start, but then he spanks me again, and I shiver, goose bumps breaking out across my skin. We're on campus, in a classroom, naked. That thought doesn't deter me from my course of action though. No way, no how. It only makes me want it more.
My skin tingles as Ranger runs a fingertip over the sweetly sore spot, sliding his palms up my body to cup my breasts through the front of the apron. He fondles them with a firm but gentle grip, teasing the nipples through the fabric.
Another crack on my ass surprises me, but I like it, shocking my own preconceived inhibitions.
Ranger pauses briefly to slip the condom on as I close my eyes, trying to control the wild, jittery feeling in my stomach. When he slips one palm around to lie flat against my belly, and whispers in my ear, I groan.
“Are you ready for this, Charlotte?” he asks, and the sound of my real name on his lips undoes everything inside of me. I've barely got the strength to nod, a moan falling from my lips as Ranger presses the hard tip of his cock to my opening. There's a brief moment there where he stills, and the only sound in the room is the synchronous rhythm of our breathing.
Ranger slides himself slowly inside
of me, groaning under his breath as he fills me up with his body. “Holy fuck.”
“Good?” I ask, because for some reason, I think that makes me seem cool. In reality, I was never that good at being ‘cool’. No, that was Monica's thing. Actually, I preferred being nerdy, weird, blurt-y Chuck the Micropenis. With an exhale, I relax into Ranger's touch and close my eyes, changing the narrative. “Your touch makes me feel like I'm on fire.”
“Beyond good, Charlotte,” he whispers, and then he begins to move, the slickness of my own body making it easy for him to thrust, to create this beautiful friction between us that builds pleasure in my belly like a slow-burning fire. With each movement of his hips, the embers burn, and the flames climb higher. Just when I think I'm going to collapse and fall right over that edge, Ranger slows and bites the curve of my ear. “I want to see your face when you come.”
“You're not serious,” I choke out, because apparently, even in the throes of passion, I'm a dork. He pulls away from me and then gently turns me around by the shoulders, cupping my face in his warm hands.
“Deadly,” he murmurs back, taking my mouth with his, his control a heady sort of aphrodisiac that I never expected to like. Vaguely, I remember that conversation I had with Ranger, back when Spencer didn't know my secret and thought his friend was topping me. I'd argued I could've easily been the one in charge. But nah. Nope. I don't think so. “Come here.”
He lifts me up and onto the edge of the counter, pushing me back and then climbing up after me. My ass leaves cheek prints in the flour as I scoot back, throwing my arms around his neck again as Ranger kisses me down to the cold surface of the countertop.
This is most definitely not sanitary, I think, but then I also don't care. There's something about fearing for your life that really puts that kick in your step, makes you realize that tomorrow isn't guaranteed, and that it's okay to be happy now.
When he shoves my apron up, I gasp, our eyes meeting as he thrusts into me again.
“Much better,” he murmurs with a smile, and I groan, closing my gaze against the intensity in his. “Oh come now, Chuck. We've been through too much to pretend this isn't happening.” He rubs a thumb across my brows, and I open my eyes again. We're both still wearing our aprons, our shoes, a whole hell of a lot of flour. “Here.” Ranger takes my hand and puts it between us, right over my clit, smirking at me as he does it.
He kisses me before I can chastise him, moving deep and slow, pushing me closer and closer to a climax. When it hits, it's a shock to my system, a wave of fire that burns through my inhibitions. My nails dig into Ranger's upper back, drawing blood, and my body locks down on his. A scream starts up that I can't control, one that he cuts short by kissing me fiercely and coming hard, his muscular body shuddering above mine.
Ranger takes off the condom, ties it up, and then slips it into his apron pocket to deal with later before lying down beside me, right on top of the stone counter. He throws one arm across his brow as we pant and stare up at the filigreed ceiling tiles above our heads. Does he even realize how lucky we are, how beautiful this place is? The ceilings at Santa Cruz High are drop ceilings, with ugly stained tiles and metal tracks.
“Holy fuck,” Ranger murmurs, turning his head to glance over at me. He grins and I flush, still breathing hard, but I am proud of myself for managing to meet his gaze. “That was amazing.”
“You think so?” I ask, and he raises a dark brow at me.
“You don't? Please tell me I'm better than Spencer, at the very least.”
“Oh my god,” I groan, rolling onto my side and putting my face on his chest, enjoying the wild rhythm of his heartbeat. “You guys are the worst, you know that?”
Ranger slides an arm underneath me and tucks me against his side, like he might very well hold me there forever, keep me safe from the monsters trolling our school.
“We really are, aren't we?” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss to my forehead. I realize then that he's truly putting himself out there, in a way he never has before. He's not letting the pain of Jenica hold him back anymore.
With a smile, I nuzzle into him, and then surreptitiously lean forward to take a little peek at his dick.
“What's that?” I ask, pointing at a small scar along one side of his shaft. He groans and slaps his right hand over his face in a rare moment of true chagrin.
“Candy making,” he mumbles, “now can we change the subject?”
I sit up a bit, covered in flour, my ass smarting, my lady parts—and by lady parts, I mean my vagina and clitoris, don’t be a prude—singing, and give him a look. Candy making involves a lot of hot, boiling liquids by the way.
“Wait, wait, wait. You naked-baked some candy and burned your junk?” I ask, and then I howl with laughter. Ranger sneers at me, wrapping his arms around my body and pulling me on top of him.
The laughter only lasts so long as it takes him to kiss me.
“Okay,” Tobias starts, standing shirtless and in low-slung sweats that do nothing to help me concentrate. “Arms up, let's try again.”
I bend over in my PE outfit, panting and choking on my own saliva as Mark Grandam scowls at me from the other side of the gym. As promised, Archie's got me in PE with all the other guys, many of whom were, um, not super thrilled that I was wandering around the locker room during the physical fitness test. It's like, as excited as they were to see a girl in their midst, they all still hate me. Which, maybe, is a good thing? Like, they hated me as a guy, and they hate me as a girl, too? Equal opportunity dislike. Heh.
“Training that tit-less stick figure to fight, what a joke,” Mark guffaws, sauntering across the gym like he owns the place.
“Sexist pig,” I growl back at him, standing up and swiping at my brow. The twins are both in PE with me, and every Wednesday and Friday, when we have self-defense training, they take turns going over some of their MMA—mixed martial arts—moves with me. Just in case. You can never be too prepared, right? Especially not when being chased by a cult.
A cult … God. We’re all still having trouble processing the information that Mr. Murphy and, posthumously, Jenica gave us.
“Sexist? Selena is ten times the woman you are,” Mark growls, his face twisted up in disgust as Tobias' nostrils flare, and I get the feeling we're coming close to another brawl between the boys. “She could be trained. You? You're just a weak, little peasant that stumbled into a school where you don't belong.”
“Why don't you stumble into this fist?” Micah says from my other side, eyeing Mr. Tribble (yes, that same PE teacher who unknowingly shoved me into the locker room that day, and who's apologized to me about fifty times for the incident) to make sure he's not looking. “You think you can insult our girl on a regular basis and walk? You only think Ranger turned your ugly face into a pulp. It could've been so much worse.”
“Whatever, McCarthy,” Mark sneers, backing up to rejoin his friends on a separate training mat. The twins watch him go and then exchange a look over my head.
“What?” I ask, looking between them and trying to pretend like I'm not so exhausted that I'm seeing stars in my vision. True story though. But I really need an exercise routine in Connecticut to replace all the surfing I did back home. Seemed like learning how to fight from the twins could kill two birds with one stone. Err, considering the headless bird we found on the day of Eugene's memorial, maybe that wasn't the best metaphor.
“He's such a pill,” they say in unison, with matching sighs and shrugging shoulders. It's quite the performance. ‘Sometimes I want to be my own person for five fucking seconds.’ I remember Micah's words from the onsen and tug on a blond ringlet in thought. “I just hope he's guilty, so I can beat him up,” he adds, while Tobias stays silent.
Coach Tribble blows a whistle, signaling the end of class, and Tobias gives me a look.
“We're coming with you to change,” he says, and I groan. Since there's no girls' locker room just yet, I've been changing in the bathrooms just outside the gym. The thing is, I
kind of need the twins to watch over me, so the killers can't catch me with my pants down—literally speaking.
After we're back in our uniforms, we head to lunch with the rest of the Student Council.
Ranger pulls me onto his lap as soon as we get there, and Spencer rolls his eyes.
“I know you two just did it for the first time, but come on, the lovesick puppy dog eyes are killing me.”
“Jealous?” Ranger taunts, tapping the toe of his combat boot against the floor and watching the lunch crowd with narrowed eyes. “Because I'm pretty sure that I saw Charlotte sneaking out of our room on my way back from the shower.”
My cheeks flush, but even though my mouth's hanging open like some sort of total derp, I have no response to that. It's true. Spencer and I did sneak some private time in this morning, but, like, we only did hand stuff. Although hand stuff is sex. If anyone tells you otherwise, they're either ignorant, delusional, or else they subscribe to a hetero-normative view of sex that's antiquated and weird.
Ahem.
“It's so weird that you guys are banging now,” Tobias remarks, looking at the two of us like we're alien creatures with purple tentacles coming out of our crotches. He watches that kind of porn sometimes. Trust me, I know, I've seen it. I played the twin game and stole their key the other day, snuck back into the room to surprise Tobias when Micah was with Church, and caught him masturbating. That was fun.
“Maybe it's weirder that they're not banging,” Micah adds, pointing between me and Church. My eyes go wide as Spencer and the twins chuckle a bit. I have to say, they've really embraced this whole group dating thing. Maybe it's because they were so close before I ever stumbled into their family? No matter what, I won't let myself break any of these bonds.
“We're waiting until marriage,” Church deadpans, putting his chin in his hand, long, elegant fingers curled against the side of his face. I laugh, but only a little, because this is the second time he's made that joke, so … Anyway, he's not looking at us, staring across the sea of students like he's ruminating on something important. After a moment, he turns those amber eyes back in our direction, his honeyed hair smooth and straight, framing that elegant, aristocratic face of his. “I had a thought,” he muses, changing the subject in an instant. He's a natural born leader, this one. “Why do you think the killers leave us alone for such long periods of time? Hmm? There are plenty of opportunities to strike and yet, it's been weeks since school started and there's no sign of them.”
The Forever Crew Page 12