by Gage Grayson
Another officer, short but built like a fucking brick house, steps casually between us and holds his hand up a few feet from my face. I don’t recognize either of the cops, but they’re oddly both more interested in stopping and restraining one of their own—and their superior, at that—than they are in stopping me.
“It’s about time y’all fucking showed up,” wheezes Dunn as he takes another step away from that pathetic scene.
The shorter officer fights an amused smile threatening to flash across his face before pivoting around to face Dunn.
“Are you being serious right now? We thought this was a situation you were handling.”
“Yeah, I’m serious.” Dunn is still being restrained from behind by the other, much larger cop. “Keep holding me back, because otherwise I’m about to go crazy on this sumbitch.”
“That’s very considerate of you, Chief,” the large officer says in a perfect deadpan.
Matt Dunn doesn’t seem to think that one is as funny as the rest of us think. His face is glowing redder than a prairie paintbrush flower in May.
“Alright, now. Let the fuck go of me. This ain’t funny anymore, Glenshaw.”
Big officer Glenshaw finally lets go of his superior ranking officer. After being released from the sturdy arms of the law, Matt does his best to look confident and tough, despite his trembling legs and unsteady gait.
“How do you want to handle Andrews here, Chief?” The short cop asks while looking at me.
“I think we’re gonna have to chalk this one up as a side effect of our friend’s citified lifestyle, Pennington. Living on concrete for that long can’t be good for mental wellness.”
Matt’s doing his best to project poised authority, but the crowd has already started to clear away from this ridiculous scene.
“Now hold on, Chief.”
This short Officer Pennington is a few years younger than Matt, which must make him one of the youngest cops on the force, even though he’s still a country mile or ten ahead of his boss in terms of confidence.
“I was actually wondering if Mr. Andrews wanted to file a complaint.”
The kid’s got some fucking guts, too. More than I can say for Police Chief Dunn, whose legs are now wobbling as he looks off into the distance at no one.
Looking at Matt, I see the actions of somebody who’s never going to try that again.
“Officer…Pennington, is it?”
“It is, sir. Your lip’s bleeding.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“No, Mr. Andrews. You were a few years ahead of me, so we were never in high school together. I think you need medical attention.”
“Right, well, I don’t have the time to file a complaint…at the moment.”
On that note, I turn away from the crowd and head toward the parking lot to put an end to that whole show.
While everyone in the crowd has either left or retreated to some far corner by this point, Jessie, Eric, and Brooke are huddled in a semicircle just a few feet behind me.
Jessie and Brooke start gaping immediately, their jaws dropping slowly in unison. At the same time, a delighted smile blooms on Eric’s face.
“Holy shit, your lip is bleeding like crazy.” Eric laughs a loud, unapologetic, youthful laugh I haven’t heard in years.
I shrug but stop myself just short of smiling. “It can’t be that bad. I don’t even notice.”
“Pickle, it’s bad.” Jessie’s wearing a half-amused, half-bemused smirk as she opines. “Pretty bad.”
Brooke shakes her head while starting to dig through her purse. I take the excuse to walk closer to her, facing her as she finds whatever it is she’s looking for.
“Do you have a first aid kit in there or something? It wouldn’t surprise me, being the inveterate teacher you are. Always prepared for—”
“Not quite, Dylan. Now stop talking and clean yourself with this. It’s a cut, not a gash. Medicated balm would be perfect, but I don’t have any with me.” Brooke grins with a touch of sauciness as she pulls out a packaged disinfectant wipe.
“We’ve got a shit-ton at our place,” Jessie offers.
Without saying another word, I open the wipe and start dabbing my upper lip.
“No. Here. Hold it like this.”
Brooke places her hand gently onto the wipe, lightly grazing against my own hand in the process. She presses the wipe firmly onto my cut.
I feel like I knew to do that, but my brain feels too distracted to remember.
“Not my fault you’re clumsy,” Eric adds with a grin in Jessie’s direction.
“Me? Listen here, coach, you’re the clumsy one. I was a beauty queen. You don’t get that way without being poised, ya know.”
“Speaking of, I need to head on down to my office for some stuff,” Eric says with a snap of his fingers.
“Well, let’s go get whatever it is you need so we can go get some food,” Jessie says as she starts walking back toward the school.
As Eric chases Jessie through the exit, Brooke’s eyes capture mine.
“Let’s go dip into that lip balm, shall we?”
There’s a sweet lilt at the end of Brooke’s question that would leave me speechless even if I weren’t holding a piece of fucking cloth to my lips.
It could be leftover adrenaline from the speech or that stupid fucking fight, but my mouth is dry, and my heart is pounding loud enough to hear it through the entire drive to Jess and Eric’s.
At the front door, the second I put the key in the lock, Brooke once again slips her hand over mine.
“I know this door is tricky. Let me help.”
My heart starts throbbing even harder. I feel weak, and walking into the house and into the kitchen with Brooke feels like a timeless dream that I don’t want to end.
After we’re both seated at the table, Brooke grabs my wrist to wipe my lips properly.
“The bleeding is long over, ya know.”
Brooke got a stick of lip balm, and I watch as she lovingly undoes the cap and twists a small amount through the top.
My breathing slows to a stop as she lightly glides the stick across a wide section of my lips.
“I think that ought to do it.”
Brooke giggles, maybe at how much lip balm she used, and the sound keeps me fucking mesmerized for a few more seconds until I finally speak up.
“Thanks…so, how are you feeling about everything?”
“You mean the speech?”
“No,” I shake my head. “We talked about that. I mean everything after that. With Matt Dunn and all.”
Brooke smirks with a smidgen of sassiness, sighs, and rolls her ocean blue eyes to the ceiling. That’s enough to spark a bright, burning flame inside me that could turn into a white hot fucking inferno if I’m not careful.
“Matthew is…Matthew. He always is.” Brooke’s smirk doesn’t budge as her eyes shift into some kind of reverie.
“Do you know that for sure? How well do you know him, Brooke?”
Brooke focuses her eyes on me with precision, and the fire hungrily starts to grow.
“I’ll just say it, Dylan. We’ve dated. We’ve dated quite a bit actually. Never for a really long, solid block of time, but if you added it all up…it’s been pretty long. The closest I’ve been to anything serious, really,” Brooke looks down, moving her fingertips somewhat nervously across the surface of the table. “And that’s our history, Dylan. Our history.”
I don’t know if even Brooke’s sure why she emphasized that last word, but when the piercing, devastating power of her eyes finds me again, I stop thinking about that or much else.
However, in the face of Brooke spilling the bulk of the beans like that, I know this is one dream I might have to wake up from.
Before letting the fire bloom past the point of no return, there’s still one question that won’t leave my mind until I ask it.
“Do you love him?”
With her eyes wide and serious, Brooke shakes her head slowly a
nd emphatically.
“No, I don’t love him.”
Time seems to be slowing steadily as the world grows more present and vivid around us.
As the fire becomes an unquenchable blaze, Brooke’s angelic features move towards me in slow motion, and I magnetically move towards her.
My vision darkens and goes black as my eyes close, and every corner of my perception is filled with the singular feeling of Brooke’s lips meeting with mine.
Chapter 16
Brooke
“What...what was that for?”
It’s a bit of a struggle to speak as fresh, feverish surges overtake my body and my mind. So powerful that I fear I’m becoming a fire hazard, at risk of setting the world around me aflame.
“Does it need to have a reason?”
I want to look away, but I’m overwhelmingly drawn back to those eyes, and that smile worthy of being immortalized for future civilizations. The overall feeling of being in the most assured, knowledgeable hands I could ever want gives me focus beyond what I could ever want for.
The heat, the weakness, the gigantic influx of internal and external stimuli, and feelings is making it so difficult to figure what I'm going to do and what's going to happen next.
“Nope, not one bit.”
Dylan laughs softly, his smile so mind-bendingly fucking gorgeous that it twists my stomach into a knot—but the good kind.
A voice in the back of my mind tells me to look away. It tells me that I can’t and shouldn’t go down this road with Dylan.
But against my better judgment, I keep my eyes where they are, letting the image of Dylan’s wonderful face draw itself closer to me again as the invisible magnetism takes over, drawing me closer to him as well.
And our lips meet once more.
It’s like the finale of a fireworks display. I see bright colors exploding and cascading behind my closed eyes.
Fuck, if this is what’s happening during a second fucking kiss, it boggles my mind to think about what will happen if, and when, we start taking this further. But one thing I know is that I want to find out.
The pressure of Dylan’s hand on mine changes. It becomes less light and much more charged.
I don’t question the sensation, but it takes me a moment to realize that he’s wrapping his fingers around my hand, taking it in his own, and finally gripping it in a firm grasp.
“Come with me.”
His words echo through my ears as I feel myself rising from the chair.
The expression on my face must be one of wide-eyed, wonderfully overwhelmed excitement because Dylan’s deep, attractive voice throws my insides even further into frenzy.
I feel light as I walk, as if I’m floating, drifting through the air.
At the same time, I’m becoming more aware of every sensation making its way to my brain, like my feet touching the ground as I follow Dylan. It feels like I’m walking effortlessly— that I have complete control over gravity and only use it as much as I need to.
And the heat is coursing through my legs, smoldering and flaming throughout my skin. It’s the same heat that’s currently rushing all over me, but following that sensation upwards seems to be a flash point where my legs meet.
And now, my heart, takes center stage in my perception as we get closer to the spare bedroom. I can almost hear the thumping rhythm.
Usually, it would be worrying to feel and hear it beating so fast. But in this case, it feels controlled and healthy. The racing tempo of my heart is the proper soundtrack for this moment and moments to come.
“Come here.”
The husky tone and want in my voice surprise me. It’s one I’ve never heard spill from my lips before, but in this moment it feel rather appropriate.
Dylan turns and I pull his face down into another heated kiss. Just the touch and taste of his lips make my toes curl.
But, in the end, it’s not enough.
I need more.
So I grab Dylan’s shoulders and push him as hard as I can onto the neatly made bed.
The statue of a man in front of me falls onto the mattress. From what I can tell, there’s none of his own weight involved as I give in to my pure want.
I leap heedlessly towards the bed. Time seems to bend and slow that falling onto his unyielding and rigid muscular frame feels soft and slow.
“Brooke...”
I kiss him aggressively before he can even start to get another word out.
Dylan’s tongue explores my mouth like it knows just what to look for. I don't know what that is, but, by the time, I push myself up slightly I feel like he's found it.
The vision of Dylan’s face as strands of my hair fall on top of it lets myself rationally appreciate that yes, this is actually fucking happening. Dylan leans up so our lips and tongues can meet again as we roll over onto our side.
Dylan’s tongue retreats at just the right moment as his lips start to focus on my bottom lip, and then lay mild, almost imperceptible kisses on my chin, grazing a trail towards my neck.
My fingers are curling, forming loose fists. By the time I feel Dylan’s hand softly caressing my hip, then my side, then the outer region around my tits, my fingers are digging uncontrollably into my palm.
Shutting my eyes and clenching my jaw, I emit a small yelp as I force my own will back on my hands and position them both on Dylan’s stomach. I start sliding them slowly down along the material of his shirt, the thought of feeling abs over his clothes is making me feel like I’m about to fucking explode.
“Hold on just a second.” At least, I think that’s what Dylan says.
When he tears off his own shirt, literally ripping the fabric and exposing his immaculately toned—well, everything—I feel my brain scrambling, then going enjoyably blank.
My left hand goes immediately to Dylan’s smooth, taut pecs, greedily taking in every nuance while I use my right to pull off my own top faster than I ever thought possible.
This time with Dylan on top he skillfully unlatches my bra. With both hands free, I madly rub them up and down the front of his magnificent torso, my eyes rolling back with the pure joy of the feeling.
Dylan slides my bra straps from my shoulders and I give up feeling Dylan’s pecs and abs long enough to finish slipping off the undergarment entirely.
Dylan goes for my nipples like a lightning bolt, stimulating one then the other with tantalizing softness.
“Go fucking harder,” I command, gripping his well-built shoulders.
He doesn’t though, not yet. As Dylan alternates between breasts, he works his lips and the tip of his tongue with only the tiniest bit more fervor each time. The anticipation combined with the increasing sensation inspires a low moan that rumbles through me.
After working his way up to an acceptable intensity, Dylan’s phenomenal mouth stays in that area for just a few more seconds before continuing his earlier downward trail of kisses, this time going down to my belly button.
“Oh, fuck, I can’t believe it.”
I really can’t. The feeling of Dylan’s face getting so close to my waistline, I think I might actually pass out with preemptive bliss before I get much higher on this mountain of actual bliss.
At the sound of my words, Dylan stops where he is, freezing with his lips hovering above my stomach.
“Don’t you fucking stop.”
Dylan doesn’t respond. He remains still, as I start breathing faster, feeling another low moan build in me until I can’t take it anymore.
And I fucking scream in a spasm of crazy desire and anticipation.
Then, Dylan starts again, slowly lowering his lips to me as we both begin grabbing at the top of my skirt and working it down my legs. Before taking it off completely, my hands succumb to excitement, slapping against the top of the bed.
Dylan doesn’t miss a damn beat, though. He makes short work of slipping off my skirt, then my panties.
Even with all the internal heat I’ve been feeling, the air of the room feels cool and invigoratin
g as my pussy lies exposed and soaking wet.
All that charged excitable heat swirling from head to toe is starting to migrate towards my crotch in eagerness. I expect Dylan to start working immediately, even if I fucking come as soon as he does.
Of course he’s not going to let me off easily, I’m getting the feeling that he can sense my capacity for excitement better than I can, and he knows I haven’t reached the crescendo yet.
A second ago, I thought he was about to start eating my pussy. But right now, I feel him taking off my shoes.
“Ohhh, come on.” I almost laugh at the elongated way I pronounce that ‘n,’ but then I feel Dylan’s lips working their way up my left inner thigh with kisses that get hard, then soft, then harder again.
His tongue comes out, just the flattened tip, as he gets within a couple inches of my pussy lips. Yet he stops before he gets there, licking my thigh a couple of times before moving to the other leg and repeating the process.
I hear myself making mostly half-formed noises, and realize that Dylan’s tongue is just starting to move ever so softly around my wet lips.
My eyes gradually fall closed, and I see the fireworks display starting again. It’s even brighter and more vivid at first, but eventually it fades, as does my awareness of everything except the feeling of Dylan’s tongue moving diagonally across my pussy lips, getting slower as the feeling grows more maddeningly intense.
Eventually, my awareness returns like the sound of my guttural groaning. The patterns of Dylan’s tongue grow just slightly more elaborate and even fucking slower as my groan becomes a feral shout.
The simple straight lines he’s making round into a swirl, starting to focus around my clit as the sound of my hands noisily slapping the bed reverberates though the room.
My eyes are still closed, yet an inescapable bright, white light overtakes my vision as an orgasmic shudder ripples through me.
As every trace of stress and physical tension vanishes from my body, I feel myself filled with renewed determination as my orgasm crests then fades.