I shook my head, but he pushed me back against one of the plastic walls and knelt down, reaching under my skirt and peeling my panties off. He pulled them down my legs, the rough fabric of the plaid skirt now rubbing against my sensitive skin, and lifted up my feet, sliding the underwear off.
The cool air caressed me, and being bare and exposed made me extra aware and crave him even more. I started to run, but he caught me and pushed me back again, lifting my knee and pressing it back against the wall at my side, opening me up for his mouth as he came down on me, sucking on my clit.
Fireworks went off in my thighs and belly, spreading down my legs as I gasped and whimpered.
“Damon…” I half-moaned and half-protested. He couldn’t do this to me here.
But God, it felt so good. He kissed and massaged it with his tongue, and I tipped my head back, unable to not groan, and I didn’t care who heard me.
I finally pulled away, stumbling off to the side, and I heard him breathing hard.
“Marco,” I panted, digging my nails into the walls.
“Polo,” he growled back.
I stepped backward more. “Marco.”
“Polo.”
“Marc—”
But he grabbed me by my necktie and yanked me into his body.
I sucked in a breath, slamming into him.
He got in my face, still holding me by my tie and asking, “What do I get now?”
“You cheated,” I argued. “You opened your eyes.”
There was no way he would’ve found me that fast.
But he ignored my protest. “I want your bra.”
Cute. I’d have to take off my shirt, then, too. Clever.
But I was way ahead of him. “I’m not wearing one.”
He exhaled hard, wrapping an arm around me and walking us backward, deeper into the maze.
Setting me down, he forced me back up to a wall and ripped open my white uniform blouse, the night air hitting my bare skin as the buttons flew, hitting the walls and floor.
He pressed his body into mine, reaching under and lifting my leg to nudge himself between my thighs. “Winter,” he murmured.
I kissed him, caressing his tongue with mine, and letting him know, with every breath, moan, and rub of my hips that I wanted him right now.
He slid his hand farther under my skirt, and I held his bottom lip between my teeth, as I reached down and slid my hand inside his jeans.
I took his cock in my hand, hard and hot muscle filling my fist, and I started stroking him, making it harder and harder.
“Now,” I breathed out. “I want you now, Damon.”
He sucked in air between his teeth. “Say that again. With my name.”
“I want you now, Damon.”
He lost it. He gripped my jaw, sinking his mouth into mine for a hard, rough kiss, and then he pulled away to unfasten his belt and jeans while still holding me against the wall.
I leaned back, my shirt ripped open but my tie still hanging from my neck down the center of my chest. I felt him pull his cock out, fit himself at my entrance as I held onto his shoulders, and thrust his hips, pushing himself deep inside me.
Yes.
He hauled me up into his arms, my legs circling his waist as he propped me up against the wall, and I tipped my head back, moaning as he pumped his hips into me again and again. His cock slid out and back in, deep and fast, his hips pounding between my legs and making the whole funhouse shake. I brought my head back down, forehead to forehead as he fucked me, starting to roll my hips in little movements, meeting his thrusts.
“Yeah,” I whimpered. “You feel so good.”
“Winter,” he said like a prayer, and I could hear the pleasure-pain in his voice.
I kissed him again, dying to feel his skin and have all these clothes off, but there was no way I could stop.
We heard a throat clear off somewhere near, and I hid my face on the other side of Damon’s, mortified even as need built deep inside me.
Please, no.
But Damon wouldn’t stop. He just kept riding me, rolling his hips into my body, the rhythm and pace staying steady.
“Sir, your father is calling, demanding to speak to you,” Mr. Crane said.
I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to tell Damon to stop, but my orgasm was coming, and all I could do was hold on.
“Watch the door,” he bit out to Crane. “No one comes in.”
“Yes, sir.”
His father must be pissed if Crane came in here to bear witness to this. Shit.
Damon held my face with one hand, my body with the other, and my eyes started to tear up, feeling him drive deep and fill me up. And then it was coming.
“Damon,” I whimpered, my chest caving again and again.
“Say it again,” he growled.
I gasped. “Damon.”
“Who’s fucking you?”
Oh, God, I was coming. “Damon Torrance,” I breathed out.
And then my body convulsed, I held my breath, and I froze, letting Damon finish me as my orgasm exploded all over my body.
My head floated off, heat raced under my skin, and I cried out, feeling my body get wetter as he kept going.
Every limb weakened, and I felt like I was going to fall as exhaustion took over.
He put me down, spun me around, and shoved me into the partition, my breasts crushed against the clear plastic as he reached around and spread my thighs wide, thrusting back inside of me from behind.
He dug his fingers in the inside of my leg, holding me open, with his other hand wrapped around the front of my neck and bending it back to meet his mouth.
He fucked me, pressing me into the wall. “Mine,” he said against my lips. “Don’t ever leave my body.”
His hand on my neck scaled down, squeezing my breast and running over my stomach, and came back up to my neck, holding me tight.
“Don’t ever leave my body,” he chanted again.
“I won’t,” I whispered.
“Say you love me.”
I swallowed, my throat so dry.
“Say you love me,” he demanded.
“I love you,” I told him, surprised by how easily it came. “I love you, Damon.”
And he wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight, and this was it. Right here. Everything I wanted to feel that brought me even more happiness than dancing did.
He was still the boy, promising to kiss me again someday, and I was still her, never wanting to leave whatever little private world we created when we were together.
Later, after he held me and touched me and kissed me some more, we made our way out of the park, toward the lot where Mr. Crane was parked. Damon had given me his hoodie to cover up my ripped shirt—or Rika’s ripped shirt, actually—and he held my hand, leading me past the crowds, the music, and his friends who were smart enough to know to leave us alone when he ignored their calls for him.
We approached the car, and I felt sprinkles of rain hit my hand as he held the door open, and I climbed in.
“Just drive,” I heard him tell Crane.
Thunder cracked overhead and rolled over the sky, and I heard shouts of excitement coming from the park as heavier drops hit the roof of the car.
He climbed into the backseat next to me, and I laid my head down on his lap, my eyes heavy and my body already feeling the residual ache of what we did against that wall.
I slid one of my hands in the center pocket of his sweatshirt, feeling my panties and smiled lazily.
I was glad he didn’t leave them on the floor in there.
Mr. Crane drove, and I reached up with my other hand, running the back of it over Damon’s cheek and neck, caressing his ear, too.
The gravel under the tires crackled, we jostled as he pulled onto the road, and then the pavement turned smooth as he coasted down the late-night highway.
I told him I loved him. But he hadn’t said it back.
It was okay. I didn’t need to hear it yet. He seemed to need to hear it himself, though. Like in the treehouse when we were kids. Desperate to keep me safe and by his side.
I got the impression from his friends that he was possessive with more than just me. If he found something good, he fought to keep it.
It could be a scary thing.
But it also meant he knew what was important. He worked to keep what he valued. Would he be so devoted to a wife?
His children?
I continued touching him, just savoring the feel of his skin and the feeling of peace at just lying here with him.
“What’s your tattoo?” I asked quietly, remembering how my friend noticed he had one.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, or ask how I knew, but then he answered, “A decaying snowflake.”
I raised my eyebrows. A decaying…