AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When he tries to pull his hand away, I hold on tighter. Then he stops, and of course, I stop, too.
I am three steps from those iron gates, three steps from getting out of the cemetery, which at one point was calming, but in seconds became a mix of sexual tension, misunderstanding, and anger.
“Please, I don’t want to fight in here.”
“We’re not fighting.” He scowls. “Jonathon and Annie wouldn’t fight, would they? They eat and fuck.” He looks like he wants to say more.
“You’re almost impossible,” I say before grabbing his face and kissing him.
I try to push my tongue into his mouth, but he’s unresponsive, so I step back.
“It’s a cemetery,” I say to remind myself more than anything.
“They’re dead. Nobody’s gonna see us.”
“You want us to have sex in a cemetery?” I ask quietly, looking around.
“Nope.” He looks annoyed as he walks around me.
I don’t understand him. And clearly, he doesn’t understand me.
I follow him out, nearly jogging to keep up with his long strides.
“Hey,” I yell, but he doesn’t stop. “Hey!”
He stops then and turns around, his eyes narrowed, jaw tight, brows knit. The sight of him makes me stop in my tracks, and me stopping in my tracks makes his jaw drop.
“Angelo...”
He throws his hands in the air. “What?”
The vulnerability in the voice, in his stature, is shocking. His true age shows. There is an insecurity there that I have not seen. It makes him even more desirable.
“You are incredible. I forced myself to come here today while fighting the need to go to you,” I tell him, taking a deep breath and hoping to be able to continue. “I prefer to make myself miserable than to lie in bed and think of last night alone.”
He tilts his head to the side in question.
“But,” I continue, needing to make my point, “as far as sex in a cemetery, I just can’t.” I want to. I want to have that connection with him again. I just can’t. And I need him to know it’s not about the damn book anymore. It hasn’t been for a while now.
“Fine. Get in your car, Tatum. It’s not safe here.”
“I don’t have a car. I’ll get a cab.”
He sighs loudly and rolls his eyes. “Get in the truck.” He walks around the old truck and opens the passenger side door.
“You sure?”
“Yes,” he says, tight-lipped.
As I buckle my seatbelt, he gets in and starts the truck. He says nothing for fifteen minutes, and it’s driving me insane.
“We okay?”
“We’re fine,” he answers.
I reach over and put my hand on his thigh.
He glances out of the corner of his eye at me. “What are you doing?”
I use my free hand to unbuckle my seatbelt and scoot closer to him.
“What are you doing?” he asks again.
“Getting closer,” I answer, moving my hand up his thigh until it reaches the visible bulge in his running pants.
“Your seatbelt,” he says, then hisses when I push my hand down his waistband and grip him.
“Tatum,” he grits out as I lower my head, determined to take him in my mouth.
“No.” He grips my hand and attempts to pull it away.
“I want you, Angelo. I wanted you back there, but—”
“I don’t want you like that,” he says gruffly, which makes me release my grip.
I sit back and cross my arms, feeling... something. Needy? Pouty? Annoyed?
“I’ve had a dozen girls on their knees, Tatum. That’s not a place you need to be,” he finally says, breaking the silence while completely shocking me.
“I wasn’t on my knees.”
“Never once have you written or implied you want a cock shoved down your throat.”
Again, I’m shocked.
“But I—”
“Not an option.”
“But I—”
“Done subject,” he says, taking a corner faster than I expect.
I grip the dashboard, and he chuckles.
“Maybe I want to,” I tell him.
“Enough.”
“I’m really good at it.” I have no idea why I say that because it’s probably not even true.
I don’t dare look at him, but I do see his hands grip the wheel tightly.
“Don’t give a damn and don’t wanna hear it.”
He’s jealous, and for some reason, that gives me some joy.
“But you wanna talk about the dozen women who have been on their knees for you?”
He sighs. “No.”
“Well, I have had four sexual partners,” I tell him. “How about you?”
“One.”
“Before you attended MS, during, or after?” I ask curiously.
“MS? What’s MS?”
“Michigan State,” I answer.
He glances over and smirks before looking away. “During.”
“Oh.” I know my tone is shocked. “I mean, I guess I assumed you—”
“My cellmate wore a lovely shade of pink lipstick, and you know, I do have needs.”
Apparently, it takes me too long to reply.
“I’m kidding, Tatum. It was after.” He immediately reaches up and turns on the AM/FM radio. It’s all static.
I reach out and turn it down. “Did you like her?” I ask, realizing he just told me he’s only had one sexual partner. I want to ask if that means only me, but I’m too afraid to. Instead, I go with my gut that he’s talking about a woman before me.
