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“A hardware store and a lingerie shop? Together? There’s some Fifty Shades of Grey joke in there, right?”
I chuckle, because, yes, I’ve heard the jokes about rope and lubricants down the aisle from the crotchless panties. “There have definitely been a few dirty jokes made in recent weeks,” I verify as the carnie starts to let riders off. We’re stopped about halfway down when the atmosphere starts to thicken, and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with the late August night air and everything to do with the fact I want to kiss this woman again more than I want my next breath.
“I’ll have to check it out.”
“Do that, and let me know if you need any assistance.” The implication of my words hangs heavy between us as the car makes a jolting stop at the base of the Ferris wheel.
The man at the helm of the ride doesn’t seem to notice the heavy sexual tension surrounding us, or he chooses to ignore it. The moment we step off the ride, he’s scanning the wristbands of the next group of ride-goers.
“So, what’s next? Corndogs? Lemon shake-ups? The Tilt-A-Whirl?”
Groaning, I respond, “I forgot how much you like to eat and then get the shit shaken out of you.”
She laughs, a breezy, earthy sound that fills my soul with wonder and excitement. “That actually sounds very gross. Let’s hope you didn’t mean that in the literal sense.”
“Uh, no, definitely not literally. I just forgot you enjoy spinning and flying through the air,” I reply.
“And you don’t like that,” she replies, matter-of-factly.
I’m stuck in her intoxicating gaze. “Hate it.”
“But you always did it.”
“For you.” My cock twitches in my shorts.
“For me,” she ratifies. Kate glances around, realizing we’ve stopped in the middle of the street. “Oh, look! The House of Horrors,” she bellows, pulling me from my Kate-infused sexual funk and practically dragging me toward the mini haunted house, where the line is a bit longer than the Ferris wheel.
It takes us about ten minutes before it’s our turn to ride through the small, dark haunted house. A couple of teenage boys are in the car in front of us, loudly joking around about how scary the ride is. It reminds me of the way my friends and I used to behave on this ride. Well, at least until I was seated beside Kate. Then, all I wanted to do was be all cool and try to steal a few kisses in the dark.
Speaking of kisses…
We jolt as the ride moves, my arm instantly going to rest of the back of the seat as I used to do when we were kids. We creep through a rickety old door, ignoring the neon sign about danger ahead. Instead, I focus on the way Kate nestles into the seat, her upper back hitting my arm the same way it used to. My fingers twitch to move just a few inches, to caress the soft skin on her arm, but I refrain. The truth is we aren’t kids, and we aren’t together. There’s no reason to start groping her in the middle of the haunted house.
Until she looks at me.
There are shadows since the place is bathed in darkness, with the exception of the flashes of light accompanying skeletons, zombies, and mummies, but even then, there’s no missing the look on her face. It’s a look of longing and mischief; the same look she used to give me all those years ago. It’s familiar and yet so foreign, but piques my interest in that challenging manner. Like she’s daring me to kiss her.
A challenge I fully accept.
With teenage boys pretending to be scared at our ambiance, my arm moves, pulling her against my overheating body. She gazes up at me with wide, needy eyes, already licking her lips in anticipation. Something deep inside me pulls, a subtle reminder I shouldn’t be doing this, that there’s no going back. Now that I feel her in my arms again—for the second time this week—I know I’m truly and royally fucked.
Not that I’d want to backtrack at this point anyway…
“Do you remember when we used to make out in this ride?” I whisper, ignoring the loud spooky music blasting through the speakers around us.
“I remember you getting to second base for the first time on this ride,” she replies, eyes sparkling like diamonds under the strobe lights.
Oh, I most definitely remember that too. A boy never forgets the first time he felt a boob. Chuckling, I add, “I recall that too. My palms were sweaty with nerves.” I move ever so slightly, lining up our lips.
Her breath fans across my face. “Are your palms sweaty this time?” she dares, my cock jumping with excitement in my shorts.
“I don’t think so, but there’s only one way to find out.”
“I agree. We should definitely find out,” she pants.
Kate’s eyes flutter shut and my mouth moves, claiming hers in a hard, fierce kiss. The softness of her lips is so fucking enticing, so fucking sweet, so fucking right it steals any logic that may try to slip into my brain, reminding me we’re still in a fairly public place. All that goes right out the window when she opens her mouth and her tongue slides against mine.
My hand moves, gently slipping beneath her top and gliding its way up the smooth skin of her side. When it reaches her bra, I find her nipples already hard, pressing firmly against the coarse lace material. As I graze my fingers over the hardened peaks, the sweetest fucking gasp slips from her lips.
