Page 13 of Burning Demons (Burning Torments #1)

Chapter 13

Wren

The piece we used as a warm-up I could play in my sleep. Yet, when Tate walked in, my finger slipped on a string, causing an awkward chord and a glance from the director. I blinked, corrected my placement, and dipped my chin to avoid the scrutiny. I didn’t mess up, like, ever. Not with this easy shit we played during school, at least.

Out of all the students in band, I was the only one who had been playing since I was a small kid. The others had a love for music, I wasn’t knocking that, but none were at my level. I didn’t consider it boasting when those thoughts only stayed in my head, just facts.

You wouldn’t think I was so great now with Tate watching, though.

I had played dozens of times in my room since he’d moved in, but this was different. I was onstage, singled out in ways I wasn’t in the comfort of my room.

Tate gracefully moved between rows of seats, then sat on one nearly right in front of me. There was no wondering why he was here or why he was apparently staying. He folded his arms on the seat back in front of him and rested his chin on top of them.

And no, I shouldn’t have been paying attention to him, but that didn’t stop me.

The director paused us to speak with one of the wind instruments. I took the break to glance at Tate, who wiggled his fingers at me in a teasing wave.

I shook my head, grinned, pretty sure I blushed too, which would be so obvious under the stage lights, and tried to place my attention where it needed to be. I failed. The last half of class, I alternated between eyeing Tate, my sheet music only because I couldn’t watch him for long without messing up, and the director. Playing in front of people wasn’t new to me, but you’d never know it with my playing today.

For many years, this had been a hobby, then self-therapy when Daddy died. Once this class was offered, I’d hesitated over joining. Playing in front of people was nerve-racking on a good day. Throw in my aversion to anything that would bring attention to my scar, and I was nearly paralyzed with fear.

However, playing with a band for a change overrode those feelings for the most part. I still got nervous, sure. I worried that everyone watching forgot about the band entirely and stared at the huge mark on my cheek. But I pressed on because once those first few bars were played and my mind hit that high as it did when exercising, nothing else mattered. The music took hold, rearranged my head, and for as long as it lasted, I was in a world of my own.

Today, that world had a visitor.

When school let out at three, Tate waited at the truck. Our last class was language. He had French, but I took Spanish.

“How’d you get out here so fast?” I asked as I unlocked the passenger door for him.

“Got to leave after I turned in a quiz.”

“First-day quiz? Rough.”

Tate shrugged. He shifted his gaze from me to the door handle I still held. “I’ve already had two years of French, so this is easy for me. All of it is, actually. I was on an advanced curriculum before.”

I opened the door for him. He blinked wide eyes at the gesture. In hindsight, that might have been a bit too chivalrous of me, but I hadn’t even thought about it. Though unintentional, I liked surprising him. Tate hopped into the truck and reached for the door, but I closed it.

An easy silence lasted until we got home. I headed for my room to get started on homework, and Tate headed for his. There wasn’t much on the first day, so I finished quickly and picked up my cello to play until supper.

“Can I finish my homework in here?” Tate asked from my doorway.

I chuckled. “Not loud enough for you with both doors open?”

He shuffled from one bare foot to the other. He had on a T-shirt he hadn’t worn to school today and a baggy pair of jeans with distressed patches at the knees. I knew these jeans. I liked these jeans because they also hugged his ass enough to ignite my imagination.

I shifted on my seat and pointed to my desk with my bow. “Have at it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Tate get settled. The position of my desk ensured I got a shot of his backside before he sat down. The quick tease of his body inspired the second half of my practice session. Which I played with a smile I couldn’t erase.

Momma called us down to dinner. She’d made potato salad and baked beans yesterday, so we helped take the leftovers outside. Sam had the grill open, pulling off barbecued chicken while we got the table set up.

We talked through our first day of school. Momma and Sam mostly asked Tate what he thought about it all. He had the generic responses—Fine. Good. Easy. Loud—and didn’t mention anything about the Wolf Pack or him listening in on my band class.

The leftovers didn’t make it to see another day, so after we chatted for a while longer and then cleared the table of the dishes, the four of us jumped in the pool. Momma grinned, and though she didn’t say it, I was sure it was because, for all outward appearance, it seemed Tate and I were getting along swimmingly.

Well, we were, but there was a lot more going on under the surface.

Once it got dark enough for the floodlights to come on, Sam and Momma headed inside, leaving us to keep pruning in the pool. The light on the wall of the deep end tinted the water in different colors but left us in shadow.

“I liked watching you play during your band class,” Tate said after a few minutes of us being alone.

I snorted. “Liked watching me mess up?”

He flicked water from his fingertips toward me. “You didn’t mess up from what I heard.”

“Yeah, well, I did, thanks to you.”

We were in the middle of the pool, our usual spot, with our legs bent so only our heads were above the water. His normally bright eyes were so dark in the limited light, sucking me in as sure as if they were black holes in space.

“Me? Did you hate me being there?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He chuckled. “Then what are you saying? Sheesh, who knew country boys were so frustrating.”

“Pah-lease. I’m as easy to understand as they come.”

“Ha. If that were true, I wouldn’t be so confused.”

I grabbed his upper arms and pulled him closer. “What are you confused about?”

He pushed off me with a laugh, regaining the distance he lost. “Nope. You first. Did you want me to leave today?”

Easy. “No.”

“Will you care if I’m there tomorrow and the next day?”

“Will I care? Yes.” I prowled closer with my toes as he backtracked with his. “But in a good way. I kinda like it.”

He bit his lip. “Like it how?”

“Dunno.” I shrugged and reached for him again, only to be outmaneuvered. “Just do.”

Tate laughed as he lunged to get across the pool. “You chasing me?”

I kept my shoulders in the water and followed him at a slow pace. “What if I am?”

“I think the better question is what will you do when you catch me?”

That was something I didn’t have the answers to, and if I did, I wouldn’t have the guts to say them out loud. Tate smirked, thinking he had me. I sprang from the water, pushing off the bottom with my feet, and tackled. Tate was dunked under. His slippery body wiggled free and got the upper hand. We traded splashes and dunks until I grabbed one of his legs, catching him off-balance, and shoved him beneath the water with a hand at his chest.

I let go a second later ’cause I wasn’t trying to drown him, and he came up sputtering. I laughed long and hard, so hard, in fact, he caught me unaware. His full weight slammed into me. For being so skinny, he was strong, and I hit the water face-first.

I came up with him wrapped around my shoulders from behind, and that was when the world stopped spinning. Tate’s pale arms were draped right on top of my scars, and never had anything felt so good.

We were both struggling for air, with the last of our laughter dying out. Tate’s warm breaths fanned the side of my neck and face, sending chills down to my balls. As if he, too, realized how close we were, how close he was to parts of me not many ever saw, he unfurled his grip and laid the flat of his palms and his long fingers intentionally on my skin.

“Is this okay?” he whispered in my ear.

I nodded, croaked out some sort of sound that was supposed to be yes, and nodded again, just in case. God, was it ever okay. More than okay. More than anything I’d ever experienced.

Tate kept his chest plastered to my back as his seeking hands skimmed over my shoulders and the top of my chest. A few of the scars were jagged and rough like the one on my face while others were fine lines. He scratched a blunt nail over one scar, then another. The thought alone of something like this a month ago would’ve been torture. Now, it was a sweet bliss I wanted more of.

“Tell me when to stop.”

Again, I nodded, giving up on trying to speak so I could use that extra effort to make sure I didn’t come in my swim trunks. I selfishly and silently pleaded with him to keep making the scars feel good. They never had. I hated them. I hated my own hands touching them. But Tate’s magical way soothed over the uneven skin. And it was amazing. I closed my eyes. My breath hitched. With every inhale, his hands moved. This had to last forever.

He brushed over my nipples, and a shuddery noise moaned out of my throat. “Fuck.”

“You’re sexy as hell, Wren.” His lips tickled my ear as he spoke, then moved lower and rested against the skin just beneath it.

I wanted to answer with something cool, something equally intense, but nothing came. With all the sensations flying around in my body like a flock of trapped birds, I could hardly tell if I still breathed, if my heart still beat, or if the soft, wet pressure at my neck was his lips or his tongue.

My cock gave a hardy jerk that had me grunting from the force of it. My balls tightened until every shuddering gulp of air came with a prayer not to come.

Tate kept his hips annoyingly off me, so I couldn’t tell if he was as hard or not. He moved his hands ever lower until they should’ve tickled over my ribs but made another moan eke out embarrassingly instead.

“S-stop,” I whispered.

Immediately, his hands were gone, and though I could finally pull in a deep breath, I missed his touch already.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I twisted around and adjusted my straining cock so it wasn’t quite so obvious under the water if he looked. “No. No, don’t be sorry. I liked it, it’s just …” I was about to come like a thirteen-year-old me with my first wet dream .

“The scars don’t like it?” he asked, trying to guess my meaning.

I huffed and swiped a wet hand down my heated face. The shock of the cooling night seeped in and doused a bit of the lust swimming in my few functioning brain cells.

Tate wrapped his arms around himself and dropped his chin. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Hey.” I closed the distance once again and pulled his arms apart.

Tate glanced at me from beneath his long, dark lashes.

“I really liked it. I swear. I’m just not used to anyone touching me.” That still wasn’t quite what I wanted to say.

Though that was true, it was so much more, but my brain-to-mouth wasn’t on track yet. No, I wasn’t used to anyone touching me, but I’d never been touched. Not like that. I was about to be eighteen and had never even kissed anyone. Never hugged anyone other than family or Sienna and had never had these sorts of impulses about anyone before.

I was a virgin to the core and a bit overwhelmed.

“Uh, I gotta get used to it,” I rushed out like that would make more sense of it. At his uncertain expression that didn’t change, I nearly grabbed his hands and forced them to my aching cock. That should prove something, but I stopped myself from taking it that far. It might have proved I liked it but wouldn’t help me in the I need to take a moment to wrap my head around this department.

Tate pulled his hands out of mine, and I let him get away from me. I let him put distance between us. Each foot made me colder and colder until having the heat of his body on my back seemed like a dream.

He made it to the stairs and got out. My imagination setting was still on sex and delighted in the streams of water running over his body. I clenched my fists to keep them from reaching toward him. I was too far away to touch him, but that didn’t seem to stop the urges. His wet trunks hung a little lower, sticking to his thin legs, and when he turned for our towels on the patio table, they outlined a distinctive bulge.

My own erection gave me his opinion on this new development with a twitch to follow him.

So I did.

Hoping for the same boldness he’d shown me so many times, I got out of the pool, not bothering to cover the obvious goings-on below the belt.

Tate handed me a towel, gaze lowering and eating up every inch of me as he normally would. The second his eyes landed on my cock, it jerked as if to wave hello. He popped his head up, hit me with a lopsided smile, and the uncomfortable tension broke.

“Pool again tomorrow night?” he asked.

I dried off my hair and face, then gave him what I hoped was a sexy wink. “I’ll be here.”