Page 16 of Burning Demons (Burning Torments #1)

Chapter 16

Wren

Everyone spread like waves to get out of our way, even as they were kinda congratulating us in some awed way. I snagged a brown bottle of liquor from the counter, but we didn’t stop moving until we were at my truck.

My brain was in a bit of a haze as I drove. There was no destination in mind, just away. When I stopped, it was under a huge tree on a small rise that overlooked the cemetery. Not exactly private, but the shade was nice, and there was no one nearby for now. This was one of my first destinations when I got my truck. I’d proudly described the old classic over Dad’s grave, knowing he would’ve liked it. Coming here was just a safe place in my mind, I supposed.

Tate stayed quiet for all of one minute before he twisted on the seat to face me. With a knee bent, the three bottles we’d left the party with sat between his legs.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

I flexed my hand and checked my knuckles when it felt a bit tight. The skin was red but not broken. “No. You?”

“I’m good.”

I hadn’t wanted to look at him, afraid I might tackle him right here in my truck, but I did. I couldn’t stop myself.

His cheeks were bright like his eyes, and then he grinned.

I chuckled. “Fuck you, Tate. What did you say to Spencer to piss him off anyway?”

“He wanted your lemonade. I told him he’d have to suck my dick for it.”

This little shit. I huffed a laugh, then slowly reached between his legs, my eyes never leaving his. He bit his lower lip, and I read into it all the same expectation that floated in my head. God, if only I were so bold, I’d keep going, keep moving until I skirted the drinks and reached for something I wanted so bad and was afraid of at the same time.

With a hint of a grin, I swiped the bottle of Jack, unscrewed it, and drank a few mouthfuls, then handed it to him.

Tate snorted. “Hate you.”

“Mhmm, sure.”

“How pissed are they going to be?” Tate asked.

“Not sure. I don’t think anyone has ever stood up to them.” I shrugged and only had to glance to my right to know what gave me the courage to do it this time.

Momma would be pissed if she saw the videos, but had she been there in person, I’d have done the same thing. No one, not even the biggest bullies I knew of, would keep me from having Tate’s back. Pride in myself for challenging them surged through my shoulders, keeping them squared off and defiant.

Tate hooked a brow, then took a drink. His features screwed up as he gasped through the burn and eyed the bottle. “Gross.”

“What? Jack has got to be the most popular whiskey.”

“Among heathens who’ve never had an aged scotch, maybe.”

“Well, excuse the shit out of the rest of the country, City Boy.”

He sniffed. “Excused.”

“Is that what you’re used to? Expensive shit.”

He ducked his chin slightly. I was getting good at reading him. Tate liked to distract with some sort of body movement when he was about to say something he either didn’t want to or that might not be the full truth. Not saying I caught him in lies, but everyone gave partial answers when it suited them.

“It’s what I stole from my stepfather.”

“Did you like him?”

“No!” he snapped a bit too quickly. “No,” he added even hastier but much quieter. “No, I hated him.” The third no sounded more like he was convincing himself, not me. I wanted to pry but figured he’d deflect.

“Did you have anyone up there? Friends? Anyone?”

“I had … There were people I didn’t hate.”

Tate opened a spiked lemonade as I drank more whiskey.

“Don’t get drunk,” he whispered.

“Why? Feels like a ‘get drunk’ moment. I’m pretty sure there’s a country song about fights and drinking.”

“Probably hundreds of them.”

Tate still faced me on the seat. When he lifted his head, something crossed his eyes I couldn’t read. It almost looked like pain, but from what? He turned his head to stare out the windshield a second later. “I like it here, with you.”

“The cemetery? Or Alabama?”

He shrugged and focused on the lemonade in his hand again. “Doesn’t matter.”

My insides were scrambling. Every moment was a battle to keep my hands off him. I wanted to touch and explore and feel. I wanted to get lost in him as I did with music.

“Tate?”

“Yeah?” His head stayed bowed, thumb scratching at the label on his drink.

“Can we go slow?” That hadn’t been the question in my mind, but it worked. Would he expect me to ask permission to kiss him? Consent was huge, and important, but fuck, if I pulled courage out of the depths where it slumbered, I might not have it in me to ask. It might be more of a surprise to all kinda thing.

He grinned, focus still on that damned bottle. “As long as we go , Wren.”

I didn’t have any more whiskey after that. Tate was such a mix of attitude, vulnerability, and explosives. I needed to keep sharp around him. I needed to stay at my best to protect him. It was an odd thing because Tate wasn’t weak, but I wanted to surround him.

“I don’t understand what you make me feel.” Truth serum at its finest.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then it doesn’t matter if you understand it.”

“Maybe.” I wasn’t usually the type to roll with things like that. I picked it apart, like music. I wanted to hear each note, then throw it back together and hear it again. The same I wanted with Tate. All the good and bad, the things he kept to himself and the things he was proud of, I wanted, no, needed to know it all, to get my hands on it, to find out how he worked, then let him play his tune for me.

I scooted closer to him—thank God for bench seats—and wrapped my hands around his jean-covered calf, too chickenshit to touch him anywhere else yet.

He stared pointedly where I held him, then lifted his eyes to meet mine. I’d never seen him so unsure, so unsettled-looking before. Could this cultured, experienced guy be as fragile as me?

“Is this okay?”

He nodded in quick, tiny movements, doing a biting lip smile thing that made my dick spring to life and weigh in on the discussion. Yep. Sure as fuck, I’m kissin’ him .

We’d lessened the distance between us at some point or another, and it only took an inch for me to smash my lips to his. I didn’t move. I didn’t even know what to do. This … He …

A thunderous beat pounded in my ears like the hooves of a thousand horses. My heart kicked against my ribs with the same ferocity. Breath shuddered out of my lungs, and I clamped my hands harder on his leg to keep myself steady. Just as a full-body shiver threatened to break the contact with him, my senses regrouped. In that second between a deep inhale and full-blown freak-out, Tate took over every thought until all that was left was him.

The curve of muscle under my fingers, the warmth of his trembling lips contrasting with his cold nose, and the faint scent of lemon on his breath. I had to taste him. I had to deepen this. I had to man up and kiss him as Tate deserved.

I parted my lips and teased his with the tip of my tongue. But any lingering flavor from his hard lemonade had been washed away with the sting of salt.

I pulled back an inch, cupped his jaw, and smoothed my thumb through the wet line on his cheek. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Please say no . Mind in a lust-filled daze, I couldn’t figure out where I messed up and how to fix it.

He shook his head.

“What’s wrong?” I asked softly, no relief in his answer, considering he was obviously upset over something.

“You’ll hate me.”

“Hasn’t happened yet. Not sure that’s possible.”

He didn’t say anything more, and I promised myself not to push. I had my issues; he was allowed to have his. Maybe he’d tell me, maybe he wouldn’t.

I took a deep breath and let go of him. “Don’t compare me to your ex, okay? I’ll get better at it.”

“Does that bother you? That I … That someone else …”

“No. Kinda. Only because it makes me jealous.”

He sat up and cupped my face with both hands, shaking his head furiously. “Don’t. Ever. It was all shit. It was all— We’ve barely done anything, Wren, and already I like it so much more.”

“I guess it’s better that one of us knows what to do,” I grumbled.

“Hey. Stop. The kiss was good. I just …”

“What?”

“I can’t get into it right now.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fine. I won’t get into it.”

I scooted farther away, giving us both a little space. The last thing I wanted to do was fight over a kiss that should be the greatest part of my existence to date. Well, that was the trouble, wasn’t it. It was the greatest part of mine but not his.

“We should probably tell our folks about the fight. They’ll find out anyway,” I said to get my mind on something that’d surely flatten a boner.

“Think we’ll get in trouble for it?” he asked.

I shrugged as I stared out at the stone grave markers. “Maybe. If we tell them first, it’ll go better for us.”

He chuckled. “Back home, I’d have denied that shit until they made me watch the video. Even then, I might have said it wasn’t me.”

“ This is home, Tate.” Emotions were too high, and that came out all wrong, anger lacing my tone more than I wanted it to.

He froze, blinked, then slowly nodded. “Yeah, and I think I love my home.”

His words ran through my head all evening. Even as we talked to Momma and Sam about what happened at Cody’s. I think I love my home . He hadn’t said he loved me, but for some reason, that was what I heard. Maybe it was what he meant in a roundabout way. The imploring and serious look on his face was something I imagined I’d see if he’d said those three words. I love you .

Momma and Sam were as pissed about the fight as we expected. We told them the truth, that Spencer started it after some trash talk, but we finished it. After watching the posted videos, Sam was significantly less concerned about it than Momma. Still, we were grounded for two weeks.

Tate and I sat at the top of the stairs and watched the recordings of the fight on our phones. What I hadn’t noticed at the time was how all four initially jumped toward Tate. Four on one. Fucking bullshit. I’d surprised them when I knocked Spencer to the ground. The effort they’d initially made was much more cautious after that.

Most of the videos hadn’t caught all of it, but the ones who had sure as shit caught that fucking scar on my face. I held my phone in my hands but watched Tate as he played one video over and over, then read through all the posts. The varying emotions that crossed him as he did so made me realize an important truth. I didn’t like him for his looks.

Tate was quite possibly the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. His features were sharp and bright. His smile transformed him, but so did his frowns, even his tears. He moved with grace and confidence, but when he caved in on himself, he had an appeal that hit those primal spots inside me. No one had ever made me want to stare at them the way he did. Hours, days, eternity, time didn’t matter.

But despite all that, I liked him more because of how I felt around him. How the world faded away when he was near. How I wanted to be his, and I wanted him to be mine. Tate was the sun I needed, the air I craved, and the water that fed me.

Tate was complicated and deep, and he looked at me as if I were important. He made me want to be important. Tate made me want to be the hero, for him. He was gorgeous, but he was so much more. He was in my blood. He was the voice in my soul. I was hooked and knew I better do something about it.

The next chance to prove there was hope for my kissing technique came Sunday night after dinner. Sam had Monday off work for the holiday and planned to close down the pool. We had this one night left to us. Once they’d thoroughly chastised us, yet again, for the fight and told us about the conversations they’d had with the parents of the Wolf Pack members, they went inside and left us alone.

“Have you ever had a birthday party?” he asked.

At supper, Momma had told Tate my birthday was tomorrow. I wasn’t going to mention it since the day had been a nonevent for a long time. Momma always got me a present, made chocolate gravy and biscuits for breakfast, and we all enjoyed whatever bakery cake she picked up.

“When I was a kid,” I said. “You?”

“Every year.”

“Were they fun?”

“No. My birthday parties were more about Mother being acknowledged for getting knocked up than me getting any older.”

I huffed. “Hey, don’t sound so bitter. Sam was the one who did the knocking.”

Tate glanced at the house. “Right. Knowing the two of them now, my wildest imagination can’t even put those two together.”

“Please don’t think about your parents fuckin’. Gross.”

He kicked my chair. “Asshole. You know what I meant. Err, well, I didn’t mean that . Jesus.” He laughed.

I jerked my head toward the pool. “Swim?”

“It’s our last chance,” he said in answer.

We stood at the same time, putting us in each other’s personal space. Tate reached for the bottom edge of my shirt before I could, blowing my ever-lovin’ mind, and lifted it as he smoothed his hands up my abs. No one had ever touched me like this, and he acted as if it was his right to do so. The involuntary flinch that should come with someone about to touch my scars never did.

I glanced at the darkened house, then back to Tate, and raised my arms so he could pull my shirt off.

“Your turn,” I said.

If his hands had shaken as much as mine were now, it was a miracle he’d had the coordination to undress me. I managed, but in the end, it was not the sexy tease he had done but rather utilitarian. Tate didn’t seem to notice the difference and turned for the pool.

The crack of my hand across his backside struck the night like lightning. Was it the flirty wink he’d tossed me over his shoulder? Or just the delicious curve of his ass?

No clue. But what it definitely was, was shocking.

“Uh …” I tried and failed to get beyond that.

“What the fuck?” he breathed.

“S-sorry. God, I don’t know where that came from.”

He turned fully, keeping the abused cheeks from me. “I’m not saying I hated it.”

“Same,” I said before actually meaning it. “Same,” I said again, sure I meant it this time. I didn’t hate it at all.

“You’re full of surprises, Big Country.” Tate stepped off the edge and into the pool as he laughed.

He watched me as I lowered much slower into the water, keeping the splash to a minimum. The other times we’d been here, tension and hormones pulling us closer, we’d broken the fevers with horseplay. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to think I had to trick myself into getting closer until suddenly, I found myself there.

Tate widened his eyes as I kept coming. Closer and closer, until I was right in front of him and lowering myself so we were the same height with bent knees and our shoulders skimming the surface.

“What’s in that head of yours?” he asked.

I dipped my gaze to his lips, the silent plea for kiss me , and it worked. Tate cupped his hands around the sides of my neck and pressed his lips to mine. A noise escaped me. Almost like a protest, a whine, maybe, but I didn’t wanna stop. Tate’s hands were warm, but his mouth was even warmer. This wasn’t the crude thing I’d done to him when I smashed our faces together; it was, I dunno, exciting. Every piece of him that touched me was its own kiss, its own thrill stealing my breath.

After seconds, he moved away but only enough to put a half inch between us. I stayed frozen in place. If he wasn’t planning on doing it again, I would, but he did. Tate tilted his head just the slightest degree, lowering his eyelids before kissing me a second time.

I reached forward and gripped his waist. He flexed his hands on my neck and rubbed his thumbs over the back of my jaw. Just as he lifted away again, I licked him, hungry for more. Tate seemed in no hurry to go faster, but I didn’t wanna only brush our lips together. I wanted to fucking kiss him. I might not’ve had the experience to back up the drives pushing me onward, but every second around him cracked that door a little more, and now, finally, it was wide open.

As he moved away again, I leaned forward and slipped my hands from his waist to his ass, keeping him trapped, and closed the distance to lick his lips once more. He met me with his own tongue. Explosions blanked my brain. My dick got so hard, so fast it was near painful, and I grunted.

“Tate?” His name was a hushed breath from me, a question.

“Kiss me, Wren.”

I moved us until I had him against the side of the pool. With a hand at the back of his head, I kept the other on his ass and sealed our lips again. Another moan, so foreign but completely involuntary, left my throat. That sound must’ve been the secret word, the pistol shot to start the race. We both opened our jaws and twined our tongues, deepening everything.

Either he was a good teacher, I was a good student, or we were just made to do this. In one breath, we were all over each other. Greedy hands, mouths, and bodies collided and swiped into each other. We licked and kissed and sucked until my skin burned from his stubble. Tate dug his long fingers into the small of my back, caging me to him as much as I did to him.

We could’ve been there for hours. My cock pulsed and strained against my shorts. Urges pulled and twisted my mind. Even when I didn’t think it possible to have any other desire than tasting Tate’s mouth, another popped up. I canted my hips forward. That one stroke, my hard shaft against his, and a burst of fire spread throughout my body.

I hissed and lifted my chin, pulling off his mouth. Tate didn’t stop. His kiss moved to my jaw while he skimmed his fingers along my sides, right above my trunks.

“Oh, God …” Everything was pinging and jerking inside me like an electrical storm. “Jesus, fuck, Tate. You have to stop.”

“Why?” he breathed against my neck.

“Because I can’t stop you.”

He smiled against my skin, then bit me while I shivered, too deep in lust to tell him how much I liked that.

“Why do we have to stop at all?”

Why indeed. There was a reason, right? I moved both hands to his waist and yanked him against me. He moaned and attached himself to my neck again. Doing crazy things with his teeth that had my eyes rolling back. I raked my hands down his hips, then up and over his ass to his back. I liked how his smaller frame wasn’t breakable. No matter how rough I held him, clawed at him, or molded his body with mine, he never complained. In fact, I was sure he liked it as much as I did.

“God, you feel so good,” Tate whispered, then cried out when I bit hard into the curve between his neck and shoulder.

“Fuck!” I whisper shouted as I clamped my hand over his mouth. Both of us stood frozen for long seconds. I strained my ears but didn’t hear anything from inside the house to indicate Momma or Sam had heard us.

There it was, though, a major reason we needed to slow down. I took a half step back, face to the sky, and claimed a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? It was my fault.”

I grinned at him. “Probably shouldn’t have bitten you so hard.”

We stared at one another, chests heaving, and then we snickered and burst into laughter before shushing each other.

I laced one of my hands with his and brought his fingers up for a kiss. “This was fuckin’ awesome, Tate.”

“It’s not over.”

“For now, it is. At least we’re going in the right direction, but I don’t wanna have to worry about the noise.” I grazed the side of his throat with the backs of my fingers. “I want you screaming for me.”

Tate snorted. “Me? Scream? I think you’re high.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“I can do something about those blue balls.” He glanced down, then back to my eyes.

“So can I.”

“I want to do something about those blue balls,” he insisted.

“Beggin’ me? Already?”

Tate rolled his eyes and shoved my shoulder. “Dick.”

“That’s exactly what we’re talking about.” I palmed myself and squeezed harder than was necessary. “Mmm. Fuck.” I eyed him long and hard, debating if I wanted to keep going and live with the consequences of getting rowdy or just do it myself.

“Nope,” I finally said. “Not doin’ this with Momma and Sam trying to sleep. If we wake them by hooking up, it would be ten times worse.”

Tate pressed forward and smacked his lips to mine. “Okay, Big Country.”

“Okay?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. It’s probably the smarter idea.”

“You’re agreeing with me rather easily.”

He wiggled free and headed for the stairs at the shallow end. Just before he stood, he turned, pushed his trunks low, and gave himself a lazy stroke.

“While you’re over there being the good son, I’m gonna go inside and fuck my fist, see if I can make myself scream.” He winked, righted his pants, and got out, all while my jaw stayed unhinged.