When Sky Breaks: Burn & Break Duet Book 2

39. Sky

“Don’tyou think the town is taking this fall festival business a little too far?” August asks as we leave the coffee shop, and he has to sideswipe someone walking down the sidewalk with a box overflowing with decorations. “We’re not filming a Hallmark movie.”

“Aw, did you suddenly become a party pooper?” I tease, bumping my hip into his, mindful not to spill our coffees. “You know how much of a big deal this is. I think it generates enough funds to pay for any new school updates or remodels.”

“If you say so,” he says, stooping under a garland of fall leaves hanging perpendicular to a storefront and a light pole.

“Although, if this was a Hallmark movie, you’d be professing your love for me after performing all sorts of heroic and meaningful acts of service.” I laugh as he raises his brows at me. “Oh wait, you already did that.”

Leaning in, he growls into my ear, the hairs on my neck standing. “Let’s not forget, Shortcake, my tastes for you runs a little hotter than G for General Audiences.”

Thankfully, the crisp fall morning disguises the flush warming my cheeks. We haven’t had sex yet, but it’s only a matter of time before we give into those desires that feel like burning coals under our skin when we touch.

Before I can reply, my phone alerts me to a text.

I frown as I read.

“Everything okay?” August asks.

We stop and I tap out a reply while he holds my coffee. “Yeah. Trek isn’t going to make it to the set-up today. Says he’s got something going on.” I wonder if it has to do with what he has yet to tell me about. “Probably best since you two haven’t chatted, I assume.”

August hands me my cup and adjusts the straps on his camera bag. “We’re big boys. We can handle being in the same room as each other, but it’s okay. I’d probably be distracted, anyway.”

“I’m sure. There’s a lot to photograph today. We have to get as much of the inside put together as we can.” We wait at the crosswalk with a few other people.

For the second time, August leans down and speaks in my ear, sending even more goosebumps than the first time, along with the scent of hazelnut coffee and blueberry scones. “I wasn’t talking about taking pictures.”

“Oh.” I practically giggle like a silly schoolgirl as the light turns and we’re allowed to cross. “Well, we can’t have that happen, can we? Don’t want the people to get grumpy with how terribly out of focus the pictures are in the paper.”

August pulls me into his side and plants a kiss on my temple. “Luckily, I’m a pro at editing them.”

It’s nice to feel this carefree with him. Like when we were younger. My cheeks ache from smiling, and my heart swells. He seems happier too, the guilt not as prominent in his stormy eyes.

In a way, that piece of history will always be there in the background of our lives. We’ll never truly get away from it. Hopefully, my forgiveness is good enough for August to learn to forgive himself.

We walk to the firehouse to find it crowded with volunteers carrying box after box toward the back where the haunted house stands, all walls erected and painted black as night.

It’s the guts we’re working on today. The house is divided into six different sections or rooms that people will roam through, and I’m tasked with setting up a spooky kitchen.

“I’ll be quick and join you in a few.” August kisses my cheek and saunters away, giving me a fabulous view of his ass. It’s truly unfair how good he looks in jeans.

Spinning, I walk inside the house, stepping around boxes of plastic severed heads and bloody hands. The room I’m in has faux cabinets and countertops made from thick cardboard boxes, a real fridge, and a wooden kitchen table and chairs. A fake window above a sink houses an image of a werewolf howling at the moon under the bare branches of a black tree.

My hands on my hips, I survey everything. Where do I even start? Reading enough murder mysteries should put me at an advantage, but it’s a lot different transferring from paper to reality.

After a few minutes of contemplation, maybe a few Internet searches for inspiration, and one phone call to Phoebe, the queen of scary movies, I have my ideas ready to go.

With trepidation, I reach into a box, shrieking once my fingers connect to a slimy zombie head. Gingerly, I pull it all the way out by its stringy black hair and toss it in the fake microwave with a shudder.

“You all right there?”

Startled, I twist and watch August step into the room, an amused expression on his face as he sets his camera down. “I’m guessing you heard that?”

He chuckles and swipes a lock of hair from his forehead, leaving me momentarily out of sorts. His rumbly laugh and fringe that never wants to cooperate is catnip. “Not exactly thick walls in here, Shortcake.”

I flush and turn back to the box. “Are you here to help or make fun of me?”

August reaches over my shoulder to pull out a large plastic rat with gnashing teeth and tosses it on the table with a thunk next to another one. His hands then roam up the side of my ribcage, settling right under my breasts. Sparks ignite in my body, and I wait for him to move them further. North, south, I don’t care. I just want his hands on me.

Disappointment doesn’t even cover it when he removes them, kisses my head, and says, “I was thinking we could make bloody hands somehow shoot out of the toaster as soon as people walk in.”

Picking up a package of fake blood from the box, he examines the liquid sloshing inside while I stand here, one raging hormone after another, plotting how and when he’s going to make the first move.

“So basically, a grown-up version of a Jack-in-the-box,” I muse, cringing as I open another box to find a hideous clown with sharp incisors and a bunch of fake rusty daggers in a Ziplock bag.

“Exactly.”

For a few minutes, we work in silence. He untangles fishing wire to dangle some rusty knives from the ceiling, and I wrangle the terrifying clown into the fridge, its colossal head sticking out far enough to scare the piss out of anyone walking by.

It’s comfortable being in his sphere, watching him twirl ideas around in that head of his. He was always a silent thinker, an old soul.

The quiet doesn’t last for long, and August turns, wearing glasses with eyeballs on springs, flopping every which way as he bobs his head. “How do I look?”

My hand, sticky with fake blood, pauses its path in making handprints all over the cabinets as I burst out laughing. “Ridiculous.”

At the same time, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I look to August for help. “Can you get my phone, please? It’s in my back pocket. I got a text and it might be Foster.”

He removes the crazy glasses and dips his hand into my back pocket. I try not to think about his hand that was just on my ass as he holds my phone in front of me.

“It’s from Johnny,” he says, barely disguising his annoyance.

“Open it. I have nothing to hide.”

August gives me a sharp look. “I trust you. It’s him I don’t.”

“I was very clear about us, so it’s probably just something about Foster. What’s it say?”

August taps on my messages and reads. “Uh, he says that he has no hard feelings and that he’s still going to remain on your dad’s care team but will send all communication through the other doctors. And to please erase his number.”

“He did not send that, did he?” I lean forward, my hands still in the air, and read over the message. My mouth flops open. “He really did text that. What the heck?”

August enters my space and reaches behind me to tuck my phone back in my pocket. His eyes never leave me as he jerks me forward into his chest. “He’s an asshole, and for once, I’m grateful. Means there’s no chance of him ever getting you back again.”

“Never,” I whisper, my eyes fluttering shut when August removes his hands and captures my face with his palms, kissing me.

I fight the urge to grab onto him and spread fake blood everywhere. He covers my face with sweet, tender kisses meant to remind me he’s not holding any grudges for my past with the ridiculously entitled Dr. Johnny Hawk.

“Is it hard not to grab onto me with those disgusting hands of yours?” he asks with a laugh once he’s stepped away and sees me standing there with my hands splayed out to the sides, the fake blood still tacky on my skin.

“Yes.” I wiggle them at him. “As tempting as it is to rub them all over your pretty face, I don’t want to scandalize you in front of everyone on the way out.”

He licks his bottom lip as he glances around, nodding to himself before pinning me with a devilish smirk and twinkling eyes. “How much longer do you have in here?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, I think as long as I need.”

“Can you stay quiet?” he asks, stepping closer, energy crackling off his frame, making him seem larger and broader. Sexier.

I narrow my eyes once he reaches me, avoiding my dirty hands. “Yeah, why?”

His gray eyes flick dangerously to my mouth and then back up. My pulse skyrockets. “Because I’m about to erase every memory of Johnny from your mind.”

My breaths become choppy. “Here? In the haunted house?” I squeak, desire hammering in my veins and pooling in my core.

He grips my hips, backs me to the fridge, and angles me so I’m to the side of it and out of view. He gathers my wrists together in one of his hands at the top of the fridge while the other runs lightly down my throat and over my pulse that’s flickering like mad.

“Right here,” he says before fusing our lips together.

My gasp is swallowed as August presses his entire body into me. Hips to chest, he covers me, daring me to make our presence known to the other volunteers.

He releases my mouth, and warm breath skates across my face as he assesses me, his eyes sparking with a long overdue passion. “Remember the greenhouse and bookstore?”

I nod, rolling my swollen lips, pressing my thighs together as an acute need stirs within me. “I never wanted to get caught, but the idea was thrilling.”

There’s a gentle squeeze to my wrists pinned to the fridge before his other hand meets the waistband of my jeans.

“Those firsts between us,” he husks, his lips on my jaw as nimble fingers release the snap, easing down my zipper, “were moments I clung to when it felt like I had nothing left. Is it okay to touch you like this?”

My heart pounds as I nod with frantic jerks of my head. “God, yes. Please.”

Once he has my consent, he slips his hand inside my jeans and rubs slow circles around my clit through my underwear. I’m wet—I’ve been wet since he caged me here in the corner.

“August,” I whimper against his lips as he kisses me again.

“Open up,” he says, smiling against my mouth as he feels me part my thighs.

August wastes no time, diving in with his tongue and slipping his long fingers under the fabric of my underwear, gliding until he finds purchase deep inside me.

I raise to my toes, groaning as I push my hips into his, and thump my head off the side of the fridge. There’s an incessant need for air in my lungs, a need to chase these feelings. For five years, I’ve been empty. I need August to fill me.

“Shhh, baby, you don’t want to cut this short.” He rubs over my clit with his thumb, pumping his fingers in and out slowly, so slowly I’m going to combust. “I need you to come all over my hand.”

Desperate, I rock into his palm, not giving a fuck anymore about who may walk in and what they might see. I’ve gone for so long without the expert touch August gives me, and I refuse to miss out anymore.

“That’s it, keep going,” he urges, running his nose along mine, kissing my jaw, my neck, all while keeping a steady pace.

My legs quiver, and desire coils low, ready to strike and incinerate me. He nips at my ear, never wavering, never faltering, his fingers curling in just the right way. Sweat trails down the center of my back as heat rolls off August’s frame, bringing with it the smell of his woodsy cologne and the soap I love.

“I used to fist my cock to thoughts of you when I’d be out on assignments,” he pants, his voice strangled by his own excitement. His hard body rocks into mine and I can feel how much he wants me.

“It didn’t take much. I’d remember your screams, your pleas. I’d dream of all the times I’d pull orgasm after orgasm from you, and I’d wake up so hard for you. So fucking hard,” he growls, grinding his erection into my hips. “I missed how greedy you were, like you couldn’t get enough of me.” His thumb flicks at my clit and my breathing grows shallow. “But really it was me who couldn’t get enough of you.”

I moan quietly as he dirty talks to me. Blood rushes in my ears, and arousal pulses in my core.

“You remind me I’m alive, Sky.”

Two more heavy, deep thrusts of his fingers are all it takes for me to shatter. I bury my head in his neck to muffle my scream. I climax sharply, my spine threatening to break from the unleashed tension.

August lets my wrists go, and I swing them around his neck, careful to not get him dirty. I suck down air and wait for my heart to stop its insane galloping as he holds me with one arm, hand firm on the back of my head, the other still in my jeans.

“Oh my god,” I rasp, leaning back.

His pupils are blown, and his pulse riots in his veins as fast as mine. His slow smirk draws one from me, and I shake my head. “You’re so bad.”

“Only for you, Shortcake.” He gently eases his fingers out and zips me up before licking me off his digits one by one.

That really shouldn’t be so hot.

A flush rides up my neck once I realize how close we were to getting caught. Through the blood still pounding in my ear, the shuffles and movements are recognizable on the other side of the wall from us.

“Are you ready?” he asks nonchalantly, as if he didn’t just give me an orgasm of the century.

I blow a stray hair out of my face and pray I look halfway decent when I walk out of here. “Yes, I just need to wash this off and let Blake know we’re done for the day.”

“Sounds good. Oh, and Sky?” he asks, slipping the camera strap around his neck.

“Yeah?”

“I solved the mystery.” He pauses. “Mine.”

“Huh?” I scrunch my nose as I attempt to slide my hand under the strap of my purse, August reaching over to help me get it on my shoulder.

He leans in to nip my ear lightly with his teeth, the action sending ripples of goosebumps across my skin. “That’s what you sound like when you come. Mine.”

Stunned in place, August manually twists me and gives my ass a little swat on the way out. While my cheeks—the ones on my face—burn because someone from the other room saw him, my heart burns brighter.