22. Pathetic & Desperate
Chapter 22
Pathetic & Desperate
Bonnie
I can’t believe I’m backstage with the Howling Ravens .
Jonah Grave and Leo Tomb! This can’t be real life, and yet I’m leaning against a wall, watching them pack up as Rafe and Leo jab back and forth and laugh.
I’ve never seen Rafe so relaxed. He’s in his element around Leo. A smile is plastered on his face. I could probably tell him Ink & Tide is burning down, and I don’t think he’d care.
Jonah occasionally chimes in with them, but mostly, he keeps talking to me. Asking me about my internship, about Never Harbor and my family.
When I tell him I have six brothers, his eyes get real big, and I laugh.
“They’re harmless, I swear.”
After convincing Jonah Grave that my brothers wouldn’t track him down just for existing and talking to me, I immediately get secondhand embarrassment—because why the heck would he care about that?
But Jonah just smiles and theatrically wipes invisible sweat from his forehead with a, “ Whew .”
Occasionally, I see Rafe watching us from the corner of his eye. I don’t know if he thinks he’s sneaky, but I watch him reach for his plastic water bottle, resting on the ledge behind Leo, and pause for half a second to eavesdrop on our conversation.
I want Rafe to like me. I’m not sure I’ll ever overcome that, but after weeks of working for him and after the establishment of our little deal where, apparently, we can do whatever we like, I need to get a grip on reality.
He’s taken on the role of protector. Teaching me things about art. Making sure I advocate for what I want. Following me through the venue with a hand on my lower back. And while that is also totally hot, a guardian is all he’ll be.
He’s made that very clear, even tonight. Cutting off my conversation with Jonah earlier. Making sure to tell me our talks are temporary.
I understand it. But it’s not comfortable to be reminded.
“I’ll be back,” Rafe says, digging in his pocket for his smokes and lighter.
“Want me to come?” I ask.
He hesitates for a moment, glancing at Jonah and then Leo.
“We got her,” Leo says with a laugh because even he can sense that Rafe is watching over me.
A protector. That’s all he is.
“Go,” Leo teases. “Slowly destroy your lungs.”
Rafe rolls his eyes, holding up his pink lighter.
Jonah snorts. “Still using that thing?”
“Hey, keeps people from stealing it from me,” Rafe says, walking out the propped open side doors, where a couple of the stagehands are also smoking.
“Nasty habit!” Leo calls after him.
For a second, it looks like Rafe pauses at the door, but he keeps walking.
Suddenly, I’m alone with Leo and Jonah. I straighten my posture and smile.
“So … where to next?” I ask.
“New York,” Jonah says.
“That sounds fun.”
“Eh, wish we were hanging out here for a while,” Leo chimes in. “Have some more time at home.”
“I’d kill for his mom’s pumpkin pie,” Jonah says with a wistful gaze.
Leo chuckles. “Yeah, we haven’t bothered Peggy Cohen in forever.”
“Oh, are you close?” I ask.
“Eh, sorta. Sure. Close as I can be. I give her company when I can. She’s a good woman. Rafe’s good to her.” He and Jonah exchange a look before Leo says, “But, uh, y’know, it’s good he left.”
I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”
“She’s … a lot sometimes. Kinda yanks him back and forth, if you get me.”
“He doesn’t see it,” Jonah says.
Leo nods and slowly adds, “But … he doesn’t have to, if we do.”
I don’t know what that means. Rafe seems to like his mom a lot. He texts her a good bit, I think. Or maybe I’m just seeing one side.
I smile. “You seem like good friends.”
“He’s in short supply,” Leo says. “Really, we’re doing him a favor.” He winks. “Speaking of, I’ll be back.” He flashes a pink lighter in the air and pumps his eyebrows. “If he’s gonna make fun of me for my magic, then he’s gonna learn, isn’t he?”
I laugh, and so does Jonah as Leo disappears around the corner. Then, it’s just me and the drummer remaining.
“So, why haven’t we heard of you?” Jonah asks.
“Oh, I’m just interning.”
“He must like you.”
I shrug. “Well, I sure hope so.”
“Why wouldn’t he? You’re a knockout.”
My eyes widen, and he laughs, holding up his palms in innocence.
“Though not that I’m hitting on you or anything. Rafe’d kill me.”
Jonah is the kind of guy with a golden retriever smile and the jawline of Brad Pitt. I’ve always gotten the impression that he’s sweet, and it’s nice to know that isn’t an act.
As Jonah smiles at me, Lulu’s voice echoes through my head. “Get yourself a summer fling.”
Maybe she’s right. And Rafe doesn’t seem to be holding back with outside flirting, nor is he under any illusions that we’re doing anything more than lessons.
I can have fun, can’t I?
Jonah’s temples have little bits of pepper. I’ve always had a thing for older men, and I like the way he looks at me. It isn’t the way Rafe looked at me that one night, when he pressed his forehead against mine, biting his own lips before plucking at mine. But I hear rock stars are good at plucking other things.
“I don’t think he’d mind if you hit on me,” I say. “ I wouldn’t mind at least.”
Jonah pauses, and I know I caught him off guard.
He chokes out a laugh. “That’s … well … me neither.”
We exchange smiles, and while I’m not getting butterflies, it’s nice to feel wanted. Rafe might even be proud of how bold I was just now. I asked for what I wanted, and I took it.
“So, how are you liking the internship?” Jonah asks. “Rafe not giving you a hard time?”
“Of course he is,” I say, fiddling with the small array of picks on the speaker. “But I can handle my own.”
I like the way his eyeliner-shrouded eyes stare back at me. The way he tilts his head to the side and exhales, as if sending the energy my way.
It isn’t Rafe. It won’t ever be Rafe. But I could give my number?—
A heavy palm lands on the small of my back. Warm. Rough, twisting a finger into the loop of my jeans. Rafe’s ring is a cool sting against my spine.
“A moment, Shiv?” Rafe murmurs into my ear. His warm breath is more of a demand than a request. It doesn’t smell like smoke, as if he didn’t even get the chance.
“Sure,” I say, forcing casualness.
“We’ll be back, Jonah,” Rafe says, throwing two fingers in the air, as if to signal, Two minutes .
Two minutes? What do we need two minutes for?
Rafe guides me around the corner and to the first dressing room on the left. Inside, a resting stagehand gives a goofy wave.
“Get out,” Rafe snaps.
The man’s head jerks back. So does mine.
He sneers, “Whatever, man.”
But the protests he continues to have are muffled when Rafe slams the door shut, locks the dead bolt, and twists on his boot to stare at me.
Honestly? I’ve never been more turned on in my life.
“What was that?” he demands.
“What was what?”
“That. Back there. With Jonah.”
My face flushes hot. Wait, is he—is he mad at me?
“Isn’t he your friend?” I ask. “Can I not talk to your friends?”
“You weren’t just talking, and you know that. You don’t know the type of man he is.”
“I know the type of man you are. How would your friends be any different?”
He walks forward. I take a step back. I forget just how tall he is. How easily he towers over me.
“You have no idea the type of man I am, Bonnie.”
“Okay, so what type of man are you then?” I ask innocently.
“A possessive one.”
My heart stops. I almost forget to breathe as his whiskey eyes roam over me. His pupils are blown out.
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
I shake my head and scoff. “I can make my own decisions.”
“I know,” he says. He runs a tattooed hand through his inky hair, letting it fall back in his face. “Trust me, I know.”
I swallow. I feel like I’m getting whiplash. Part of me is loving the growing warmth between my thighs. The other part of me is struggling with an opposite heat in my chest. Anger.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I narrow my eyes. “Are you really serious?”
He doesn’t respond, instead staring with his jaw ticcing over and over as he grinds his molars.
“You are unbelievable,” I say. “So, you can flirt with other people, but I can’t?”
“I never said that.”
“Kinda sounds like what you’re saying now. What did you say about playing games? You don’t want to? ’Cause you’re playing games with me right now, and you know it. That’s unfair, Rafe.”
His jaw drops. “I’m not—” He stops himself and lets out a mix between a groan and a sigh.
I give him time to find words, but he doesn’t.
“Nothing?” I ask, tapping my foot. “Fine. Then, you won’t mind if I just?—”
I shoulder past him, unlock the dead bolt, and rip open the door. It’s only cracked open for a split second before Rafe slaps his palm over the door, shutting it back with a ringing echo. His eyes are tightly closed, the little lines beside them creasing in frustration.
My jaw tenses. “You can’t hold me captive. I’m not scared of you.”
“Don’t test me, Shiv.”
“Wow. Such a big bad wolf,” I mock.
It only has his jaw tensing more.
“Screw you,” I add. The tattoos beneath his neck shift. “You’re so determined for me to stay a good girl. Well, I’m not, okay?”
“I know you’re not.”
“Then, let me leave and find someone who will appreciate that.”
“I can’t.”
“That’s not fair!”
“I don’t want to share,” he says matter-of-factly.
My breath catches in my throat. My arms are tense.
“Well, what about that woman?”
“What woman?”
“Yesterday. The woman who you gave a cigarette to.”
He lets out a choked laugh and runs a palm around his hair again.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Christ, she needed a smoke. I gave her one. That’s all.”
“That’s all? I saw her give you a slip of paper.”
He tongues his cheek and nods. “Yeah. Her number. And you know what I told her actually?” Rafe moves closer. “I said I was seeing someone already.”
I pull in a breath, and he takes another step. My back hits the door.
“I told her I’m a one-woman kinda man.”
I fold my arms over my chest, but he slowly unties them, pinning them by my sides. His head tilts as he leans in. I can feel his breath against my lips. So warm that by comparison, the room is suddenly too cold. Shivers run down my arms. My mind is buzzing on a frequency so high that my ears start to ring.
“I know this might be an act of rebellion for you,” he murmurs. “But listen real close, Clever Girl, because when I say I’m in, I’m in.”
“What are you doing?” I whisper. “I thought?—”
But before I can finish my sentence, he pushes my arms above my head and locks my wrists in one palm. He presses his hips into mine, holding me in place against the door.
His opposite hand slides down my forearm, tracing every inch, bumping every warm valley with the cool of his ring. The hand sinks into my hair, cupping my neck and tilting my mouth higher. For a moment, I think he’ll kiss me, but he moves past my mouth, burying his nose in my hair and kissing along my jaw.
Oh, fuck you.
I bite his neck. He deserves it.
Rafe reciprocates with a low growl. It vibrates down to my chest.
He releases my wrists and neck, gripping the underside of my thighs and lifting me. He carries me across the room. I’m lowered backward until I’m lying on the length of the dressing room counter. I gasp when he begins kissing over my collarbone, tracing a line with his tongue.
I’m almost blinded by the bright, round bulbs lining the top of the mirror. The drop ceiling overhead is filled with scratches and various marks from pens or burns. The staff’s wrap-up music plays over the speakers, blending into the muffled sounds floating from the stage. I look at the door that we never locked back.
“Someone could walk in,” I breathe.
“Good.”
“Good?” I ask, exasperated.
“Then, they’ll know you belong to me.”
A rush of air leaves me like I’ve been hit in the stomach, but a gut punch has never felt so good.
As Rafe’s palm drifts over my shoulder, he continues his sinuous line of kisses down my stomach, along my waist, and to my thighs.
“You only said we’d be gone two minutes,” I say.
“You know I don’t need that much time to make you come.”
I gasp. “Rafe?—”
“Let me eat you out.” He licks a line across my lower stomach, in the break between my shirt and jeans, across the hem of my pants. “Please.” With his teeth, he grips the outside of my button and unhooks it from his hold, repeating, “Please.”
“What—why?”
He lifts an eyebrow, resting his chin on my hip bone. “Here’s another lesson. When a man is on his knees, begging to eat your pussy, you let that pathetic, desperate man feast.”
I suck in another sharp breath.
“So?” he prompts, playing with the zipper of my jeans, clacking it between his gorgeous teeth, tucking his canine into the handle.
Oh God.
My body is running at a temperature I can’t even register. Rafe’s tattooed palms grip the side of my hips, tucking into the belt loops, as if prepared to tug them down should I give the word.
“Yes,” I exhale. “Yes, please.”
“And what do I want to do?” he asks, biting into the zipper and slowly hissing it down. “Say it for me.”
“You want to …”
“Eat you out.”
“Eat me out,” I echo.
“That’s right. I sure do, Shiv.”
He raises his eyebrows. The unspoken question of consent in the air.
“Do whatever you like,” I breathe.
His grin is so devastatingly wicked as his fingers dip into the hem of my jeans and my panties, pulling them down my hips and to my knees. There’s barely enough room for his face between my thighs, but he buries his face anyway.
His tongue strokes along my seam, and I swear time stops. It’s like his tongue is tracing over me in slow motion, starting at my center and curling up to meet my clit.
I grit my teeth, trying to stifle the moan fighting its way up my throat.
He flattens his tongue against me, dipping between my lips, repeating stroke after stroke, lapping me up with desperation. He groans, mumbling something like, “Fuck, you taste so good,” which has my back arching off the table. His tattooed hand lands on my hip, pressing me back down to the cool surface.
I look down. His hooded eyes find mine, and I collapse. He is the big bad wolf, and I’m the innocent woman he’s corrupting.
I turn my head to the side, too embarrassed to watch anymore, but that’s when I see both of us in the mirror. My body squirming under him. His messy hair falling over his high cheekbones. His inked hand gripping the outside of my thigh, pinching the skin tight, as if ensuring I don’t disappear. His shoulders moving under his black T-shirt, as if he can’t contain the need coursing through him.
A desperate need for me .
The sight alone zips from my stomach up to my breasts, puckering against my white top.
“I see you looking in the mirror,” he growls against me. “Touch yourself.”
“You do it,” I demand, the power coursing through me.
He wants me to say what I want, then I’ll do it.
He whips his hand up to my chest. He traces his long fingers over me, pinching my nipple through my shirt.
A zip of electricity skitters down my chest. He tightens his fingers again, tweaking my nipple a second time.
His tongue whips over me quicker. It’s lightning throughout my body—a classical symphony of pleasure and pain. I can feel the warmth building between my thighs, traveling up my stomach and to my heated neck. My legs tighten around his head. His tongue thrashes against me.
I don’t know what happens first—my orgasm or the moan that escapes me before I can pull it back in.
My back tries to arch off the table, but his forearm keeps me down. I push against the glass mirror to steady myself. His fingers flick over my nipple as waves of pleasure course through me. He doesn’t stop licking until I’m shuddering and left in a mess beneath him.
Where do we go from here? He says he wants me—only me. What do I do with that? And do I even care? Rafe might just be a problem, but I don’t want the solution.
My chest is rising and falling as he crawls over me, licking me off his lips.
“It’s late,” he says coolly, grabbing my limp hand and pursing his lips against my fingertips, out of breath. “We should head back.”
“That’s all you have to say?” I ask.
He gives me a devilish smirk as he begins pulling up my pants, tugging up the zipper and buttoning them.
He taps my hip when he’s done—like an engineer releasing a car from his shop—and smirks. “Let’s get on the road before I try my luck at more.”
How in the world do I tell him that he doesn’t need any luck at all?