Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Rayne
DK was giving my man, my man, my man energy.
Water bottle opened, caring on lock, telling me not to make him worry.
Boyfriend material. Neo, on the other hand, was giving that bad-boy edge.
The kind I would’ve chased in my twenties.
Back when I believed swagger meant confidence.
When I thought I could teach a man to be emotionally available instead of asking myself why I was drawn to the ones who weren’t.
Growth is humbling.
I keep my word and slip into the cooling station. Instant relief. It’s a quiet oasis from the noise and suffocating heat. I finish my water and check in with my team, making sure they’re rotating, hydrating, and taking rest breaks.
Twenty minutes later, I step back into the thick air. Kids streak past with painted faces. The snow cone line snakes toward the boardwalk. I mingle without campaigning. This isn’t the time or place for policy. Just presence, smiles, and attention.
Near the temporary tattoos, I catch up with Sophia. She’s holding a paper cone and tearing off pieces of pink, fluffy cotton candy. She smiles at me, but it lacks the usual brightness. Though in this heat, even a smile takes effort.
“Where’s the rest of the Beyhive?” I ask about her girl gang of Beyoncé stans.
“I’m meeting up with them later. I was helping C and Lex at the pop-up café. No one wants coffee in this weather, but the iced teas and refreshers are selling.”
“That’s good.” I study her for a second more. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You look a little down. ”
She hesitates. “Do you think I’m too sweet?”
“What? No,” I answer truthfully. “How is that even a thing?”
“Trust me, it is.” She brings another piece of cotton candy to her mouth, then pauses with a wince. “Oh my God, look what I’m eating. Like I’m five.” She tosses the cone into a nearby garbage bin.
“What’s going on?” I tug her gently into a cooling station.
“That’s what that guy Neo called me. Too sweet. He was nice about it. But still.”
Rejection stings even when delivered gently. “Neo gives off F-boy vibes,” I say. “I wouldn’t let a guy like that rewrite your value. He doesn’t even know you.”
“It’s not just him.” She leans against the wall. “I was at a gay bar last week with my roommate Chloe and finally worked up the courage to talk to this woman. She’d been looking at me, so I thought it was cool. Like… putting myself out there with a decent shot, you know?”
I nod for her to continue. “We talked for a bit. Then, like Neo, she said I was cute and sweet. Like a puppy. Not a woman someone could actually desire.”
“Soph.” I put my hand on her wrist. “You are sweet. But there’s intelligence and steel there, too. The way you faced your harasser. The way you’re living on your own in Chicago, working hard to build your career. You’re no puppy.”
“Thanks, Ray.”
“It’s true. The right man or woman will appreciate that balance of sweet and sturdy.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. And one day, Neo will be kicking himself that he misjudged you.”
She smiles, clearly liking the idea of him living with regret.
“You’re amazing just the way you are.” I link arms with her and head back out into the sun.
When Sophia returns to the café, I grab another water. A reporter I recognize approaches, and I paste on a smile.
“What did you think of Mayor Diablo’s remarks?” he asks.
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“He said his expansion plan is being revised.”
“It definitely needs an overhaul,” I reply, intentionally. “But I’ll reserve further comment until I see the details. Enjoy the festival, and be sure to try the funnel cakes.”
The walkie-talkie crackles as I walk away. Symone’s voice cuts through the static about a food vendor losing power. I pivot immediately to arrange for perishables to be moved to the backup fridge while she tracks down the on-site electrician.
It takes longer to resolve than expected.
Come evening, I’m wilted. With Symone left in charge, I slip home to rinse off sunscreen, sweat, and sand. I pull my hair up into a top knot to get it off my neck, then choose another sundress. Shorter. Fitted through the bodice, the flare skirt with a flirty ruffle hem swings a little when I walk.
Still appropriate. Breathable. But playful enough for DK to notice.
By the time I return, the opening act has finished, and a large crowd has gathered near the stage waiting for the main event. Security lines the perimeter. Lifeguards sit high on their posts, scanning for drunk swimmers testing fate.
I do a full sweep of the event. Check the vendors. Check my team. And look out for DK.
A couple is tucked near the dunes, kissing like no one else exists. I long to feel that again—DK’s hands and mouth, his groans rough and dirty in my ear while he fucks the hell out of me.
My cheeks flush, and my body follows. Next weekend seems so far away, and my toys just aren’t hitting like they usually do. I need him. I pull out my phone and text.
Me: Where are you?
DK: Here. Beside the stage. You?
Me: Near the taco stand feeling thirsty.
DK: I’ll grab you water.
Me: Not that kind of thirsty. This kind.
A pause.
I can practically see it—his body reacting before his brain catches up.
Then the three dots appear.
DK: Middle of the crowd. Densest part.
A slow pulse beats between my legs. I only meant to tease him. But—
Me: What about Neo?
DK: He’s occupied.
Me: We’ll be seen.
DK: I won’t let that happen.
No bravado. Just a promise.
I lift my gaze. Stage lights flaring outward. Bodies pressed together, packed tight in the center. Shapes of people, no detail. Hands raised. Chants loud. The crowd zeroed in on Chaz’s entrance. He headlines every year, and he’s the fan favorite.
DK’s right. That’s the perfect spot to disappear.
Me: OK.
DK: Be wet and ready for me.
Me: I already am.
DK: Dammmn
His reaction only makes me hotter. I check in with my team one more time to confirm I’m not needed.
Then, with my heart racing because I’m actually doing this, I tuck the staff lanyard into my pocket and weave between bodies.
The closer I get to the center, the denser it gets.
Sweat, perfume, and humidity hang thick like smog.
I scan my immediate circle and don’t recognize anyone I know.
The event draws people from other townships, Chicago, and beyond, so that’s not surprising. I just wanted to be extra sure.
Me: Here.
I text him and hit send. No doubts now. Just excitement.
Chaz steps onto the stage, and the crowd erupts. He flashes that dimpled grin and takes the stool behind the mic. “Any D’Angelo fans?”
The roar is deafening.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” He throws a peace sign toward the sky, lifts his guitar, and strums the first sensual notes of How Does It Feel. The kind of song that sinks into your bloodstream. Halfway through the second verse, my phone buzzes.
DK: Don’t turn around.
I feel him before he even touches me. A shift in the air. His unmistakable presence at my back. The space between us disappears, and a shiver slides down my spine.
The bass drops heavier. The crowd presses in. Someone bumps my shoulder. DK’s hand settles at my waist. Steadying to a casual observer, possessive to me.
He doesn’t speak, his silence only amping up the anticipation. I try to breathe normally. Then I feel it—
His fingers trail slowly along my hip, tracing the curve through the lightweight fabric of my dress. The pace is agonizing. But still, he doesn’t hurry.
The song swells. So does my need as those fingertips crawl downward an inch at a time until they reach the hem.
He adjusts his stance behind me, one thigh between both of mine, canting me in place.
Taller in wedges, his erection presses into my ass, luring me to grind against him.
I feel his groan more than hear it. My passion for him is ferocious.
I barely register the forward surge of the crowd as Chaz pushes into the chorus.
DK protects me from the frenzy with the shield of his arms around my waist, keeping me pulled tight against him. The combination of the music, our surroundings, and the heated feel of his body is doing insane things to my already raging libido.
I close my eyes, feeling the desire arc between us, pouring off him in waves and sinking into me until the ache in my core is almost painful.
Maybe sensing I’m reaching the breaking point, or maybe he is, DK drags his palm down to my thigh, hitching the front of the dress up far enough to push his hand between my legs.
His hiss warms the back of my neck when he discovers how wet I am.
The song blends into the next one as DK rubs circles through the crotch of my thong, then glides his fingers up and down the seam.
My hips rock into his touch, my ass grinding against him like I’m dancing to the music.
Heat pools low and heavy, my core clenching.
I’m going to come right here, surrounded by potential voters.
Our privacy is granted only by darkness and distraction.
DK slides the string of my thong aside and sinks two fingers into my soaked pussy. I swallow my cries at feeling the thrust of flesh on flesh.
The guitar rips through the speakers, hyping the crowd. DK creates a decadent friction. It’s sharp and biting, exactly like I need it. Phones lift. Lights flicker all around us. My world narrows to pressure. Rhythm. I’m being finger-fucked in the middle of a crowd—exposed and invisible all at once.
When his thumb finds my clit, massaging that tender spot with singular focus, the intensity is blissfully brutal.
My release hits like a storm. I bite down on my lip to trap the scream, my grip tightening on the radio as pleasure tears through me.
It’s almost too much to bear, but he keeps going, stroking over tender tissues until I come again.
Helpless against the onslaught, I squeeze my legs around his hand, moans clawing at my throat.