Chapter 29 Where’s Freddy? #2
The song ends. Wynter blows kisses and struts offstage. The crowd stays buzzing, unholy. The DJ pivots to something glossy and girl-powered.
I shake my head, laughing. “I’ll be back.”
Kelley claps my shoulder, already turning toward the stage exit. “Go. I’ll be right here—behaving badly in spirit only.”
The music thumps through my ribs as I push through the crowd. Pirates. Cowgirls. A glow-in-the-dark Power Ranger. My shirt clings to my back, chest tight, pulse sharp. I’ve been searching for an hour, and every second I don’t find her feels like losing ground.
A guy dressed as Waldo nearly crashes into me.
“Harlee?” I blurt—then clock the stripes.
He laughs. “You’re not the first.”
A cheerleader slides in close, fingers grazing my chest. “I can be Harlee. I'll ride you all night long.”
“I’m good,” I say, already moving.
I dodge a six-foot Pikachu. This place is one bad decision away from a Comic-Con brawl.
Then I see Wynter.
She’s disappearing into a raised VIP section across the club, glittering under the lights like a disco ball. A velvet curtain parts, then falls closed behind her.
Harlee has to be in there.
I cut through the crowd like I belong. Like this isn’t reckless. Like we aren’t supposed to be laying low.
Too late to stop now.
“I’m coming, beautiful,” I mutter, slipping past a nun with way too much leg out.
And then—
There she is.
Descending from the VIP steps like a scene I wasn’t meant to interrupt. The red-and-green sweater slips off one shoulder, leather hugging her curves, legs long and gleaming under the lights.
People part for her.
Of course they do.
Something primal tightens in my chest. Mine.
I don’t think. I move.
Lights strobe. Music distorts. She’s real. Warm. Right there.
“Where you going, beautiful?” I murmur into her ear as my hands find her waist.
She spins, eyes bright. “August.”
“I’ve been looking for you all night.”
“Well,” she teases, smiling slow, “you found me.”
I take her in—wild hair, glossed lips, freckles catching blue and red light. Her costume clings like it was designed to test me.
The irritation drains out of my body.
What’s left is hunger.
“So,” she murmurs, leaning in, curves pressing close, “what are you gonna do now that you’ve caught me?”
I laugh low, hands sliding down her arms. “I’ve got ideas.”
I step back just enough to see her properly. “You look incredible, baby.”
She spins once, confident. “Thank you.”
“Where were you headed?” I ask, closer now than I meant to be.
She smiles, slow and knowing. “Away from all this.”
A sexy cop bumps her shoulder. She stumbles just enough for me to catch her, hand firm at her waist. The contact lands heavier than it should. The room tilts a degree to the left. Or maybe that’s me.
“You good?” I murmur.
She hums. “Very.”
We don’t say bathroom. We don’t say anywhere specific. We just move—fingers laced, bodies cutting through the crowd until the sound dulls and the air shifts.
The hallway behind the VIP section is darker. Narrower. The bass drops to a low thud that pulses through the walls instead of my chest. My head feels warm. Loose. Like time is stretching at the seams.
She stops suddenly and presses me back against the wall, palms flat on my chest.
“Hi,” she whispers.
The word lands heavier than it should.
“Hi,” I echo, smiling like I’m a beat behind. My hands find her waist, thumb brushing bare skin. “You always greet men like this in dark hallways?”
“Only the ones I wanna ruin.”
There she is.
My thoughts drift sideways, slower now. The tequila has taken the sharp corners off everything—judgment included.
“That tequila hitting, huh?” I tease, voice lower than intended.
She hums, mouth brushing my jaw. “It’s not the tequila, papi. It’s you.”
Her fingers slide into my hair. No hesitation. No second guessing.
“I’ve been thinking about you all night,” she breathes. “Manifesting.”
I laugh softly, forehead touching hers. “You manifested me into a hallway?”
“Maybe.” She smiles, tugging lightly at my jacket zipper. “Maybe I imagined this exact thing. You up against the wall. Me pressed against—”
I crowd her gently instead, heat rushing fast and reckless.
“You’re a menace,” I murmur.
A quiet moan slips out of her—surprised, like she didn’t plan on making that sound.
“I’m your menace,” she says, eyes blown dark. “And if you don’t kiss me soon, I’m gonna climb you like a pole, Maverick.”
I don’t answer.
I kiss her.
The world narrows. My head buzzes. Her hands slide under my jacket, her voice loose and breathy. “Do you know how long I’ve been thinking about this? About you on your knees?”
Whatever restraint I had left dissolves completely.
I guide her backward through a heavy velvet curtain tucked into the wall.
The cramped space behind the curtain feels like the heart of some secret beast, stacked high with cocktail tables, chairs folded and leaning like tired soldiers, glass racks pushed back against the wall.
The music from the distant party drifts in, warped, like it’s been filtered through a thick layer of silence.
I catch the sliver of light slicing through the gap and acknowledge it—just a flicker in my mind, no more.
My hand hits the wall to steady myself—and then I’m dropping to my knees, quick and instinctive, like gravity’s got me on a chain I can’t break.
I go down, silent, no words. Just the rush of my body pulling me into that familiar, favorite place.
Her shorts slip down her thighs, pooling at her ankles—her pretty pussy finally on display for me, like she’s been waiting for daddy to come home and dine on her too.
My hand grips her thigh—fingers firm, possessive, claiming her in a way that’s both a game and a truth.
I pull her closer—pause just long enough to feel her breath catch—then bury my face between her legs, beard rough against her slick heat.
She gasps, sharp and raw, fingers twisting into my hair—hard enough to hurt, but I hold on like I’m her anchor, her lifeline.
“Así… just like that,” I murmur against her.
She tastes like heaven on earth—decadent and delicious.
A sugar rush I can’t wait to get cavities off of.
I’ve been on the road for days, but her attention feels like water to a parched throat.
I roll my tongue up and down, feeling her thighs clench around my shoulders, her body trembling with need.
I feel the shift—know exactly what it means—and slow down on purpose.
She pushes my face still, her hips rocking, pressing her pussy onto my tongue—needy and desperate.
Her sighs and moans bounce off the fabric, tender and unhinged, swirling around us like a storm.
Her cry—almost a scream—pierces through the warped music, raw and sharp, like a steam whistle bursting from her throat. “Ooooh. Yes. Shit, fuck.” It’s not human anymore, just a sound that belongs to some primal place. “Fuck—” she breathes, voice breaking
“That’s it… stay right there.”
Her juices spill over my lips as I lap at her, taking everything she gives me, devouring her like it’s the last water in a drought.
I slurp, flick my tongue, change rhythm only when her body convulses against my face—then give her exactly what she wants.
She’s right there—I can feel it—but I hold her for a second longer anyway.
“Baby… please…” Her voice—urgent, desperate—no room for cute. Just raw need.
“I got you,” I murmur. “no te muevas.”
Her body takes charge, like she’s already made up her mind.
I grip her ass, firm and sure, nibbling and sucking on her clit, humming against her, feeling her climax building—her thighs quivering, her hips jerking, her voice breaking into something between a scream and a prayer.
I feel it coming. Don’t pull back. Hold her there through it—then she comes her body shuddering with release.
She goes still for half a second—then tenses, sharp intake of breath—hands shifting to my shoulders, not pulling me closer but pushing me away. Her voice cracks, trembling with exhaustion and disbelief. “Wait—wait—did you… see that?”
I pause, breathe deep, my face still pressed to her, catching her gaze. I rise slowly.
Down the hall, a few girls spill out of the restroom, laughing—blurry shapes under strobing light. None of them look our way.
Still—Harlee’s breathing is too fast. Her hands shake.
“Hey.” I cup her face, steady. “Estamos bien. No one saw.”
“Are you sure?” Panic edges her voice.
I give her a crooked smile, trying to ease it. “If they did, we probably just gave them something to talk about.”
A weak laugh escapes her. Her fingers drift to my chest, then my beard.
“It’s longer than I remember,” she murmurs, scratching absently.
“You’re changing the subject.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“Siempre.”
She exhales and leans into me, finally settling. “I didn’t mean to freak out.”
“You didn’t.” I smooth a curl back into place. “But we should go. Antes de que haga algo that definitely gets us caught.”
She nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
Then, deadpan: “Also… you smell like pussy.”
I laugh, low. “Bien. I missed it.”
Her eyes widen—half scandalized, half lit. I straighten her dress, careful, reverent.
“No estoy terminado,” I murmur.
“Later?” she asks, soft but promising.
I kiss her temple. “Di la palabra.”
We step back into the bass and the heat, her hand tugging mine like nothing happened.
She glances back over her shoulder, smiling—teasing, untouchable.
And I know.
I’m not walking away from this.
Even if I should.