House of Goths

Chapter 33

Warning: From here on, readers will encounter escalating scenes of a sexual nature. You have been warned. Now, on with the story...

Quite torn over whether she should join the boys in the garage or go back into the house, Becky hesitated in the quickly fading twilight. Moments later, her decision was made for her when Kelley poked his blood-red framed head out from the garage door.

"Love, is that you out there?" he asked, squinting into the dusky light. "Becky, what have I told you about going out alone after dark!"

He stalked towards her with such purposeful intent that Becky instinctively backed away.

"Come here, you!" he barked with a hint of a smile on his shadowy face. "It's not me you need to fear."

"I don't fear you!" she said, tentatively holding her ground. "I'm angry at you."

"Oh, really?" he asked mockingly, crouching slightly into a prowling stance like that of a cat with a mouse. "Should I be afraid then?"

Becky pursed her lips at him and shook her head at the suddenly playful Goth. "This isn't funny. You scared me today."

"Aw... I scared you?" he said with a voice dripping with humour, pitched higher than normal. Dropping the cat and mouse act, he stood with his hands on his waist and tilted his head. "How did I manage that, oh fierce one?"

Becky frowned at him, confused by his peculiar mood. What gave him reason to be so lighthearted suddenly? He'd punched Keegan, glared at her as if she'd ruined his life, then stormed out of the house and drove off without so much as a backwards glance. Now here he was mocking her. She ought to just haul off and kick him in the shins!

Kell didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the sight of her ire. God, he loved her. This he knew to be the ultimate truth. He'd tried to deny it, to put her out of his mind, but no matter how much physical and emotional distance he'd put between them, no matter how many times he'd counted the reasons why he was all wrong for her, the truth of the matter was that he indeed loved her, wanted her, yearned for her. He was lost to this itty bitty waif of a girl who dared to place her trusting little soul into his undeserving hands.

The fact was, this mere squeak of a woman gave him a reason to exist. A purpose to get up every morning. It was hard to describe, this undeniable feeling inside of him. It was not so much a wanting desire, but a need, a deep-seated instinctive, primordial need to protect and look after her. Damn it all to fuck, he was royally screwed!

"You need to stop running off like that!" she scolded him, hands on hips.

"Is that right?" he said, taking a calculated step towards her, hands in his pockets, fingers itching to take hold of her.

"Yes." She took a cautious step backwards.

"You, the boss of me, then?" he teased, backing her up against the picnic table.

"No..." she gasped breathlessly as he leaned in and with his very large hands around her waist, hoisted her up onto the table top. "It's not like that."

"What's it like then, love?" he said, stepping in cozily between her knees. "Tell me..."

"Kelley..." She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and suddenly forgot what she was upset about. Up close like this, he was as dreamy as a Goth boy could be. Handsome, beautiful and deliciously scary all wrapped up in one gorgeous package.

He inclined his handsome face, his ebony eyes softening. He gazed lazily at her lips. "Becky... you're playing with fire." His mouth twitched up into a crooked smile. A half-second passed and then he was on her like a grizzly on honey. He kissed her hard and hungrily. He took her by surprise, releasing all his pent up ardour on her lovely soft lips. He nipped with his teeth then soothed with his tongue. He'd swallow her whole if he could... keep her inside the warm fortress of his heart forever. "Becky, Becky, Becky..."