CHAPTER ELEVEN
Raven Dawn
Fringe whips around another corner and it’s all I can do to stay seated on the bike behind him. I peek up to see where we are and his hair flies into my face. I burrow back down against him, my arms wrapped tight around his stiff frame.
I’m sure that was a red light he just blew through.
It only takes a few minutes to see that he’s taking me to his place. By then, I’m already frozen solid. Bare legs, midriff, and arms are not a good combination on a Canadian winter night, especially riding a bike. I’m thinking the wind alone will kill me.
I’ve never see him so angry. I can feel how tense he is, and I hate that I’m the one who caused it. You don’t do that to your BFF if you can help it.
Thing is, I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know he’d go to Lucifer’s and see me with Lobo. I didn’t do anything wrong. Why is he behaving like a possessive papa bear?
At his apartment, Fringe cuts the engine and slams down the kickstand. He turns only to glare at me as I get off the bike without a word and make a mad dash for his door. I almost run into it headfirst when I find it unexpectedly locked. Looking back at him, I make motions with my arms for him to hurry up.
Of course, he takes his sweet time, strutting down the path like King Shit. I’d laugh if I weren’t so damn cold.
When he finally gets to the door and unlocks it, I rush in and pick up a ratty old throw and wrap it around myself. I’m shivering, my teeth still chattering, and I’m altogether miserable.
Fringe slowly follows me in and when he’s close, I come apart in a shuddering torrent. “I’m s-s-so sorry, F-fringe. Really, I am.” Tears burn my eyes and I’m afraid they’ll freeze to my cheeks if I let them fall. “I d-didn’t want you to see that. My p-parents. They… they banned me from seeing you. And…”
I can’t say anything more because he’s enveloped me in his big, strong and, thankfully, warm arms.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, too.” He’s holding me tight against his chest and I nestle into his embrace. He smells so good. All leather and machine oil and the woods. Must be his shampoo. It all combines for a delicious manly scent that I want to devour. “Fuck, you’re shivering. Guess that’ll teach you to go out half dressed this time of year.” He pulls away to look at me. “Damn, get your ass to the bathroom and take a warm shower. Don’t make it too hot, hear me?”
I nod and scurry off, a shower sounding like the greatest idea ever.
Fringe’s bathroom is… well, let’s just say that he’s a typical guy. He and cleansers don’t seem to get along. I’m almost grateful that he doesn’t have a tub, just a shower stall. I couldn’t imagine what a tub would look like.
Taking my clothes off to get into the shower is hard. I’m just too damn cold and the thought of undressing is abhorrent. So, I don’t. Kicking off my shoes, I turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm up and then step in fully clothed.
The hot water hurts, and I realize why Fringe said not to make it too hot, so I adjust the temperature until I can stand it better. Then I wait for the water to work its magic on me, letting it cascade down my head and back. When I stop shivering, I strip off my soaked clothing and leave it bunched up in a corner to take care of later. I want… need to simply stand under the stream for a little while longer.
Shutting my eyes, my thoughts drift to what happened in Lucifer’s tonight. How Lobo touched me. How it made me feel. I’d never ever felt anything like that before. I know it wasn’t sex, I’m not stupid, but that indescribable feeling must have been an orgasm. If he could do that with his fingers… what would his cock feel like?
Heat rises in my cheeks that has nothing to do with the warm water and I laugh at myself for getting embarrassed when I’m all by myself. I’m such a dork.
Then another thought strikes me. If he could do that with his fingers, what would it feel like with mine? I’m not a total dolt and know about masturbation but it always seemed—I don’t know—too weird or dirty to do myself. Until now.
Biting my lip and looking around furtively like I suddenly might have an audience, I put my hand between my legs and cup myself. I hold it there a moment, getting used to it, then slowly push a finger between my lips and touch that sensitive spot that Lobo played with.
It feels good and makes me gasp so I flick my finger back and forth a couple of times the way he did, and am rewarded with the sizzle of a million fiery explosions across my skin. I’m stunned by how quickly my arousal starts peaking. I continue to flick and massage the knob of flesh as it gets harder and more sensitive. My breath is coming in shallow gasps and I brace myself with a hand against the slick shower wall. I’ve skipped the teasing Lobo started out with. A building sensation at my core expands outward until I’m feeling it from my toes to the hair follicles on my head. It’s overwhelming, taking me under much quicker this time.
I’m not just gasping now. I’m making all these little sounds, like my vocal chords have a mind of their own. I want to sit down. I want to bear down. I don’t know what I want. My mind doesn’t seem to be a part of my body anymore. Moving my fingers faster and with more pressure, a shudder explodes out of me, rocking me back against the wall. I need this to stop. Oh god, I can’t take any more. My legs are shaking and I need this to go on forever. I can’t catch my breath, I shiver but I’m hot all over.
“Hey, Dawn. You okay in there?” Fringe calls out as he raps on the bathroom door.
I scramble around in the shower, trying to gather my wits, and fumble to turn off the water. “Umm… yeah, I’m fine. Be out in a minute.”
Stumbling from the shower, I look around frantically for a towel. There’s a narrow built-in cabinet next to the sink and I find what I need there. Groping for the biggest towel, I wrap it around me as I catch a glimpse of myself in the corner of the steamed up mirror. My face is flushed. My body is still throbbing, and I feel wobbly on my feet. I clamp a hand over my mouth, not wanting Fringe to hear the giggles that are threatening to escape.
Do my girlfriends know about this? Of course they do. Do they do this to themselves? Fuck, I’ve been missing out. I should really talk to them more about personal stuff.
Leaning back against the sink, I grab a small towel and dry my hair. My limbs are like rubber and I feel like I could sleep for a month.
When I think I’m able to walk a reasonably straight line, I open the bathroom door a crack and poke my head out.
Fringe must’ve heard the creak of the door and appears in the hallway. He’s shrouded in shadows and I can’t help thinking he’s like a masked crusader, looking out for my safety. He takes a couple more steps in my direction and the image fades as his broad shoulders and shaggy mess of hair atop a face rough and sexy with five o’clock shadow become more distinct. He looks worried and that makes my heart swell.
“What the hell were you doing in there?” He makes a motion with his hand. “Fuck, thought you got lost or something.”
Oh, if only he knew what I was doing. Another bout of giggles try to crawl up my throat but I swallow them down.
“I’m a girl, Fringe. We take longer in the bathroom.” I wrap the towel tighter around me and step into the hall. “Do you have something I can put on?”
He stares at me for a minute and clears his throat. “I, umm, yeah… sure. Wait a minute.” He disappears into his bedroom, coming out a moment later with a pair of sweats and a t-shirt in his hand. “Here, these should fit.”
I laugh. “No offense, but there’s no way I’ll fit into your sweat pants. They’ll fall right off me.”
He looks down and runs a hand through his hair. “They’re not mine. I seem to have acquired them.”
“Oh.” I’m blushing again and briefly wonder if you can die from blushing too much. “Oh.” I seem to be stuck on that word.
“They’re clean, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He’s still holding the clothes out to me, so I take them and dart back into the bathroom to change. He’s right, I see, as I pull on the faded blue sweats. They fit me just fine, but the tee is oversized and has a poop emoji on it. I don’t even want to know who was wearing this out in public. Quickly, I wring out my own clothes and hang them to dry.
I find Fringe on the frayed old couch in the living room. He smiles as I enter, and it lights up his face in the most becoming way.
“Good, they fit… poop head,” he says in a teasing tone.
I try not to laugh but I’m not very successful. “Hey, don’t start. I didn’t pick this.”
“Nah, you wouldn’t. You have more class than that.”
I’m not sure if he’s joking or making a crack about what he witnessed at Lucifer’s, so I let it drop. There’s a moment of silence while I take a seat on the couch beside him and he leans forward to grab a bottle of beer from the coffee table.
He takes a swig then motions toward me with it. “So, your parents have forbidden you to see me? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I thought it would blow over, I guess.”
“But it hasn’t?” I can’t read the expression on his face but his brow is creased.
“Not yet. Whenever I go out they make sure to remind me that I’m not allowed to hang with you. It’s so stupid.” I raise my hand in exasperation and let it fall limply back into my lap. “I mean, this is where they decide to draw the line? With you?” I shake my head.
Fringe stays quiet, opting to drink more of his beer rather than offer me comfort. “Maybe you should text them. They must be wondering where you are.”
“What? And tell them I’m at your place? I don’t think so.”
“Nah,” he drawls. “Fib. Make something up. A white lie is probably better than telling them you’re with me. Save you a lot of hassle.”
I nod and reach for my phone and a wave of panic hits me. “Where’s my bag?”
“Huh? I don’t think you had one with you.”
“Of course, I did! Oh my god. Did I leave it at Lucifer’s?” A hand goes to my forehead. “What time is it?”
He squints at a wall clock. “Almost three.”
I jump up. “Fuck! What if they tried to call or text?”
That’s when we both jump to the sound of furious pounding on the front door.
We look at each other with expressions that say, who the fuck could it be at this hour? But that becomes a moot point in another second.
“Open up!” is clearly shouted from the other side of the door while the banging continues.
“Oh my god.” I clamp a hand over my mouth, sure that my eyes are bugging right out of my head.
Fringe couldn’t miss my reaction. “You know who that is?”
I nod and whisper, “It’s my dad.”
“Ah hell.” He gets up and moves toward the door.
“No, don’t open it!”
He stops and sighs. “I have to. He’s worried about you and you are here. We can’t ignore him.”
“But he has a bad temper. He once beat up this guy who was threatening Mom. And he beat up a couple of paparazzi, too.” I’m pleading with him now.
“It’ll be alright.”
Before I can say anything else, he’s opened the door.
Dad bursts in, bumping Fringe and moving past him. He’s breathing hard, like he just ran a marathon, and there are little pinpoints of red high up on his cheeks. I’ve never seen him so agitated.
“Where is she?!” He stomps blindly into the apartment. Dad is a gym rat and more than a little conceited about his appearance. Even on his bad days he usually forces himself to workout. Now, his fists are clenched and I’m worried he’s going to lash out in his anger.
“Dad, I’m right here.” I take a step forward. “Chill, will ya?”
He lets out a huge breath, looks at me and then whirls on Fringe.
Looking down at myself, I realize what I’m wearing and put myself in Dad’s shoes. He’s seeing his daughter in a guy’s apartment, who she was told to stay away from, her hair damp and wearing clothes that aren’t hers. No wonder he’s freaking out.
“What the hell is going on here?” He shoves Fringe on the shoulder.
To Fringe’s credit, he simply stands his ground with his hands up in a placating manner. “Nothing is going on, sir—”
“The hell nothing is! You know she’s underage! It’s past three o’clock in the damn morning! She’s not even wearing her own clothes! I—”
“Dad!” I try to step between them but Fringe won’t let me. What the hell? Does he think my dad is going to hit me? I’m sure as hell not the target. “Nothing is going on. He’s telling the truth. We’re just friends.”
“Where are your clothes?” A tiny spray of spit flies out with each word.
“We can talk about that later, okay? Please calm down.” I touch his arm, hoping to soothe him. “I’m okay, really, Dad.”
He nods. “Get your things and let’s go.” He’s talking to me but his eyes are on Fringe. “I’m not done with you. You hear me?”
“I do, sir. I’m very sorry—”
“Save it!” he snaps. “Raven, come on.”
“I’m ready.” My voice comes out sounding small, the same way Dad is making me feel right now.
He throws an arm around my shoulders and I’m not even able to look back at Fringe as he ushers me out of the apartment.
The ride back to our penthouse is rife with silent tension. Even the limo driver knows something is up and doesn’t crack his usual jokes.
I’m unhappily slumped in my seat while Dad sits ramrod straight beside me, tapping his fingers on his knee. He looks at me a couple of times like he’s going to say something, then changes his mind and stares out the window at the passing storefronts, all closed at this late hour. He’s still breathing like a winded racehorse. Maybe he’s trying to calm down before talking to me.
Thing is, he probably never will talk to me. Him and Mom never do. They should never have been allowed to have a kid. I mean, I had to have the sense knocked into me by Fringe, of all people, about getting birth control.
My parents are useless.