Bloody Knuckles and Shotgun Shells

Allison's POV:

“Will you stop that,” I entreat sternly. Joey has been clicking the hammer on his newfound handgun back and forth nonstop for a good five minutes.

“Why? Does it bother you?” God, he is such a child. “I don’t think it’s me you’re really frustrated with.”

“Oh, and who else am I to be frustrated with? Hm? I don’t see anyone else around, Joey.”
He calmly sets the gun down on the glass counter and walks over to me.

“See? Snappy for no reason. Is it because of stress?” He is looking at me intently. “No, I think not.” Another step closer—inches away. Fuck. Step back. Step back. I can’t.

“How long has it been?” he whispers. Oh no, not that line. Should I lie? Shit.

His fingers brush my neck. “A month.” My teeth are gritted. Nope, not going to give in. Stay dominant. You’re in control. He leans in. Oh no, no, no, no. My hand is in his hair. Can’t give up yet. I yank his head back and he groans. Holy mother of God, I’m going to lose it.

Breaking free of my grasp, he pushes us both backwards; into the ammo shelf. “Ow, you shith--”, he cuts me off with a forceful kiss. I drag my nails down his arms and feel a laugh rumble in his chest. Lips to neck. Aw hell, I’m done for.

Well, at least make this fun.

“Can we take this somewhere a little more comfortable?” I breathe.

“Mhm. Where, baby?” I grab him by the hand and we run over to the camping area. Oh good, the test cots are still up. Before I have a chance to say anything, Joey throws me on the nearest one. His shirt is gone in a flash. I sit up and move to help him with the pants but with one hand he pushes me back down. Alright, dinner and a show. Wait, that’s not right…

“Can we hurry this up? I can feel myself aging,” I proclaim sarcastically after already eliminating all fabric barriers from the premises of my frame.

He laughs, taking off the thin metal glasses sitting on his nose. “Alright, fine.” After throwing his jeans behind him, he adds, “Bossy.” Oh, hell no. I am so not bossy!

Ignore it! my brain screams at me.

Fine. Just this once.

With one hand pressing on my stomach, he leans into me and grazes perfect, white teeth across my throat. Oh my damn. The cold air offers a welcome reprieve from the hot skin pressing against me. I dig my nails into his ribs but that doesn’t seem to faze him at all.

There are those lips, those perfect lips, at my mouth again. My hands wander up to his neck, but get sidetracked at his lean but sturdy shoulders. I can feel the muscles tighten beneath my fingers. I bite his lower lip and his eyes snap open in surprise. He growls, low and deep; not like what you’d hear in The Lion King. No, it’s feral and lewd. So I grab his hair and yank back again, flipping us over.

A tad less than forty five minutes and three bruises later, we’re both pulling articles of clothing back on and wondering what the fuck just happened.

“Did we just?” he asks me.

“Yep. Four times.”

“Shit. How did I do that?”

“I don’t know. You surprised me.” And I mean it; I honestly have no idea where that came from. I thought the guy couldn’t even talk to girls, let alone…You get the picture. “I don’t usually like surprises, but…this one was pleasant.”

“Oh, just pleasant?” He’s behind me, close enough to barely touch me.

“Mmhm. Why? How would you describe it?” I query, lazily turning my head.

“Animalistic.”