UNTAMED

21. Rosie

Inever had time to go home and get my pajamas for tonight. I had planned to stop at my apartment after the concert, but after Cash got arrested, Holden drove us home at breakneck speed, cursing at all the other drivers.

He’s staring at the wall in his bedroom like it’s going to speak to him. My eyelids are drooping from exhaustion and overstimulation.

Screw this. I’m going to bed. He can pace all night if he wants.

I slide off his bed, walk over to his dresser, and pull open the top drawer to see the neatly folded underwear that I washed and put away this morning. I select a blue pair of checkered boxers that look comfortable before moving two drawers down to where his T-shirts are. I find the one that feels the softest—a plain white one with a faded Coors Light emblem on the front.

I spin around and head to the bathroom. After washing my face free of makeup and scrubbing my teeth with toothpaste on my finger, I change and walk back into the bedroom, wearing his shirt and boxers.

The weight of his gaze is on me as I tuck myself into his big bed, settling deep down into the mattress. I don’t bother with the pillow boundary. It feels like we’re past that now, and I’m too exhausted to care if that’s wise.

“Cash will be fine tonight. We’ll have him back tomorrow morning,” I murmur, closing my eyes.

A few minutes later, I feel the other side of the bed shift, and the lamp goes out. Now that he’s next to me, I’m wide awake. I can hear his breathing, and I know he’s still awake too. He’s worried about his brother. Whatever demon it is that makes it hard for him to sleep alone, he’s battling it tonight.

I turn over on my side, reaching out in the darkness. My fingers collide with the warm skin of his arm. His shoulder muscle is tense under my touch, and I lightly squeeze. I don’t know why I’m trying to comfort him, but it feels like the right thing to do in the moment after causing him extra stress tonight.

“If I touch you now, I won’t stop until morning.” His voice is a deep growl in the darkness.

My breath catches at his words. I have no idea how to respond, so I don’t. I close my eyes, hoping that if I can fall asleep, he will too.

I slowly wakewith my arms fully wrapped around Holden’s neck. His hand is curled up under me, cupping my ass. I’m basically half straddling him, my face pressed against his neck. His other hand is wrapped around my neck, loosely holding me in place on top of him.

How do we keep ending up here?

It’s like our subconscious bodies can’t stay away from each other.

His deep breathing tells me that he’s still asleep. The sun is beginning to peek through the curtains.

I feel his dick harden before I sense his breathing pattern changing.

What is it with him and boners in the morning?

My inflated ego wants to pretend it’s me, but even with my limited knowledge of men and sex, I’ve heard of morning wood. I just didn’t realize it happened every morning.

His fingers curl tighter around me, cupping my ass. Wetness pools between my legs. I’m afraid to move, and I’m afraid not to.

Danger, danger, red-hot danger …

Out of pure need and my chronic lack of self-preservation, I rotate my hips in a small circle, just to feel him a little closer, to experience an ounce of friction against him.

He lets out a low groan, almost like he’s experiencing pain on the brink of pleasure.

“You’re playing with fire, Dixon.”

His gruff morning voice overheats my already-scorched insides.

“I’m trying to get comfortable,” I lie.

“You’re trying to get fucked, and you’re a lot closer than you think.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I tilt my head back to look into his eyes, praying my morning breath isn’t lethal.

He maintains eye contact with me as he shifts his hips under me, moving his hand from my throat and grabbing the back of my knee to lift it up, eliminating the space that was separating us. I feel the hard length of his dick, pressed right up against my pussy. All that’s separating us now is his boxers and the ones I stole last night.

I gasp at the sudden contact, knowing that the wetness already seeping from me is about to soak through the thin cotton and then he’ll know that I’m aroused.

His almost black eyes glint with desire as he gyrates his hips, the friction feeling so damn good that I can already feel the pleasure building.

“Just how inexperienced are you? Did you know that if I were to rip my underwear off of you, I could fuck that sweet pussy right now, in this exact position?”

I gasp at his filthy words, an involuntary whimper following the sound. The hand on my ass squeezes harder while the one under my knee shifts down, reaching for the seam on the cloth. Just two thin scraps of fabric is all that lies between us fucking, and he’s about to rip them apart.

And I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my entire life.

The moment is shattered when a loud knock sounds on the door.

“Holden! Are you up yet?” Duke’s voice is like a bucket of icy water being splashed over us.

We spring apart like we were electrocuted.

“We need to bail Cash out of jail. Warner just got here,” Duke continues.

“I’m up. Two minutes,” Holden grits out.

Duke’s footsteps retreat from the door, causing me to exhale in relief. I know it was locked, but if anyone finds out I’ve been sleeping in here, all hell will break loose in this family.

Holden’s dick is still tenting his boxers as he walks over to where he took off his jeans and boots last night. He pulls them on, tucking his erection inside. He looks over at me, a twist of desire and anger in his eyes.

I look away, blushing, as if he wasn’t a millimeter away from entering my body thirty seconds ago.

Is he going to say anything? Are we acknowledging the dumpster-fire shitstorm we almost just started?

My legs are practically shaking from the sudden change in heated arousal to cold, angry glances. He still hates my family. My father still fucked his life up for killing my uncle. The line between what my family has done to him and who I am is far too blurry for him.

Without a word, he finishes getting dressed and walks out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

My dad askedme to get lunch with him again on Sunday. I had no idea what to expect when I agreed to it, but he seemed to be in surprisingly good spirits. He casually questioned me about the ranch as usual. I told him I was starting nursing school again next semester, to which he seemed indifferent.

He hadn’t heard from my mom, which is getting stranger as time continues to go on. I tried calling her again, but there was no answer. I sent her a text, asking her to call me and saying that it’s urgent. I only went to lunch in hopes that he had an update on her whereabouts.

On Monday, I send a text to my aunt, requesting a phone call. Right after it shows that it was delivered, my phone begins to ring.

“Hey, Aunt June. How are you?” I answer it while dabbing my face with a beauty blender. I’m getting ready to head to the ranch for work.

“Well, hi, deary. I haven’t heard from you in ages. How’s that hunky boyfriend?”

I smile, shaking my head. “I’m not with anyone right now actually. But he and I are friends. I work on his family’s ranch.”

“Oh! That’s a shame. Hard to find a man who’s tall and employed. When are you and your mother going to come see me? I’m in need of a girls’ trip. We should do Miami, or—oh! A friend of mine has a house on St. Thomas. We could …”

Her voice fades out as my anxious thoughts go into overdrive. My mother isn’t with her?

“Hold on, Aunt June. Mom isn’t staying with you?” I interrupt her vacation planning.

Her rambling pauses for a moment. “Oh, well, no. She’s not here. I haven’t seen her since, well … last Thanksgiving? When did we go skiing in Breckenridge?”

My palms grow clammy. I stare at my reflection as my bottom lip begins to quiver.

Where is she?

“It’s your father, isn’t it?” Aunt June’s voice filters through my mental breakdown.

I nod before realizing she can’t see me. “He was cheating again. She was drinking a lot. I thought she was with you.” The words spill out in a rush as I brace myself against the cheap Formica countertop. “She mentioned visiting you. I’ve been texting, calling her. She just … she does this disappearing act sometimes, but it’s been weeks this time.”

“Okay, okay, deary. We’ll find her. She probably met someone. I can’t tell you how many times, before Clay, she would fall into the arms of some guy and be out of touch for weeks, months sometimes. You already know about all the disappearances since then. I’m sure she’s fine!”

A tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it away forcefully. “Do you think we should file a missing person report? I mean, what if something happened?”

My father’s reaction to my concerns yesterday flashes through my mind. His expression was … guilty.

“I would say give me a few days to make contact with our mutual friends first. We don’t want to panic before we’ve talked to who she could be staying with. If Clay did what Clay normally does, she’s very likely just making her rounds until she builds up the courage to go back home.”

From the sounds of it, this is a long pattern that my mother has established. Aunt June doesn’t seem nearly as concerned as I am.

“Okay, let me know, please. Keep me updated on whatever you hear.”

“I will, deary. Just go to work, flirt with that hunky ex of yours, and try to forget about it. I’ll call you in a few days. Love you, honey.”

I know she’s trying to downplay it to make me feel better and not panic.

“I love you too.”

The line goes dead, and I let the tears fall.