29. Rosie
After a long, steaming-hot shower, I step out, feeling like a brand-new woman. I scrubbed my skin and scalp until they were raw. I towel-dry the tender skin before attempting to finger-brush through my tangles. The duffel bag on the floor is Dolly’s, so I send up a prayer that she thought to pack me a hairbrush and toothpaste.
After unzipping the top, I almost cry in gratitude. She sent a razor, shaving cream, mascara, a new toothbrush with toothpaste, and deodorant. I wish I could hug her. I groom myself for as long as I can remain standing, shaving every inch of myself, brushing my teeth twice before finally getting dressed in the white tank top, baby-blue zip-up sweatshirt, and light-gray leggings. Dolly’s boobs aren’t nearly as big as mine, but she packed me a stretchy, thin sports bra that barely covers my chest. It’s better than nothing. Once I don the clean white socks and swipe some mascara on, I inspect myself in the mirror.
If only she had sent some concealer for the bruises.
My hair is still damp, cascading around my shoulders in waves and smelling like motel shampoo when I step out of the bathroom.
Holden is sitting on the end of the bed. He leans back and turns his head to face me as I walk out. His dark eyes soften instantly as he takes me in from head to toe.
“Feel better?” He clears his throat.
I nod, suddenly feeling incredibly shy. We’re alone. He just rescued me from a monster, called me angel, and now, we’re alone.
He looks fucking incredible. He must’ve changed out of the shirt he had on because the pale blue one matches the hoodie I’m wearing. His denim-clad thighs are spread apart as he leans forward again, rubbing his hands together and looking down at the carpet. The scar on his jaw is pink in the lamplight.
I sit on the other bed, afraid of what I might do if I get too close to him right now. I’m warm, almost overheated in his presence.
Damsel in distress and dark knight rescuer is a fucking addictive narrative.
He stands, walking over to the black duffel bag by the door and riffling through it. He pulls out a white box, and I recognize the first aid kit from the ranch house. He struts back over to me, his ever-confident stride hotter than ever.
Okay, remember your issues. Remember him being a dick, a murderer.
Killer. He killed a man right beside you!
The memory doesn’t have the turnoff effect I was hoping for. Instead of making me wince, it sends flames of desire down to my core. I swallow over the lump in my throat as the bed pulls me toward his weight when he sits next to me.
“We should see if you need any antibiotic cream for the cuts. Where else are you hurt?”
He’s going to play doctor now? Lord help me …
“Um, there’s one on my side. It might need something.”
He nods, unlatching the kit. The truth is, my side is healing perfectly fine. I want him to touch me. I want to give him an excuse to touch me. Holden Redford tending to my wounds is like a deep secret, an ultimate fantasy moment come to life.
He pulls out the triple antibiotic and a Band-Aid. He sets them on the bed, turning to me. I tilt my body away, heart pounding as I slowly unzip the hoodie, sliding it off my shoulders. He inhales a sharp breath. The tank top is Dolly’s, so it’s skintight on my chest. My boobs are practically spilling out of it and the threadbare sports bra.
I lift the hem high enough for him to access the cut I got when I was slammed against the wall. I think a nail caught me, resulting in the cut. The bruise is from the impact, which also left my ribs cracked. When his warm fingers touch my skin, I close my eyes, holding back a moan.
My lips part, and I’m glad my face is turned away from him. He’d be able to read the unhinged desire all over my expression if he could see me. The Band-Aid is pressed into my skin gently before he tugs my shirt back into place.
“Anywhere else?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
I turn to look up into his eyes, slowly shaking my head. His eyes dip down over me, pure yearning in his gaze. I blink, my eyes trailing to his lips. I’m weak right now, too weak to hide what I want.
He wants me too. I know he does.
His callous hand never left the hem of my shirt. His fingers slowly peel it back up again, just enough to place his hand on the tender, bare skin at my waistline.
“Rosie …” He breathes out my name like it’s a desperate plea. It’s the first time it’s ever touched his lips, and I love the sound of it more than I thought possible.
“Hmm?” I ask, shifting closer to him on the bed so that our thighs are touching.
One moment, we’re a foot apart, and in the next, he grips under my ass, lifting me effortlessly onto his lap, pulling my leg around so that I’m straddling him. My hands reach back around his neck, and our eyes meet. My hair brushes against his shoulder, leaving little damp water spots on his T-shirt. My fingers run through his black hair. His eyes roll back and close.
“You’re hurt.” He struggles to speak, squeezing my thighs. “I don’t even know where I can touch you.”
When his black-brown eyes open again, they’re somehow darker than ever, the lust at war within them. The veins in his neck are popping out with his effort to resist pouncing on me.
“Where do you want to touch me?” I ask, desperate to hear his answer.
He sets his jaw, seeming to attempt to control himself. “I want to start with your lips.” His voice is deep. His eyes follow the words. “I’ll kiss you until you can’t breathe. Then, I’ll work my way down to your jawline, right here.” His fingers reach up to brush the skin between my jaw and neck. “Then, I’ll kiss all the way down your neck, until I get to your chest.”
His eyes have made their way down to my spilling cleavage. I’m so wet; I’m afraid he can smell my arousal. He struggles to continue, his hands cupping my ass gently, like he really is afraid he’ll hurt me if he touches me anywhere.
I’m in anguish because of his touch. I’m on the brink of begging him for it.
Kiss me. Please just fucking kiss me.
His eyes snap to mine. “I’m not taking your virginity in a motel room.”
“Who said anything about sex?” I’m breathless.
“If I start with you …” He leans closer, our lips an inch apart.
Our mouths share the same air for a few beats.
“Then what?” I whisper, trailing my fingers through the hair at his nape again.
He pulls me closer. I can feel his erection inside his jeans.
He’s just as turned on as I am.
A warm satisfaction spreads through me at the realization.
“Then, I won’t want to stop,” he says, his voice strained.
I lick my lips in anticipation, boldly grinding my pussy against his hardness. Something about being kidnapped and thinking I might not make it out alive has made me lose what little resistance toward him I once possessed.
I want to break him. I want him to break down for me.
His right hand reaches up to cup the back of my head as he stands up, supporting my weight with one arm. He spins me around and lays me down on the bed. He hovers above me, careful not to put pressure on my ribs.
“Fuck it,” he whispers right before his mouth crashes down on mine.
His lips are soft and wet, hungrily sucking on mine. I pull him closer, stretching my legs around his lower back. His hand comes down between us to cup my breast, rubbing across the top of my nipple. I want him skin on skin, flesh on flesh. The thin cotton separating us is way too much of a barrier. I’ve dreamed of this moment for years now, and it’s surpassing all of my wildest expectations.
He’s on top of me, barely pressing any weight on me, but it’s just enough that I can still feel his dick, hard and long on my pussy. The rest of him is all taut muscle, barely restrained from ravishing me. His tongue pushes through my lips, tasting the inside of me. I moan into his mouth. He responds with a hungry groan of pleasure and need. I claw at his shirt, trying to pull it off of him.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself, angel,” he breathes out, breaking the kiss and pressing his forehead to mine.
Never stop calling me that. Ever.
“Worth it.” I keep tugging, pulling up to reveal the deep V-shape of his hips and the tight, rippling abs.
I gape at his body, wondering if he’d think I was weird if I traced each of his muscles with my tongue.
He stands upright suddenly, turning to face the door. The key card is sliding in. I move to sit up quickly in a panic. A spasm in my side causes me to wince.
“Ah,” I gasp in pain.
Holden turns back to me, kneeling beside the bed. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” His eyes are wide with alarm. His hair is mussed from my fingers.
I shake my head, resting back against the pillow. “No. I moved too quickly.”
He sets his jaw in a hard line, his eyes clouding with guilt.
“It’s not your fault,” I whisper.
The door finally swings open.
“Damn thing is fucked,” Duke complains, kicking it shut.
I glance behind Holden to see my ex, his arms laden with shopping bags and a paper fast-food one.
“I’m not touching you again until you’re better,” Holden whispers, rising to stand.
I guess that means I get to do the touching.