Chapter 13 Selene #2
My mind is swimming with wine and the conversation we left at the table.
I can’t piece together what I’m feeling. No matter how hard I try, my mind is too scattered. It feels like the first time I looked at my blank document, unable to put the words that were in my mind to fruition.
I inhale a shaky breath when the elevator suddenly stops on the second floor, then I dart my attention to the panel of buttons and see more than half of them are lit.
This is going to be a long elevator ride.
On the second level, two of the four get off, but another group of five joins us.
The elevator fills, and a hand grips my hip from behind, tugging me backward.
My back hits Holt’s chest, and I’m gasping for air from the jolt of electricity.
I’m frozen as his finger dips between the space of my vest and the top of my skirt. His mouth hits the shell of my ear.
“I call you Wallflower,” he whispers, “because that’s what you are, Selene. A wallflower.”
A shiver slivers down the back of my neck, wrapping around my stomach, then dipping to the point where his fingers touch the curve of my hip.
My eyes flutter before they pop back open, remembering where we are. A man stands in front of me, too close. It’s as if I’m in on a secret no one else knows other than Holt and me, but he’s touching me as if we’re alone.
I inhale an unsteady breath.
“But I see you. I’ve always seen you. You pretend to live in the shadows, quiet as a mouse, never making a show of yourself. But I see the fire inside you begging to be break free,” he whispers, his breath hitting my ear again. “Don’t make a sound, Wallflower.”
I breathe in as his hand slips farther into the front of my skirt. His entire palm is pressed against me, the tips of his fingers teasing my delicate flesh.
“If you want me to stop, I will,” he whispers, his fingers grazing over the front of my lacy thong.
I tilt my head, leaning into his mouth. It feels as if I’m caught under a spell. His voice and touch have done something to me. His explanation of my nickname, too. It feels as if I’m no longer in control of my thoughts or my heart. All I know is I don’t want him to stop.
This feels too fucking good.
I place my hand over his under my skirt and push it farther down.
I feel his mouth curving into a smirk against my ear.
“Good girl.” Then his fingers are shoving my thong aside and plunging inside me.
My jaw drops, and I slam back into Holt.
He grunts as I press my ass against him, feeling his reaction to me.
His cock swells, straining under his designer pants.
He seems to relish in me being forward, countering him when he tries to push me, like two opposite ends of a magnet trying to come together.
His palm presses against me, adding pressure to my aching clit. I gasp again.
“Shh,” he breathes into my ear, stopping his hand.
“We have thirty more levels before we make it to the top. If you so much as make a single peep, alerting anyone in this lift to what a naughty girl you are, there’ll be consequences.
And because I know you’re thinking it, yes, it’ll be the same consequence I promised earlier.
The second I have you alone, I’ll spank your ass until you’re begging me to relieve you of that tension you’ve kept to yourself for years. ”
“Holt…” His name falls from my mouth, barely at a whisper.
“If you think dating me for appearances won’t come with its perks, I’ll tell you right now, you’re wrong.
” He sinks his teeth into my ear before moving his hand.
He uses his other to turn me slightly away from the people beside and in front of us.
I’m terrified their eyes will drop and see that I’m being finger fucked inside this tight elevator.
As if Holt is reading my mind, he whispers, “Shit, Wallflower. Your pussy is as tight as this elevator.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, silently begging myself to calm down as I tuck my bottom lip under my teeth, biting down on it until it stings.
His touch is lighting me from the inside out.
It feels as if there’s been this ball of energy I’ve been carrying around, and every day that’s passed has made it heavier than the day before.
But with one kiss and one touch, Holt has burst it wide open. I’m unraveling, and it’s terrifying.
The elevator continues to rise higher, and so do I.
Holt’s fingers hook inside me, reaching a spot that even I haven’t been able to touch in God knows how long.
I was with Adam only once in the weeks we were together, and I didn’t feel anything remotely close to what I’m feeling with Holt.
He’s standing behind me, but I feel him all around me. His scent. His breath. His touch.
My lower stomach tightens, the strands weaving into a tense ball. I want to come. I’m fully aware of where we are, but I don’t want this to stop. I don’t want him to stop.
Rolling my hips, I grind against Holt’s hand, wanting more pressure. He catches on, riding my orgasm out until we’ve reached the top.
I’m wet as his fingers move in and out of me in slow, torturous strokes.
I want him to move faster, wilder. I want him to work my clit expertly in time with his fingers, bringing me sweet relief.
I need it. But I also know that if he does, the sound will be too loud.
I’m dripping. My wetness coats his fingers and the entire space between my legs, covering my inner thighs.
Throughout the course of the ride up to the roof, the elevator has stopped and started too many times for me to count.
As if I would be able to keep track anyway.
But even through the transfer of people getting in and out, we always manage to stay concealed.
We’re moved farther into the back corner, and when Holt pulls his fingers out of me long enough to pinch my clit, I slap my palm against the wall.
The group of people in the elevator turn their heads in our direction, but I’ve already turned my hips to the side where they can’t see Holt’s hand plunged down the front of my skirt.
My chest stills, and I freeze, but Holt’s chest still moves against me, forcing me to stay upright.
I’m practically boneless, melting under his touch.
Slowly, one by one, everyone turns back to their phones or to face forward, a few clearing their voices. Someone even sneezes. I chew on the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to act normal. As if having a man’s fingers plunged so deep inside you in a packed elevator is completely normal.
Once everyone has diverted their attention away from the two of us, Holt slips his fingers over my clit and back inside me. He slowly starts working me in and out again. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. And his hand. His back. Even his mouth still resting against the shell of my ear.
He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Close call, Wallflower. You almost risked getting us caught.”
God, his voice.
His voice has the heat quickly returning to my stomach. I curl my toes against the toe of my heels, pressing my hand to the wall to steady me.
I’m close to coming. I’m going to come all over Holt’s hand.
I start to panic, wondering if I’ll be able to stifle my cries once it comes.
I feel it cresting. I’m at the top of the peak.
I’m toe to toe with the edge of a cliff.
All I need to do is step out and I’ll be falling.
I’m practically there when Holt abruptly tears his hand away from me.
My eyes snap open, and the elevator doors open with them, the group surrounding us leaving quickly.
We’re one level from the roof now, and the only ones left aside from the elevator attendant.
I feel the absence of Holt immediately, silently cursing the universe for denying me an orgasm. Or was it Holt?
I’m left gasping for air when he brings his mouth to my ear again and whispers, “There’ll be punishment for your indiscretion later, Wallflower. Don’t worry.”
I want to tell him he’s already punished me. He pulled me toward the edge of the cliff but jerked me back at the last second. My body is screaming at me, weeping for not getting the gratification of release.
Once we reach the roof, Holt reaches for my hand and gives a courtesy nod to the elevator attendant before leading us to his helicopter waiting.
He helps me get buckled in as he did on the way here, but this time is different.
He doesn’t offer up jokes on my fear of flying.
He doesn’t offer me reassurances, either.
We don’t speak about what happened in the elevator.
In fact, we don’t speak another word the entire flight.
It’s as if his mind is somewhere else, not completely tethered to me in the here and now.
Sensing his shift, I don’t press him. He simply stares out the window in silence until we land back at his place.
After stepping out, Holt asks his driver to take me home.
I crumble when he wraps his arm around my waist, his hand resting on the base of my spine.
He pulls me toward him and places a gentle kiss to my forehead.
He lingers for a few seconds, his lips causing electricity to crackle along my skin before he’s bringing his mouth to the shell of my ear and whispering, “I’ll text you later, Wallflower. ”
Then he breaks our connection.
He doesn’t come with me. He doesn’t give me a proper kiss goodbye. He doesn’t even give me the punishment he promised when we were alone.
Once I’m finally home, lying in my bed, staring at the ever-growing crack in the ceiling, I toss and turn. I turn so much, I end up tangled in the sheets.
Disappointment over how the night ended eats me up inside. It shouldn’t. I don’t do love. I don’t fall for anyone. Ever.
But if that’s true, then why can I not stop thinking about Holt’s touch and how him calling me Wallflower made me feel like this?
Why did I allow myself to cross this invisible line?
What would Julianna think if she knew how far her brother and I went tonight?
Is Holt feeling the same disappointment?
Probably not, because even if he did, I could never trust it to be true.
Everything has changed. Or maybe nothing has at all.
Maybe it was all a dream, and when I wake up in the morning, the echo of his touch across my skin will have finally disappeared.