Chapter Seven #2
I kissed him again, slower this time, deeper.
Let go of his wrists so my hands could map his body.
The planes of his chest, the curve of his waist, the sharp cut of his hipbones that fit perfectly under my palms. He shivered under my touch, arching up into my hands like he was starving for it as much as I was.
I kissed my way down his throat. His collarbone.
The hollow at the base of his neck where his pulse was hammering.
Lower, my mouth dragging across his chest, finding his nipple and flicking my tongue against it until he gasped.
His hands found my hair, gripping hard, and the sting of it went straight to my cock.
“Holden.” My name came out wrecked. “Please.”
I kept going lower. Mouthed at his stomach, at the trail of hair below his navel, at the sharp bones of his hips. When I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his briefs, he lifted his hips without being asked, desperate, needy.
He was hard, his cock straining against the fabric, a wet spot already darkening the cotton. I pressed my mouth to him through the briefs first, breathing hot against him, and felt him twitch. The broken sound he made was worth memorizing.
Then I stripped the underwear off and took him in my mouth.
“Fuck—” His whole body jerked, hips bucking up. I pinned him down with one hand flat on his stomach, took him deeper. He was thick on my tongue, hot and salty with precome. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked, finding a rhythm that made his thighs shake.
His hand found my hair again, gripping hard. I let him guide me while my other hand found the lube on the nightstand.
I worked him open while I sucked him. One slick finger pressing inside, feeling him clench around me, then slowly relax. I curled my finger, searching, and when I found that spot inside him his whole body arched off the bed.
“There—Jesus, right there—”
I added a second finger. Worked him open while his hips stuttered, caught between fucking up into my mouth and pressing back onto my hand.
Our rhythm was familiar now after just a few days, but tonight felt different.
More desperate. Like we were both trying to memorize each other before the clock ran out.
“Holden—” His voice pitched high, cracking. “I'm gonna—I can't—”
I didn't pull off. Took him deeper, worked my fingers harder, pressed against that spot inside him until his whole body locked up.
He came with a cry that he tried to muffle with his fist, spilling hot across my tongue.
I swallowed everything he gave me, worked him through it until he was trembling and oversensitive and pushing weakly at my shoulder.
When I finally pulled off, his chest was heaving. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, that beautiful green-brown gone dark.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Holden, that was—”
I kissed the inside of his thigh. “I'm not done with you.”
His breath caught. “Yeah?”
I added a third finger, stretched him slowly while he was still loose and pliant from his orgasm. He made soft, broken sounds, not hard again yet, but his cock gave an interested twitch as I worked him open.
“You're so tight,” I murmured against his hip. “So fucking perfect. You take me so well.”
“Holden…” He was panting now, his fingers twisted in the sheets. “I need—I want you inside me. Please.”
That word again. Please. It undid me every time.
I pulled my fingers out slowly, watched him shudder at the loss. Rolled on the condom and slicked myself up, my cock so hard it ached. I positioned myself at his entrance and pressed in, inch by inch, watching his face.
His mouth fell open. His eyes fluttered closed. His body opened for me like it was made for this, hot and tight and perfect.
“God—” His voice cracked. “Hold on—you feel—”
I bottomed out and held still, my whole body shaking with the effort of not moving. He was clenched so tight around me I could barely think, barely breathe. I lowered my forehead to his shoulder and just breathed, waiting for him to adjust.
“Tell me when,” I managed, my voice rough.
His legs wrapped around my waist, ankles crossing at the small of my back. His hands found my shoulders, pulling me down.
“Now,” he said. “Move. Please.”
I moved.
Slow at first, long strokes that made us both shudder. Pulling almost all the way out, then pressing back in, filling him completely. His hands slid up my back, nails dragging across my skin, pulling me closer, urging me deeper.
“Harder,” he gasped. “I need you, baby. I want to feel you tomorrow.”
Something cracked open in my chest.
I gave him what he wanted. Fucked him harder, deeper, the bed frame creaking as it hit the wall with every thrust. His nails raked down my back, leaving marks I'd feel for days, and I wanted them. Wanted the evidence. Wanted something to prove this had been real when he was gone.
Remember this. The thought pulsed through me with every thrust. Remember how he sounds. Remember how his body opens for you. Remember how he says your name like it's the only word he knows.
“Holden,” His voice was broken, desperate. “Right there—fuck, don't stop—”
I shifted my angle, lifting his legs over my shoulders and found that spot inside him. His whole body lit up. His cock had filled again between us, hard and leaking against his stomach. I wrapped my hand around him, stroking in time with my thrusts.
“Come for me,” I said against his ear, low and rough. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
He shattered.
His whole body locked up, clenching so tight around me I saw stars. His cock pulsed in my hand, spilling hot between us, and the sight of him, the sound of him crying out my name, it pushed me over the edge.
I buried myself deep and came with a groan that felt like it was torn from somewhere deep inside. The pleasure whited out everything else, the fear, the doubt, the ticking clock. Just him. Just me. Just this.
Afterward, we lay tangled together in my narrow bed.
His head on my chest. My arm around his waist. The snow was still falling outside, visible through the gap in the curtains, and the room felt hushed. Suspended. Like the world had paused to let us have this moment.
I wanted to stay here forever. Wanted to freeze this night and live in it, where nothing had ended yet and everything was still possible.
“I need to go soon.” His voice was soft against my skin. “The girls.”
I could ask him to stay. Tell him the dogs would be fine until morning, that I'd walk him home at dawn, that I wanted him here in my bed for as long as I could have him.
The words lodged in my throat. Same place they always did.
“Okay,” I said instead.
He didn't move. Neither did I. We lay there in the quiet, snow falling outside, and I held onto him as long as I could.
Eventually he stirred. Pressed a kiss to my chest, just over my heart. Untangled himself and sat on the edge of the bed.
I watched him gather his clothes. The line of his back in the dim light. The way he moved through my space like he belonged there, reaching for his jeans without having to look, knowing exactly where they'd landed. My hand itched to reach out and pull him back.
At the bedroom door, he paused. Looked back at me, something unreadable in his expression. Vulnerable. Waiting.
“Night, Holden.”
Stay, I thought. Stay with me.
“Night.”
He left. The door clicked shut, and the apartment went quiet except for the soft sound of snow against the windows.
I lay in my bed that still smelled like him and wondered how I was supposed to let him go.
Jamie
The text came at nine-fifteen, while I was still in bed staring at the ceiling.
Brandy: Sunday brunch at the Kettle? Haven't seen you in days, stranger [happy face emoji]
I stared at the screen. Brandy and I had missed each other the last few days at the office, ships passing, and yeah, I guess I did miss seeing her.
Marceline was pressed against my side, her warmth the only thing that had helped me sleep.
Bubblegum had claimed the foot of the bed, chin resting on my ankle.
The walk home from Holden's had been cold and strange.
Snow still falling, Main Street quiet, my footsteps the only sound.
I'd replayed the night in my head the whole way.
His hands on me, his mouth, the way he'd said my name when he came.
The desperation in it, like he was trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers.
And then: Okay.
When I'd said I needed to leave. When I'd given him the opening to ask me to stay.
Just okay. Nothing else.
I could stay in bed. Pull the covers over my head, let the dogs sleep, spend Sunday feeling sorry for myself. That would be the easy thing.
Fuck easy. I wasn't going to mope over some guy. Not again.
Jamie: Give me 30. Bringing the girls.
I dragged myself up, showered fast, pulled on jeans and a faded Denver Nuggets t-shirt, layered a fleece over it.
The dogs watched me with increasing excitement as I grabbed their leashes, then lost their minds entirely when I pulled out their winter jackets, matching red puffer vests that Landon had called ridiculous.
“We're going to town, ladies,” I told them, zipping Bubblegum into her coat. “We're having brunch like successful, mature adults who have their shit together.”
Marceline wagged so hard her whole body shook, clearly having more faith in me than I did.
Outside, the snow from last night had stuck. Just an inch or two, but enough to coat the sidewalks. The morning was bright and cold, the kind of sharp winter day that made your lungs ache as we made our way to the Copper Kettle.
The walk was long enough for the cold to clear my head, for the movement to shake loose some of the weight pressing on my chest. Main Street was quiet for a Sunday, a few families heading toward the bakery, someone walking a husky that Marceline desperately wanted to meet.