Chapter 9 #3
I did it again. Slower this time, tongue flat and wet, tasting him. His thighs were already shaking. I pointed my tongue and pressed inside, just the tip, and he made a sound I'd never heard from him before, high and desperate and broken.
“Please,” he gasped. “Please, please, please—”
I fucked him with my tongue. Slow, shallow thrusts while my hands held him open, while his forehead dropped against the wall and his whole body trembled. He was pushing back against my face now, shameless, chasing it.
“More,” he managed. “I need…fingers…something—”
I pulled back long enough to grab the lube from the dresser. Slicked my fingers, warming them before I touched him. He was already wet from my mouth, relaxed and wanting, and the first finger slid in easy.
“More,” he said again, almost immediately.
I added a second finger and bent to lick around them, tongue and fingers working together. The sound he made was wrecked. His cock hung heavy between his legs, and I reached around with my free hand and stroked him in time with my fingers.
“Holden—” His voice cracked.
Two fingers became three, and once he was gasping, his hands clawing at the plaster for purchase, I pulled my hands away and stood.
The motion was slow. Deliberate. I rose to my full height behind him, my chest against his back, my cock pressing against his ass. He craned his neck to look at me over his shoulder, and the angle was sharp, all that height between us, his head barely reaching my collarbone.
“Turn around,” I said again.
He turned. Looked up at me. Waiting.
I rolled on a condom. Slicked myself, stroking slow, watching his eyes track the movement of my hand. Then I gripped the backs of his thighs and lifted.
Jamie's eyes went wide. His legs wrapped around my waist on instinct, ankles crossing at the small of my back. I had him pinned between my body and the wall, his weight nothing, his whole body trembling.
“Oh fuck,” he breathed. “Holden…”
“I've got you.” I adjusted my grip, one hand under his ass, the other braced against the wall beside his head. “Okay?”
He nodded, speechless for once. His fingers dug into my shoulders hard enough to bruise.
I lowered him onto my cock.
Slow. Controlled. Watching his face the whole time—the way his mouth fell open, the way his eyes fluttered shut, the way his whole body went taut as I filled him inch by inch.
The position was deep like this, gravity working with me, and when I bottomed out he made a sound that went straight to my spine.
“Fuck,” he gasped. “You feel…I can't…you're so deep—”
“Tell me when.”.
“Now.” His voice cracked. “Move. Please.”
I moved.
The wall took some of the weight, let me thrust up into him with a force that made his breath punch out on every stroke.
His legs tightened around me, pulling me deeper, and his hands were everywhere—my shoulders, my neck, finally tangling in my hair and holding on.
I could feel him clenching around me every time I bottomed out, his body trying to keep me inside.
“Yes,” he gasped. “Right there, fuck, Holden, don't stop—”
I didn't stop.
I pulled him off the wall.
His arms tightened around my neck, a gasp escaping him, but I had him. Both hands under his ass now, nothing supporting us but my own strength, his body suspended in the air with my cock still buried inside him.
“Holy shit,” he breathed.
“Not gonna drop you.”
I thrust up into him and his whole body shuddered. The angle was brutal like this, every stroke drove deep, hit that spot inside him that made him cry out. His thighs trembled against my hips, his arms locked around my neck, and he was so tight around me I could barely think.
“So good,” I managed. “You take me so fucking well.”
“Holden—” My name was a moan. “I can't—it's too much—”
“Yeah, you can.” I thrust harder, felt him clench around me. “Take it.”
His head dropped to my shoulder, face pressed against my neck, panting hot against my skin. I adjusted my grip, pulled him down onto me as I thrust up, and he sobbed.
“Please,” he gasped. “I need to come, I can't—please—”
“Touch yourself.”
“I'll fall—”
“You won't.”
He believed me. One arm stayed locked around my neck while his other hand moved between us, wrapping around his cock. I felt his arm working, felt the way his body tightened with every stroke, and kept fucking up into him, relentless.
“Close,” he said. “I'm so close, Holden, I need—”
I carried him to the bed.
Two steps and I was laying him down on his back, following him down without ever pulling out. His legs stayed wrapped around me, his hand still working his cock, and I braced myself over him with one hand fisted in the sheets beside his head.
“Want to see your face.” I thrust deep. “When you come.”
His eyes locked on mine. Flushed cheeks, parted lips, that hazel gone dark and desperate. I thrust again and his whole body arched off the mattress, his free hand clawing at my back.
“Holden.” My name in his mouth, broken. “I can't—I'm gonna—”
“Do it.” I thrust harder, faster, chasing my own orgasm.
He shattered.
His whole body went rigid, clamping down around me so tight I saw stars. His cock pulsed in his hand, spilling hot between us, and the sound he made was almost a sob, my name over and over while I worked him through it, fucking him through every wave.
I didn't last much longer. Three more thrusts and I was gone, burying myself deep, pleasure whiting out everything but the feel of his body beneath mine and the way he was still saying my name like it was the only word he knew.
We stayed like that for a long moment, catching our breath, hearts racing.
His legs slowly uncurled from my waist. My arms trembled from holding myself up, from holding him up.
The room was quiet except for the radiator clicking and, from somewhere beyond the closed door, the soft sound of dog nails on hardwood.
“Hey,” Jamie said. His voice was wrecked.
“Hey.”
“Happy Valentine's Day.” He traced a finger down my chest, his touch lazy and satisfied. “Also, holy shit.”
I huffed a laugh against his shoulder. “Good?”
“You held me up like I weighed nothing.” His eyes were bright, somewhere between awed and fucked-out. “In the middle of the room. While fucking me. And then carried me to bed without....”
He pulled me down for a kiss, soft and slow, tasting like sweat and satisfaction. “You're freakishly strong. And apparently determined to ruin me for anyone else.”
“That's the plan.”
His laugh was warm, satisfied. I rolled to the side, pulling him with me, and he settled against my chest like he'd always belonged there.
“Best Valentine's Day ever,” he murmured against my skin.
I pressed my mouth to his temple and didn't argue.
“So what happens now?” he asked.
“Now we sleep.”
“That's not what I meant.” He propped his chin on my chest, looked up at me. His eyes were soft in the dim light, that particular hazel that shifted green when he was happy. “The arrangement was supposed to end today.”
“What arrangement?”
He blinked. “The… you know. The deal. The fake dating thing.”
“Don't know what you're talking about.” I kept my face straight. “The only arrangement I know about is the one I made you this afternoon.”
His mouth twitched. “Is that so.”
“That's so.”
“And here I thought we had a whole contract. Terms and conditions. Three weeks, through Valentine's Day.”
“Doesn't ring a bell.” I traced my thumb along his cheekbone. “Stay. Not just tonight. Stay for real.”
His smile started slow and spread until his whole face changed. “I was planning to.”
“Good.”
“Good.” He settled back against my chest, pressing a kiss over my heart. “Brandy's going to be insufferable, you know. She's been telling me for weeks this was more than an arrangement.” He paused. “Or whatever we're not calling it.”
“She was right.”
“She usually is. That's the problem.”
I pulled him closer. The quiet wrapped around us, not empty anymore, not lonely. Just peaceful.
We'd opened the door so the girls could come sleep in their beds. Jamie's breathing slowed, evening out into sleep. I lay awake a few minutes longer, listening to him breathe, feeling the weight of him against my side. The fear that had kept me silent for weeks felt distant now. Small. Manageable.
He'd said he loved me. He'd said he wanted to stay.
I'd spent years convinced that everyone left. That wanting something meant losing it. That the safest thing was to never want at all.
But Jamie kept showing up. Every morning with coffee, every evening at my door. He kept showing up, and I'd finally stopped being afraid to let him in.
Some people are built for leaving and some are built for staying.
My grandmother had known which one she was. She'd spent her whole life in the same shop, the same town, the same life. Not because she was trapped, but because she'd found where she belonged.
I pulled Jamie closer, felt him sigh against my chest. Somewhere down the street, the Copper Kettle was closing up. Somewhere in the park, couples were walking hand in hand, holding bouquets from my shop, celebrating a day designed for love.
And here, in my apartment above Hutchinson Florals, I had everything I'd been too afraid to want.
I was starting to understand what my grandmother meant.