Chapter 11
eleven
WILL
Lydia’s standing in front of me, her head tipped back so she can see all the way up to glare at me, and she’s got her finger poked into my chest. If she didn’t look so goddamn scary, I might be tempted to think about the way her breasts are pressed up ever so slightly against me.
Scratch that. I am tempted. More than tempted. There’s something about the way she’s snarling at me that makes me want to grab her breasts and squeeze. Drag my teeth down her neck, slide that collar down her creamy fucking shoulder and—
“You think you’re some kind of hero, huh?”
My brain comes to a screeching halt. I look back at her, confused. I did just save her from having a pile of metal come straight down on her head—which honestly, I think I deserve some thanks for—but I sure didn’t say anything about being a hero.
“I have no clue what you’re even talking about,” I huff out.
“Oh, quit playing dumb,” she all but spits.
She drops her hand from my chest. “You trot your little brother out, showing off how kind-hearted you are in taking him in, and then you buy my friend and me a couple of fucking caramel apples—like we can’t buy them ourselves!
You thought you really did something there, didn’t you?
Wow, Will Holloway, what a nice guy, what a—”
“Well, excuse the fuck out of me,” I retort. “I was trying to do something nice. I saw how that gelled up, prep school dickwad blew you off, and I wanted to make your day better. Pardon me for wanting to fucking help!”
“Oh, please. You’re no better than he is,” Lydia says, her voice dripping with spite. “You’re just another self-centered prick.”
Her words hit like a brick, straight to the face.
She’s breathing hard, like she’s waiting to see what I’ll say.
Maybe I am a selfish prick. My dad definitely was, walking out on us like that.
Thinking that, because he paid child support, it somehow absolved him of what he did to us.
And here I am, buying caramel apples and catching falling ladders like it makes up for what I’m doing to the building this woman so obviously cares about—even if I don’t get why she does.
Maybe she’s right.
I stare at her for a moment. She’s so fucking beautiful, her dark eyes all narrowed like that, glinting with anger in the golden afternoon light that streams through the window above us.
I can feel the heat from her body, and as I stare at her, her eyes fixed back on mine, I feel my dick hardening in my pants.
It’s so close to her stomach. Only a zipper and a strip of denim between my cock and her smooth, creamy skin.
As I take a half step toward her, closing the tiny gap between us, Lydia’s still glaring up at me. We’re so close our bodies are touching now, and my cock is fully hard—there’s no way she doesn’t feel it. But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t back away.
Suddenly, my hands are around her ass, and I’m pulling her into me so she can feel every inch of my length.
Feel how hungry I am for her. How much she’s making me crazy.
I’m still waiting for her to pull away—to show some sign that this isn’t what she wants—but she’s standing stock still, her palms on my chest.
Running my hands down the curve of her hips, I lean down and brush my lips against her ear. Give her ass a gentle squeeze.
“I may be a selfish prick,” I say into Lydia’s ear. “But I guarantee you I’m better than he is.”
“Oh, yeah?” She looks up at me. There’s a challenge in her eyes behind the anger. “Prove it.”
And then something erupts.
In a split second, I’ve lifted her off the ground and she’s wrapping her legs around me, our mouths are crashing together like we’re crazed, starving fools. Which maybe we are—starving and fools. Because it’s been a while, and Lydia’s ass in my palms and her tongue in my mouth is delicious.
It’s also crazy. This woman hates me.
But I don’t care. Right now, I only care that Lydia’s mouth is soft and full, that she’s running her tongue over my bottom lip as I hike up her skirt and knead her ass beneath my palms. I slip my tongue between her lips, and she grinds against me, whimpering, wrapping her legs tighter.
It’s impossible not to think about what’s there between them, about what she’s rubbing against me so desperately, when there’s only a strip of lacy fabric covering it. A damp strip of fabric.
My cock is rock hard, and it’s all I can do not to unzip my fly and let my entire length spring free.
But that wasn’t part of the challenge. I said I was better than that hair-pulling, frat boy motherfucker, and Lydia asked me to prove it.
Although taking out my dick and wrapping her fingers around it sounds divine right now, it also screams ‘selfish prick’.
And we can’t have that.
Still gripping Lydia by the ass, I carry her to the far side of the room, setting her back gently against a spot of wall between the bookcases.
She’s pinned between the wall and me, her ankles hooked behind my back.
I pull away from Lydia’s mouth for a moment, tracing kisses down the length of her collarbone, my cock still straining at my jeans.
Thank god there’s nobody else here.
Using my hip to pin her to the wall, I shift my weight just enough to slide one hand out from under her.
I bring my eyes to hers, searching there for any sign of hesitation as my fingers trace along her inner thighs.
Her eyes are wide, but she holds my gaze.
Even as my fingertips find the lace of her panties, dipping ever so slightly beneath the elastic and meeting soft, soft skin, she doesn’t break my stare. Instead, she nods.
That nod is all I need. Pulling her skirt up so it’s completely around her waist now, I tug her panties to the side.
Although her eyes are still on mine, I can’t help but look down to admire the view.
Her slick, pink cunt is on full display, legs still spread on either side of me.
I swipe my finger gently down the middle of her core and feel her shudder. Lydia is dripping.
I bring my eyes back to hers and hold her gaze as I lick clean the finger that just grazed her. Then, with the very tip of my finger, I begin tracing circles around her clit, keeping my rhythm steady even as she straight out the gate tries to shift her hips to get me to touch her clit itself.
I move my mouth once again to her ear. “Do I still need to prove it?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Fuck yes.”
“Then let me do my job,” I growl.
Her only answer is a throaty groan as she lets her head fall back against the wall. But her hips still, and I feel her loosen against me. My fingers are slick with her wetness, and as I continue my circles around her swollen bud, it’s all I can do to keep it together.
And the way Lydia’s starting to writhe again, I can tell she’s sufficiently teased. I brush my thumb over her clit, and she bucks her hips against me. I stop my circling.
“Will,” she breathes. Her voice is mangled with want.
“Mm?” I’m enjoying baiting her. Bringing her to the edge.
“Aren’t you going to do your job?”
I let out a low chuckle. “You are impatient, Ms. Chandler—”
And then her lips are on mine and I’m cut off.
She’s pulling my head toward hers, and is kissing me so savagely I’m honestly lost for a moment.
Her lips taste so fucking good, and the way she’s got her hands on the back of my head, fingers tangled in my hair, is downright sinful.
There’s no way I can say no to that. Not when she’s asking so nicely.
Breaking away from the kiss, I graze her earlobe with my teeth. “Message received.”
Then, yanking her panties to the side again, I slip one finger into her pussy, relishing the way she melts completely into me at that touch alone.
She’s so fucking wet it takes only a couple of slides in and out before I add a second finger, plunging in and out of her as I work her clit with my thumb.
She’s writhing under me, giving these little moans of pleasure right in my ear, but she lets me take the wheel.
All I want is to drop down to my knees and taste her, but my left hip is the only thing keeping her against the wall. And by now, Lydia’s breaths are so short and fast, her whimpering so insistent, that I think she might actually kill me if I stop what I’m doing.
So I keep on, plunging in and out, stroking her inner wall and trying not to let how tight she is distract me. My cock is straining at my jeans, basically begging me to be let loose, but it can wait. I already know I’m going to fuck my hand tonight while thinking of this woman.
Suddenly, Lydia gives a long, low moan, her fingers tangling tighter in my hair, and absolutely shatters.
Her pussy clenches around my fingers, spasming with pleasure, but I keep my thumb on her clit while we ride out the wave together.
I’m horny as all hell, but I’m also high on Lydia’s pleasure.
Turns out making someone who hates you come hard is an interesting kind of vindication.
Lydia drops her head back against the wall, and I can’t resist rubbing the scruff of my beard against the smooth skin of her neck before giving a playful bite to her ear lobe.
“Told you it’d be good.” I slide my fingers out of her pussy and suck them clean.
Lydia draws in a deep, shuddery breath. Her eyes flutter open, and we stare at each other.
Now that the heat of the moment has broken, neither of us knows what to do.
Some invisible line has been crossed, and I can tell that both our minds are racing, trying to figure out how the fuck to scramble back over it. I don’t think we can.
Gently, I lower Lydia to the floor, tugging her skirt back down around her ample hips. My cock’s still throbbing in my jeans, but I’m doing my best to ignore it. I hope she can’t see it.
Lydia re-centers her skirt around her waist. When she finally looks up at me, it’s like her face is made of stone—like she’s put on this mask that she doesn’t want me to see behind.
“You were right,” she says simply. “I stand corrected.”
That makes me grin. “Did I just hear you concede defeat?”
She tosses her hair, then nudges me aside so she can walk toward the door. “Don’t push your luck, Holloway. You either heard me or you didn’t.”
“Oh, I heard you, beautiful,” I say, following behind her. “It’s a damn good thing Nancy left early, because this whole building would’ve heard—”
“Stop it,” Lydia hisses. “And don’t call me that.”
She comes up behind me, trying to shove me through the door and out into the foyer. I’m too big for her, though, and her slender little palms on my back don’t move me an inch. I flash a grin over my shoulder. She’s got me feeling cocky now, knowing I did my job well.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she says. Her cinnamon eyes narrow as she glares at me. “So you can make me come—so what? You’re still a self-centered asshole who cares more about how much money he’ll make than he does about what another person—or community—needs.”
Her words are like a slap in the face. Because I’m pretty sure she’s right.
When it comes down to it, that’s exactly what I’m doing.
It’s not just for me, though—right? It’s for Zeke, too.
And Benji and Phoebe. The opportunity that lies on the other side of this library project could change our fucking lives.
Still, I don’t like knowing I’m the one crushing Lydia’s dream. It makes me feel like shit.
“Fine,” I say coolly. “I won’t offer again.”
“Good. It’s unprofessional.”
Lydia closes the door in my face and I’m left standing out in the foyer.
The last rays of the afternoon sun seep golden through the windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.
It really is a shame we’re planning to be getting rid of it—it’s beautiful.
And carries the presence of thousands of souls who’ve walked across it over the past two hundred years.
Suddenly, a rush of cold, like someone’s icy breath, sweeps across my neck. I freeze.
What the fuck?
I know that feeling—and I can’t be feeling it.
There’s no way. My mind must be going off.
I shut that ghost shit down forever ago, have spent way more fucking hours meditating than I ever thought I would in my life—all to make sure that energetic wall I managed to build when I was 18 never gives an inch.
And it works—usually. I keep those spirits out.
They can knock sometimes, but there’s no way they can get in.
I never asked for whatever this ability is, and it’s only ever brought me pain.
And I’ve only ever hurt people as a result of using it.
I don’t care if Zeke says ghost sex is out of this world.
I’ve sampled that myself, and I will not be going back.
This shitty “gift” comes from Dad, and I’m not interested in any of it. I will not be a repeat of my father.
“There’s nothing here,” I say aloud, just for good measure. “I’m not your guy.”
And with that, I’m out of there. Lydia will always hate me, and these fucking ghosts will probably always haunt me. But I don’t need to stick around for it.