6. Olive #2
He walked me backward out of the living room and into my bedroom, backing me right up against my heavy oak dresser. He lifted me up by the hips, sitting me on the cool wood.
Then he stepped between my thighs and pushed inside me, burying himself deep with one powerful thrust.
I cried out, wrapping my legs tightly around his waist as he set a hard, hungry rhythm.
It felt good to lose control. I’d been in control for far too many years.
I held him tight and fucked him back, my hips frantically meeting him with each thrust of his cock.
For once I could let myself just be.
I surrendered every ounce of control to him and let him take charge. Whatever had happened between us out in the woods on Friday night hadn’t been just a fluke after a long drought.
Holden made me feel wanted with every fiber of his being, and I didn’t think I’d ever get enough of him.
He grabbed my hips and groaned right before I shattered on his cock. My heart was flying a thousand miles a second as he came on the heels of my orgasm.
Afterward, we collapsed onto my bed together.
The soft cotton sheets tangled around our bare legs as I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady, heavy thud of his heart slowly returning to a normal rhythm.
The chicken was probably still sitting on the counter. The vegetables needed chopping. I had invited this man over for dinner, not just to wreck my sofa, my bedroom, and my ability to think straight.
“So much for dinner.”
“We can cook later if you want,” he growled, his fingers lazily tracing the curve of my shoulder. “Right now I just want to hold you.”
“Seriously. I should get up,” I said, forcing myself to shift. “I promised you dinner.”
Holden’s arm tightened around me. “Stay with me just a little longer. Then I’ll get up and cook.”
I blinked and tilted my head back to look at him. “You know how to cook?”
“Not that well. But I promise not to burn the house down.” His eyes moved over my face in a way that made my throat close up. “And you deserve dinner in bed.”
“You surprise me at every turn, Holden.” No man had ever cooked for me before, and I wasn’t used to being fussed over.
He grinned and grabbed me tighter, kissing my neck. “Good. Now you lie back down, Nurse Olive. I can chop vegetables one-handed.”
Even though he said that, he wasn’t making any moves toward the kitchen. Instead, he was rubbing his good hand all over my body, a slow exploration of every inch of my skin.
“I bet you drove the girls crazy when you were young,” I told him, trying to imagine a younger Holden. One without so many battle scars from logging for so many years.
“I moved around a lot when I was a kid,” Holden said quietly, his rough voice filling the dark room.
I shifted slightly, resting my hand flat against his chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. My old man couldn’t hold down a steady job, so we bounced from town to town. Rent to rent.” He let out a slow breath. “I never really found a place that felt like home.”
He turned his head, pressing a warm kiss into my messy hair.
“That sounds sad.”
“A little. But lately,” he continued, “I’ve been itching to set down some roots. Really stay somewhere. And Red Oak Mountain… it feels like a good place to call home.”
I tilted my head back to look at his face.
He was looking at me like staying wasn’t a question anymore.
In fact, he looked like a man who’d finally found exactly what he’d been searching for.
I realized right then that I was in way deeper than I’d ever meant to be.
I wanted to ask him if he wanted it all. A wife. Kids. A white picket fence. A dog running around, barking and playing.
But I bit my lip and stayed quiet. I shouldn’t hit the man with a heavy conversation. Especially not so soon.
That didn’t stop the question from burning on the tip of my tongue.
Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was too soon. But Holden had walked into my house with grocery store flowers and looked at me like I was something precious. And now he was holding me like he wasn’t in any hurry to leave.
So I let one tiny piece of the question slip out.
“What does home look like to you?”
Holden went quiet beside me.
For one terrifying second, I wished I could snatch the words back out of the air.
Then his hand moved slowly up and down my spine.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I used to think it looked like land. A few acres nobody could kick me off of. A cabin with a roof that I’d fix myself. Maybe a truck in the driveway that was finally paid off.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It does,” he said. “But… lately I’ve been thinking maybe it’s more than that.”
My heart started beating too fast.
“Like what?”
His fingers stilled against my back.
“A light on when I come in late. Someone giving me hell because I tracked mud through the kitchen. A woman who knows I take my coffee black and still asks me every morning just to be ornery.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out too soft and hopeful. I cleared my throat. “That sounds very specific.”
“Yeah,” he rumbled, his mouth brushing my hair. “It’s getting that way.”
I closed my eyes and let myself see the dream for one breath.
A home. A porch light. Holden’s boots by the door. His big body in my kitchen. His hand on my belly someday, maybe, if I was brave enough to want that much.
Then I shoved that thought down so hard it hurt.
It was only our second date.
For the first time in years, my heart didn’t seem to care.
But even if it felt real right now, I knew that sometimes men’s hearts were fickle.
So I just held onto him tighter, burying my face against his neck, as my heart cracked open and let him in.