Chapter 24
Holden sets me down. I lace my fingers through his and lead him to my bed.
“Wait, Maggie…I don’t have a condom,” he says, and is it weird how much I love that?
Not because he’s unprepared, but because he never expected this. He didn’t come here to have sex with me. He came here to see me.
And I’m not sure what scares me more: that he does or that I want him to.
“That’s okay. I do.” Because, while I didn’t expect this either, I definitely wanted it.
Hoped for it. And after Ben’s revelation about “Maggie May,” I thought maybe I could have it.
Swiping a condom from my brother’s medicine cabinet may take a decade of therapy to erase, but better safe than sorry, right?
I pull the foil packet from the nightstand drawer and set it beside the lamp, then turn back to Holden—still fully dressed except for his shoes—and slip out of my robe.
I told Constance I could trust him. That this could mean something. Standing here now, I know both things are true.
His eyes stay on mine, but his hands twitch at his sides, mouth working like he wants to say something but isn’t sure he should. He’s nervous, I realize, and I have to smother a smirk.
Who’s the virgin here?
I hook a finger in the hem of his shirt, and that’s all the push he needs. He drags it over his head and flings it behind him.
He’s all lean lines and golden skin, not a mark on him but for the faint trail of hair disappearing into his jeans. I swallow hard, forcing my gaze higher, to the subtle rise and fall of his ribs, erratic and uneven.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him in all his ab-tastic glory. I caught a glimpse at the creek, another at Blue Hole. But now I get to stare. To ogle.
A low clearing of his throat snaps me out of it. I blink up to find him wearing the smirk I’d stifled just a moment ago.
“Sorry,” I say, warmth creeping up my neck. “Shirtless Holden is…kind of distracting.”
“Says the woman without a stitch of clothing on.”
I bite down on my lip. Good point.
He reaches for the button on his jeans, but I beat him to it, popping it open and sliding the zipper down. He helps me push them past his hips, then kicks them off.
My breath catches, and my eyes go wide before I can stop them.
I’m ready for this—so ready—but that doesn’t make it any less real. I told Holden it wasn’t a big deal, but the way my heart’s racing like a rabbit in a dog park tells me otherwise.
I slip my fingers inside the waistband of his boxer briefs—his very fitted, very full boxer briefs—and carefully tug them down. My racing heart skips, then skids to a stop.
It’s…large. Bigger than anything I’ve had inside me by a lot. And surprisingly, kind of a looker: neatly trimmed, well-proportioned, velvety smooth…
But wow, aggressively present. Like, Hello, sir. We see you.
“Maggie?”
“Um, yeah?”
“Lie down,” he says, all gravelly, and I’ve never been more grateful for direction.
I do as I’m told, sliding between the cool percale sheets, but the chill’s no match for my heated skin, and when Holden climbs in after me, I swear I start to melt.
The mattress sighs as he settles over me, one strong forearm braced beside my head, fingers tangling in my hair.
Our legs lock into place like tongue and groove, and the feel of him against my thigh sends a sharp little jolt through me.
My heart kicks up again. We’re naked, body to body, skin on skin.
Nothing about this feels casual, but I don’t let myself go there.
That’s future Maggie’s problem.
Instead, I focus on the rasp of stubble against my palm and his scent—smoke and spice, with a hint of citrus underneath. Then I meet his eyes: soft, gray, and searching. Watching me like I might break.
“I won’t,” I whisper, answering a question he hasn’t asked.
He lowers his head to kiss me, and everything else fades away. There’s no movie, no Big Dance Scene, no script to follow. Just his mouth, his steady weight, and the quiet ache blooming between us.
His lips trail from my throat to my collarbone, sucking and tasting, while his hand settles over my breast. He kneads it gently, the friction of his calluses undoing me—before venturing lower, down my stomach. Between my legs.
“Christ, Magnolia,” he says, lowering his forehead to mine as his fingers slip inside me.
I sink into the mattress, my breath coming faster now, and reach for him. A raw, rasping growl rumbles in his chest, his hips twitching as he fights the urge to thrust. I grip him tighter (a dare, maybe), and he opens his eyes, amusement glinting behind the want.
He kisses me again, fierce this time, ravenous, while his fingers plunge deeper, coaxing me closer. And just when I think I may writhe right off the side of the bed, he stops.
I let out a mournful whimper.
“Not yet.” He presses a smile to my lips as he says it, his tone calm and composed. “I want this to feel good for you.” His hand comes up to cup my face, and I catch my scent on him. It might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
“Just breathe,” he says, his thumb grazing my jaw. “Try to relax.”
A shiver zips up my spine when I realize what he isn’t saying: This is going to hurt. But maybe by bringing me to the edge first, it won’t be so bad. Maybe it can actually feel good.
I give him a subtle nod. “Okay.”
Shifting to his knees, he leans over me for the condom, then tears into the wrapper. I watch him roll it on, inch by inch, every one of them soon to be inside me.
A gasp slips out, half nerves, half holy mackerel.
“I’ll go slow,” he says. “Tell me if it’s too much. If you want me to stop.”
I close my eyes and brace myself, and thank heavens I’m still so wet, because when he begins to push inside, I see stars.
A sharp breath catches in my throat, my body straining to take him.
It hurts—a fierce, stretching burn I wasn’t ready for—but in a weirdly good way.
Like he’s tearing me apart and putting me back together at the same time.
For one suspended second, I let my mind drift.
To warm vanilla mixed with Holden’s scent.
To the soft flutter of his breath on my skin.
To the song underscoring the moment: I just want to dance with you all night…
His thumbs skim my cheeks, pulling me back to him. I exhale, leaning into his quiet reassurance, letting it center me before opening my eyes.
“You okay?” His voice is rough, tight with restraint, but his gaze is as tender as I’ve ever seen it.
I nod again, sliding my fingers up his back, tangling them in the hair at his neck. “Kiss me, Holden.”
His breath shudders against my lips as he lowers his head, capturing my mouth in a kiss as gentle and reverent as the way he’s claiming my body. I begin to relax, to soften beneath him, letting the feeling take me under. The pain loosens its grip, and a whisper of pleasure creeps in.
So this is what all the fuss is about.
It’s so much more than I imagined.
Quick, quick, slow, slow.
Like a dance.
“How do you feel?” Holden asks, fingers combing through my hair as we lie in a mess of rumpled sheets and down.
The air smells like burnt sugar from the blown-out candles, and beneath it, something warmer. Something ours.
“Okay, so far. Not sore yet, just…wired.” I adjust my pillow. “When’s your call time? Because if you stay here, I might talk your ear off.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll risk it.”
“You know what you’re filming?”
“Haven’t looked yet, but probably boring shit—stuff.
” He reaches for his phone on the nightstand, the sheet sliding dangerously low.
And oh, wow, that’s a view. A soft click, then the screen casts a dim glow over his face.
“Okay, well, not boring. Rex Walker’s back on set tomorrow. The guy who plays my dad?”
“I take it you’re not thrilled.”
“Eh, he’s fine. Bit of a curmudgeon, though. The good news is, he’s filming with Gabi first, so I don’t have to be in until nine.” One corner of his mouth lifts. “Raegan hated doing scenes with him. I used to text her dad jokes between takes to keep her sane.”
“Raegan Reed? I’d forgotten about her. I was so happy when she got cast.” The scenes with Tripp and his daughter were some of my favorites from the book.
“You and everyone else,” he says.
“She’s done, right?”
“Finished in Houston.” He shakes his head, his smile deepening. “Kid’s sweet as can be until the cameras roll, then poof. Little preteen nightmare. Gave ol’ Rex a run for his money.”
As much as I hate to admit it, Barrett wrote her beautifully. She is a nightmare, but she had reason to be. Her tantrums ripped my heart out.
“Hang on, we took a selfie,” Holden says, scrolling his phone. He pauses on a picture and turns the screen my way. “We’d just filmed a rodeo scene. She’s standing on the chute.”
Raegan’s in a red cowboy hat, long blonde hair whipping around her, arms folded and resting on Holden’s helmeted head. All I can see of him is his grin behind the face cage, so big and blinding you could spot it from space.
I wonder what it’d feel like to have that grin aimed at me.
“You look so happy,” I say. “Relaxed.”
His expression sobers. “I was in Houston.”
“But not here…”
Holden was a curmudgeon himself when we met, and while that seems to have changed, I’ve never seen him glow the way he does in that picture.
“It’s not you, Maggie,” he says, reading my thoughts like they’re printed on my forehead. “You’re the good part.”
And now I’m glowing.
I give his hand a soft squeeze. “What’s the bad?”
“My dad, mostly.” His jaw tenses. “He’s got Hannah all riled up about our summer trip, and it’s giving me an ulcer.”
“Hawaii?”
He nods.
“She mentioned it on the call the other day. Why wouldn’t he want her to go?”
“He doesn’t care if she goes. He just wants me in his new movie, and this is how he forces my hand.”
I sit upright against the headboard, tucking the sheet around me. “What a jackass.”
He lets out a dry laugh. “A clever jackass, I suppose.”
“So you’re going to do it?”
“I don’t see that I have a choice.”