Chapter 8 #2
Secure in Simon’s arms, Holly disappeared into a deep, dark abyss where pain couldn’t follow, where numbness reigned and grief could damn well wait.
Simon held Holly well into the night, even after his arms went numb. Her tortured expression upon learning her parents might have been murdered was bad enough. Finding her curled into the fetal position on the ground had broken his heart.
He'd wanted to take her pain away, knowing he couldn’t. Instead, he’d done the only thing he could to help her. He’d held her close, rocking her gently, speaking to her in whispers, assuring her that she’d be all right when he wasn’t certain she ever would.
When her sobs had died away, he’d carried her into the houseboat and up to her bed. Though he hadn’t planned on staying, he couldn’t leave her. Not when she’d begged him to stay.
The problem was that he was afraid to go to sleep, afraid his own nightmares would turn violent and that he might hurt Holly without realizing it.
He lay awake as long as he could, and eventually, closed his eyes.
Just for a moment.
He knew he was back in a dream. Knew it wasn’t real, but he could sense the heat, smell the dust and feel Johnny dying in his arms.
“No,” he whispered, his heart pounding while his friend’s slowed. “Don’t die.”
No matter how many times he relived that night, he couldn’t change the outcome.
Johnny would give him the lucky rabbit’s foot, speak of his love for his wife and son and then die.
Only this time was different. Right before Johnny succumbed to his injuries, his hand tightened in Simon’s. “Buddy, I’m dying. Not you. You must live every day like it’s your last... Grab for the joy...”
Johnny’s face morphed into that of a withered old woman with fierce eyes.
Madam Gautier.
When she spoke, her words echoed all around him, “Live. Now.”
Hands smoothed over his chest. Fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt and flattened against his bare skin.
A gentle female voice whispered against his ear. “Just a dream.”
He raised his hand to cover the one on his chest, the fabric of his shirt between them.
“This feels so real,” he murmured.
“You’re here now. With me,” she said. “Not in a dream.”
He opened his eyes to muted starlight shining through windows. The air wasn’t thick with debris. He drew in a deep breath. Instead of the dry scent of an arid landscape, he inhaled the pleasant bouquet of flowers. Turning his head, something tickled his nose. A feather? He leaned into it.
Not a feather.
Hair…thick curls lying in wild disarray across a clean white pillow.
Eyes stared into his.
“Hey,” Holly said, a gentle smile curving her lips. “You’re back.” The hand on his chest disappeared and found its way to his cheek. “Are you okay?”
He nodded.
“Bad dream?” she asked as she brushed her slender thumb over his jawline.
“Johnny died,” he stated.
She nodded. “You couldn’t change it, could you?”
“No. However, this time, his final words were different. Then it wasn’t Johnny, it was Madam Gautier telling me to live now.”
Holly’s soft laughter warmed his heart and the skin closest to her lips. “Must have been a helluva nightmare.”
His arm tightened around her, and he pulled her close. “No. Johnny said he was dying. Knew he wouldn’t make it, but he wanted me to live.”
Her hand smoothed down his neck to rest on his chest, her fingers curling into the soft jersey of his T-shirt. “He was a good friend,” she said.
“The best,” Simon said. Then, he pushed back the residuals of his dream and studied Holly’s face. “What about you? Do you feel any better?”
She nodded. “Much better. Thanks for being here.” Her hand moved across his chest and lower to slip under his shirt again. “For staying.”
She lay curled into his side, her calf draped over his thigh, her sex pressing into his hip.
Simon’s groin tightened. He caught her hand through the shirt. “If you’re okay, I’ll head down to the couch.”
Holly stiffened. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” she whispered so softly, he had to lean his head closer to hear.
“Stay,” she said, the word lighter than air, her breath warm on his neck.
“It’s not my job to sleep with you.”
“If you weren’t my bodyguard, would you stay?” she asked, her fingers curling into the hairs on his chest, her nails scraping softly across his skin. “Do you want to stay?”
His hand tightened around hers. “Yes,” he admitted. “But I can’t.”
“Or won’t?”
“I can’t stay and not...touch you.” He let go of her hand and slid his across her arm to her hip, pulling her closer, gently grinding her sex against his body.
Her leg swept higher, her knee nudging against the bulge in his jeans. “What if I want to touch you?”
Simon groaned.
If she continued on that path, doing the things she was doing, he’d be in serious pain from the unforgiving stiffness of denim.
“Sweetheart, I’d let you touch every inch of my body—as much or as little as you like.”
Her fingers drifted lower to cup his junk, squeezing gently.
Again, he covered her hand with his, halting her attack on his senses. “Don’t go there if you don’t want to go all the way. Once we start, I can’t guarantee I'll be able to stop. You’re doing crazy things to my control.”
“Then let go of that control,” she whispered against his neck. “Touch me. Hold me. Make love to me.”
“You’re my client,” he said as a last-ditch effort to stop what was building between them. “Isn’t there something in the playbook...a rule that states you don’t make love with the client?”
“Fuck the rule book.” Holly leaned up on her elbow and stared down into his face, her eyes dark pools in the gloom. “If you don’t want to make love to me, just say it. I’ll go sleep on the couch.”
When he didn’t answer right away, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed to her feet.
Simon snagged her arm and yanked her back. She landed on the bed beside him and immediately tried to rise again.
He held onto her arm, anchoring her to the bed and to him.
“Let go,” she said. “You obviously have no desire to make love with me. Forget it.”
“Stay,” he said. “I want to make love to you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t need your pity fuck. I can pleasure myself. I know my own body and my sweet spots better than any man.”
Again, she tried to get up. He tugged her back down.
Her sass and anger only made Simon more determined to keep her there. His brain told him to let her go before he lost himself in her.
He asked himself if that would be a bad thing and decided he didn’t care.
“I’m intrigued by your body and sweet spots.” He sat up behind her, brushed her hair off her neck and pressed his lips to the spot right under her earlobe.
Holly sucked in a sharp breath and let it out on a soft moan.
“If I promise this isn’t a pity fuck, will you show me what pleases you most? I’m a quick study.”
“I’m sure you are,” she said, her voice breathy as if she couldn’t quite get enough air.
He touched his hand to her shoulder and slid it down her arm to her waist, then back up, brushing his palm ever so slightly against the swell of her breast.
“Interested?” he whispered against her ear.
“Mildly,” she said, her tone dry.
He cupped her breast in his hand and squeezed gently.
“This could be so much better... skin to skin.” With his other hand, he tilted her head toward him and pressed his lips to her temple.
All the while, he pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
Even through the fabrics of her shirt and bra, he could feel the tip form a hard little button.
His pulse thickened and quickened, pushing heat and adrenaline throughout his body to pool in his groin.
Holly leaned her head back against his shoulder, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. She raised her hand and took the one he had on her breast.
For a moment, he froze, expecting her to stop him. Instead, she guided him lower to the hem of her shirt and under it.
The warmth of her skin against his palm sent fire through his system. He went back to the breast he’d fondled, cupped it and squeezed gently.
It wasn’t enough for him.
Or for her.
In an impatient move, she leaned away from him, yanked her shirt up and over her head and flung it away. Then she reached behind her back and fumbled with the hooks on her bra.
Simon brushed aside her attempts and expertly freed the hooks and slid the straps down her arms.
Once free of her top, Holly spun and helped Simon out of his shirt, then reached for the button on his jeans.
In a scramble of knees and elbows, they shed their remaining clothes and collapsed against the mattress, naked and slightly breathless.
Simon chuckled, pulled Holly into his arms and kissed her hard. When his tongue slid over the seam of her lips, she opened to him, her hand weaving into the hair at the back of his neck, urging him closer, deeper.
Rolling Holly onto her back, Simon settled over her and bent to capture her earlobe between his teeth, nipping gently. “Is this one of your sweet spots?”
She shook her head. “Lower.”
Up for the challenge, he kissed a path from her chin downward, tasting every inch of her. He paused to suck her breast into his mouth, flicking the hardened tip several times. “Is this a sweet spot?” he asked.
“Yes!” she breathed.
He moved to the other side and sucked that nipple into his mouth.
Holly’s back arched, pressing her breast deeper, a moan rumbling in her throat.
He moved lower, leading with his hands, his mouth following, blazing a trail across her ribs. When he reached the juncture of her thighs, he cupped her sex and paused, desire welling up so fast and intensely he could barely breathe. “And this?” he asked, dipping his finger into her channel.
“Oh, yes.” She drew her knees up and let them fall to the side, opening to him, allowing him full access.
Simon pressed a kiss to her folds as he slid a finger into her slick channel, swirled in her heat and added another. With his thumbs, he parted those folds and flicked his tongue across her clit.