Chapter 71 No Media. No Mercy
NO MEDIA. NO MERCY
Holly
“Therapy is great. So is pinning your boyfriend to a dressing room door.”
They barely made it off the floor before the world started closing in again.
Producers. Cameras. Assistants with headsets and laminated schedules.
The bright, frantic hum of live television snapping back into place around them like nothing monumental had just happened in the middle of their loaded Cha Cha.
Holly could hear Indie’s voice somewhere behind them, the audience still roaring, the judges laughing.
But the moment the stage lights faded, something inside her snapped loose.
A production assistant materialized at her elbow with a clipboard and a smile that said please cooperate with the machinery of fame.
“Press line this way, guys.”
“No media.”
Holly didn’t even slow down. Didn’t look back. She just tightened her grip on Nate’s hand and kept walking like the corridor belonged to her and everyone in it was an inconvenience.
“Sorry?” the assistant stammered.
“No media,” Holly repeated, already halfway down the hall. “We’ll be back for results.”
Behind them came the inevitable ripple of panic. Whispers into headsets, hurried footsteps, the quiet chaos of a production team watching their carefully scheduled evening wobble.
Holly didn’t care. The noise of the show felt miles away now.
Like it belonged to a different life. A different version of her.
Right now there was only the feel of Nate’s hand in hers and the terrifying, electrifying certainty burning through her bloodstream.
She needed him now, so she didn’t have time to convince herself she’d imagined what had just happened out there.
She’d ambushed him on live television. Whispered life-changing words into his skin under studio lighting.
Chosen him in front of millions of people without warning.
And he’d looked at her like the world had tilted on its axis.
Her heart was still sprinting like it hadn’t realized the dance was over as they reached their dressing room.
She pushed the door open, dragged him inside, and kicked it shut behind them with enough force to rattle the frame.
A single second slammed down around them like a Faraday cage.
Nothing got in, nothing got out. Holly turned to face him and immediately forgot every coherent sentence she’d rehearsed in her head on the way here from the sound stage.
The muffled roar of the studio faded to a distant, meaningless hum.
For the first time all night, they were alone, and Holly felt the tension crackle in the air like a jolt of static electricity.
And then she fucking moved. She surged forward, her hands landing on his shoulders to shove him back against the door. Full body, full force, as though she’d been holding herself together with duct tape and adrenaline since the final beat of their music.
“What the fuck, Martinez,” he started, but the rest of his sentence was swallowed up when she crashed her lips into his for a kiss that went from zero to a hundred in less than two seconds.
She bit his bottom lip for half a second, teeth grazing him like she was just too desperate to contain herself, before she leaned in to claim him with her tongue.
His head hit the door with a dull thud, but she didn’t give him time to notice it because she was everywhere.
Hands in his hair, fingers fisting the back of his shirt, Holly pressed her body into him against that door like she needed proof he was solid, and real, and still hers.
Nate groaned in the back of his throat, the vibration tasting like honey as she fumbled with his belt buckle.
He was still in performance mode in the most devastating way. Hair damp at the temples, that ridiculous blue coach-esque jacket clinging faintly to his broad chest. Eyes stormy, dialed in on her as if he was trying to read the last ten minutes in reverse, like a play he hadn’t seen coming.
“Fuck! What’re you doing?” he managed, voice already gritty, hands automatically bracketing her waist like he’d been slowly dying for permission.
“Shut up,” she said, kissing him again as though she needed him more than air before opening her mouth mid-kiss. “I told you I was done,” she said, flicking her tongue at the corner of his mouth like a true addict while she finished undoing his belt. “I meant it.”
“You ambushed me,” he muttered against her mouth, more turned on than mad. “You hurricane’d onto that stage and broke my entire fucking nervous system.”
Honestly? Fair. She’d broken her own first.
His hands pushed up under the short hem of the jersey she was wearing, scraping up her ribs like he wanted to feel the resistance of her skin against his palms. He didn’t stop until he was cupping her breasts, and Holly felt like she’d crawl out of her skin if he didn’t just fuck her already.
“I chose you,” she cut in, voice shaking with need. “On live TV. In your stupid hat. In your stupid jersey. I chose you and you’re still talking.”
He dragged in a breath and flicked his thumbs over her bra-covered nipples. Holly jolted, hips grinding into him as she moaned against his jaw, already desperate for more.
“God, look at you,” he said, bending down to worship her. His lips found her collarbone and he laid a melted, open-mouthed kiss there as he reached back to unclasp her bra. “I don’t care about Denmark. You just wrecked me in front of the whole country.”
The tension in her bra vanished, and then he flipped the switch.
He grabbed her and turned like he was pivoting on a penalty kill, pushing her against the door and reaching under the jersey to yank her bra down in one smooth motion.
She gasped as her breasts were freed, and then again when he shoved the hem of that jersey up.
“Gonna leave my mark on you, baby,” he growled, his breath scorching as he dipped his head. “Wanna see your makeup team try to cover this.”
His mouth felt like filthy lava as he closed his lips over her nipple, suckling softly and teasingly before he scraped the edge of his teeth over her. He sucked again, soothing her for a second before latching onto her with punishing precision.
Fucking hell.
“I needed you to hear it,” Holly said, fighting to keep hold of her thoughts before she lost all sanity from the way he was mouthing her. “I needed you to know I wasn’t playing anymore.”
“I know, baby,” he said, voice rough, lips still on her nipple like it was a prize he wasn’t giving up anytime soon. “I knew the second you walked out in my jersey. I knew the second you looked at me the way you did.”
His mouth found her nipple again, biting and soothing, circling with his tongue as she whimpered through it. She laced her fingers through his soaked hair because she couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or hold on for dear life, so she decided on both.
“I hurt you,” she panted. “I messed this up. Freaked out and ran. Made you chase me, and then made you feel like you couldn’t.”
He stood, abandoning her aching peak to glare down at her with raw need. “You don’t get to apologize while doing this to me,” he said hoarsely, eyes dark with need.
“Too bad,” she growled the words, staring right back at him. “I’m multitasking.” Apologizing and wrecking him at the same time felt very on brand.
His laugh was rough as his grip tightened on her hips, and she took that as her cue.
She gave a little jump, legs lifting to clamp around his waist. Nate groaned like a man already on the edge and pressed her into the door with a slow, determined grind.
It hit her exactly where she wanted him, dragging a feral moan out of her that made his eyes roll back.
“Christ, Holly…”
“I was scared,” she blurted, words tumbling out before he could roll his hips into her again and break her resolve. “And stubborn, and convinced I had to do everything alone… and you just kept showing up anyway.”
He stilled for half a second at that, breath shuddering. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good,” she whispered, keeping her heart open in a way that absolutely terrified her. “Because I’m staying.”
Nate was breathing like he’d just run a marathon, chest heaving before her words made him growl, a low warning in the back of his throat. “You can’t say things like that while I’m trying not to lose my mind,” he murmured against her throat.
“I want you to lose your mind,” she threw back, one hand gripping the back of his neck as the other dipped to work open his pants like a woman possessed. “I want you to stop being careful with me.”
His voice was a gruff warning as he met her gaze. “Holly.”
“I don’t need careful.” She dragged his mouth back to hers. “I need you.”
It was a confession, a demand and a prayer all at once, and she watched as it snapped the last of his restraint clean in half.
He pushed her into the door again, driving into her with his shoulders to pin her and leave space for his hand to meet hers by his fly.
Their fingers worked together until his pants were shoved down his hips, the waistband of his boxers pulled down so the thick, heavy length of him sprung free.
“Fuck, Nate. You’re unreal,” she sighed, taking in the sight of him like she’d almost forgotten just how devastating his cock was. She wrapped her hand around his base with enough pressure to be authoritative, and his head tipped back with a groan as she gave him one long, slow pump.
He groaned and kissed her again, rougher this time, hands gripping her hips hard enough to pull a breath out of her. This time when he angled his hips into her, he acted like he needed to feel her everywhere at once to make up for every night he hadn’t been allowed to.
The hand she had on him reached between her legs to fist around the gusset of her shorts and panties and pull both to the side, the sensation of skin on skin making her messy and desperate and reverent in the way only someone who almost lost something knew how to be.