Chapter 7
Seven
“Idon’t hate you, Holden.”
Holden tips my chin upward, pulling me to the balls of my feet.
“Fuck. We shouldn’t do this.” His voice is gruff, but his fingers are gentle as they trail behind my ear and tangle in my hair. He’s holding me loose enough I can walk away, but tight enough to keep me steady.
Our kiss is soft and delicate at first, his breath providing more pressure than his lips. It’s hesitant. Held back. And I press my hips into him, blanketing myself in the weight and warmth of his arms, giving in to the thing we’ll never be able to take back.
One of his hands feathers down my spine, pulling my back into a pleasured arch. I fist his shirt, rocking my hips into his to feel the hard length of him against my core. I want him closer. Deeper. I want as much as I can get before either of us is stricken by our consciences.
Holden Kearney is kissing me. He’s kissing me, and I’m still in the middle of letting that fact sink in when he pulls away. A bereft, unintentional whimper falls from my lips.
He smirks before kissing me again. This time with heat and demand, and with the intent to work through the overcharged tension that’s been between us.
He breathes life back into my desolate body.
Our kiss goes on and on, for forever and for not enough time.
My lips feel raw from his short stubble, and my fingers have gone numb around the bunched cotton T-shirt held tight in my grasp.
“This is wrong,” he murmurs.
Kiss.
“We should stop,” I agree, breathing deep and savoring his smell, his taste, his feel.
Kiss.
“What about Logan?” Holden asks, and a tiny flicker of fear passes through his stormy, wanton eyes. “He’s my—” He kisses me again before he can think better of it. “And he’s your—” Kiss.
“And I’m not supposed to like you.” My head tips back, yielding to his mouth as it drags down the column of my throat.
“But I’m irresistible.” The vibration of his words rumbles against my skin.
“Insufferable is the word you’re”—I inhale sharply at the feel of his teeth pinching my skin—“looking for.”
My fingers rake over his scalp, catching in the soft, loose curls. His hair is even better to play with than I imagined.
“I don’t want to stop.” I whisper my admission.
“Me neither.”
“But we should.”
He sighs. “Yeah.”
After one final slow kiss, I rock back on my heels, but the burning only continues, grows. Kissing him is the closest I’ve ever come to understanding fairytales. I’ve been woken from a deep slumber, I’m transformed, I’m brought back to life.
“Fuck,” he says, scrubbing his hand up over his face. When his hand falls, the shift in his demeanor is immediate. It’s as if a door slammed shut somewhere behind his eyes.
“Now what?” I ask quietly.
“Now nothing. You’re Logan’s girlfriend.” He slaps the title on me like shackles. “I can't do this—whatever this is—behind my brother’s back. So let’s not make things weird.”
A bitter laugh crawls up my throat. “A little late for that.”
“Go to bed, Sunday. This was a mistake.” His eyes squeeze shut, and he gives his head a small shake. “I know you love to talk through everything, but I don’t want to hear it right now.”
My shoulders sag, the heat of embarrassment prickling across my chest and up my neck. “Go to hell.”
“Already there.” For a split second, the mask slips, and I catch a glimpse of the want underneath. There’s frustration, and maybe even a little bit of regret, too.
I stare at him, trying to reconcile the man who just kissed me like he’s been dying for the opportunity with the one now leaning against the counter, looking at me like I’m a play thing he’s already grown tired of.
Later that night, Logan crawls onto the narrow sofa bed beside me, and I pretend to be asleep. I’m rife with the apathy I was so desperate for—the beachy, floral scent lingering on his skin doesn’t even faze me. But I don’t feel the relief I thought I would.
The next morning I woke to the raucous sound of my alarm and the overpowering aroma of coffee, and the first thing I did was look for Holden.
I needed confirmation that things could be normal again.
We’d hurl snarky comments back and forth, he’d ask what I was reading only to side-eye the naked man on the cover, we’d drink coffee in comfortable silence, then go our separate ways.
Except Holden was long gone. And he stayed gone for the entire day, magically materializing for his team roping run with Logan, then disappearing immediately after.
Logan smirked at his brother’s scarcity, making a comment that Holden must’ve found a buckle bunny to spend time with.
And though I knew that wasn’t true, the idea of it hurt more than watching Logan traipse off into the dark rodeo grounds for another “poker night with the boys.”
I haven’t slept with Logan in well over a month, and I haven’t dared masturbate in the two weeks I’ve been travelling with them because neither brother has ever heard of knocking before entering.
And honestly, I would have been fine going all summer without an orgasm, until I experienced Holden’s solid body pressed against mine.
Now it’s all I can do not to spend every waking moment imagining what that solid weight might feel like bearing down on me, anchoring my pelvis to the mattress.
When the water pressure coming out of the detachable shower head is too abysmal to get anything done, and my too-smooth, too-feminine hands aren’t quite cutting it for this fantasy, I curse out loud and head for my duffle bag.
Logan won’t be back for hours, I doubt Holden will either—he’s probably going to sleep in the truck just to avoid me—and I know my magic wand will do the trick.
The Emasculator, as Logan calls it. He’d hate to know I even brought it, which makes sliding it out of the velvet bag that much more satisfying.
I prop myself on pillows, fanning my damp hair out across them, and settle in with the image of Holden kissing me on replay in my mind. In my version, instead of pulling away, he makes good on those salacious glances he gives when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
Palming the vibrator, I pretend it’s the smooth head of his cock trailing down my stomach, teasing the touch-starved apex of my thighs. I don’t even try to picture someone else. It’s my fantasy, and I refuse to judge myself for it.
My thumb locates the raised power button, and a gentle buzzing fills the air.
With a sated sigh, I slip the vibrating end through my wetness and up to my clit.
A hoarse moan claws its way out of me, and I frantically pull the vibrator away—the sensation so intense from the subtle edging I’ve given myself all day, I’m sure I’ll come in half a second if I don’t let up.
And I want to savor this for as long as I can.
Panting, I wait for the sparks and heat in my thighs to dissipate before immersing myself in the daydream again. Holden’s frenzied kiss, the drag of his lip down my neck. Shit, I wish it was his tongue on my clit right now.
“Fuck,” I grit out, clutching one of the pillows in my free hand and stuffing it into my gaping mouth.
I hear the groan of the front steps and the creak of the door, but I’m floating too high above my own body to react in time. Panicked, I throw the vibrator and grab the nearest blanket to cover myself.
It’s too late.
Holden’s already there, staring at me.
My important bits are covered, more or less, but he saw enough. And if by some miracle he didn’t, the mysterious buzzing noise filling the tiny trailer and my flushed, shell-shocked look of humiliation surely give me away.
Holden shoves his hands in his pockets and swallows hard, dragging his gaze over me.
“Oh, hi,” I squeak through a forced smile. “I… uh…”
“Long drive tomorrow. Thought I’d get to bed early.” He’s still staring at me. I wish he wouldn’t. Either climb onto the bed and take care of the ache you put between my legs, or leave so I can.
“I’ll give you a minute to get yourself together.” With a loud exhale, he turns and steps back outside.
The second he’s gone, I’m tearing apart the mess of tangled blankets to find the fucking vibrator, then I switch it off and shove it back into the bag. This is what I get for imagining my boyfriend’s brother while I masturbate—a serious case of the lady equivalent of blue balls.
The embarrassment burning in my veins makes me too hot for proper pajamas, so I opt for nothing but an oversized T-shirt. I turn off the light and slide into bed, then pull out my phone and start looking up bus fares. I’m done. I need to get the hell out of here. Maybe even tonight.
Holden
Are you decent?
When Logan insisted Holden and I swap numbers in case of emergency, I don’t think this is what he had in mind.
Sunday
Yeah. Sorry for that.
Holden
You could’ve locked the door, you know?
Naturally, he uses this as a moment to remind me that I’m an idiot.
I gulp and pull the covers over my head at the sound of Holden opening the front door. Without a word, he walks softly through the dark trailer and into the bathroom. A few seconds later, I hear water running, and shortly after that, he’s slipping back into the shared space. I don’t move a muscle.
The sofa bed squeaks and blankets rustle.
He punches the pillow in the way he always does to fluff it up for sleep, then everything goes still.
Outside, partygoers are hooting and hollering, with music cranked to an obscene level.
Inside, it’s pitch black and the only sound is the almost-silent whir of the fridge.
Holden
I’m glad you didn’t
My breath catches in my throat. Surely he couldn’t mean—
Holden
It was so fucking hot
Crossing my legs to quell the desire that’s once again building, I go for it.
Sunday
I was thinking about you
I swear I hear something resembling a groan from the other side of the room.
Holden
We can’t do this
Sunday
I’m all alone in my bed
We aren’t doing anything
His text bubble appears, then disappears, over and over for a solid minute. I’m sure I’ve finally pushed it too far. He’s probably sending me the bus itinerary as we speak.
Between my embarrassment and sexual frustration and ragged breathing, the blanket fort is quickly becoming a sweat box. I poke my head out for a long inhale of fresh air and peer past my toes to where Holden’s cell phone is casting a blue-grey glow on the wall.
Holden
Finish yourself off, angel. Pretend it’s me
I’m so hard picturing it
Fuck, I bet it’s so soft and wet
My heart races. I can’t do that. Not with him here. Can I?
I read the messages over again. Then, careful not to shift the blankets around and make too much noise, I reach between my legs.
My own hand is rarely enough to make me come, but I’m not about to tell him that and ruin whatever it is we—sorry…
I am doing while my boyfriend’s brother is in the same room.
My fingertips sweep through my folds, collecting the pooling wetness to spread over my clit as lube. The circles start slow, and I concentrate on my breathing to keep from sobbing with relief.
Holden
Tell me how wet you are
Sunday
Soaked
Holden
Taste it for me
I bite my lip to fend off a moan and bring my right hand to my mouth. My tongue curls around my sticky middle finger, and I purposely create enough suction for a popping sound when I pull away. Loud enough, I know he hears. Holden’s heavy breath stutters, and his blankets rustle for a moment.
I imagine him fisting his cock, and that only makes me wetter. With a sharp inhale, I stroke the pads of two fingers over my clit and clutch my phone in my left hand, waiting for his next text.
Holden
I want to throw those thick thighs over my shoulders and lick every inch of your sweet pussy. Fuck that tight hole with my tongue then slide my fingers inside while I lick your clit until you’re begging for my cock
Oh, so we’re really doing this.
Sunday
Oh god, I want your cock so bad
Holden
What would you do with it?
I swallow. What would I do with it? Great question.
Sunday
I’ll suck it first, get it nice and wet
Rub the tip over my clit until I cum
Holden
Then I’ll fill you so fucking full with it
You’ll take it
Sunday
Your cock feels so good stretching me
Holden
Your pussy was made for me
Oh my fucking God. I’m done for. Right on the edge.
So close to shattering, I want to scream.
My fingers frantically move over my clit until my sweat-slicked back is peeling off the sheets and I’m squirming and whimpering into the pillow.
The blankets snarl around my ankles, and I murmur a string of expletives into the humid air.
Holden
Give it to me, angel. Come all over my cock
Fuck I need it
Tossing my phone down, I press two fingers of my left hand inside my pussy.
In and out, picturing being ruined by his cock.
I can hear him jacking off, skin on skin, our hands moving in sync.
That pushes me to the edge. The final piece for my fantasy of him buried deep inside me, the slap of skin and the look in his eyes as he falls apart.
“Holden. Please,” I whine, begging for release.
Pleasure rushes over me, more intense than I’ve ever had alone, and I’m a writhing, spasming mess on top of the bed. My feet brush over the sheets, cramping and flexing. My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip, and I don’t stop coming until something primal inside me tears my hands away from my pussy.
A guttural moan barrels from Holden, carrying my name with it. “Holy fuck—Sunday.”
Curling into a ball, I fight to catch my breath.
My hair’s stuck to my neck and face, and I paw at it with an exasperated grunt.
Aftershocks carry through my arms and legs, and I stroke a hand across the sheets, grimacing at the mess I made.
Holden’s bed creaks, and he blows out a long, ragged exhale.
Holden
I’m sorry. That was too much
Sunday
It wasn’t anything, remember?
The small space smells exactly how I imagine it would smell if we’d had sex, though.
So while I’m in the bathroom cleaning myself up, Holden opens all the windows and sprays a few blasts of his cologne, for good measure.
Then he slips into the tiny bathroom while I sort out my messed-up bedding and tuck myself in, shivering against the damp outside chill and the uncomfortable wet spot I’m lying in.
We don’t talk. I fall asleep to the sounds of his soft snores and the smell of him lingering in the air.