Chapter 43 Brand Me
brAND ME
Set The Mood Prelude/Until The End Of Times by Justin Timberlake
Natalie
Holden has been at the shop all day with me. It all started with him supposedly keeping me company, but it ended with him helping to stock all the shelves and fix a few things on my now almost non-existent list.
Yesterday was one of those days when everything in my life seemed to have a good pace, even if it wasn’t the perfect day.
The girls lost last night. This one, they took hard; they were winning most of the game, but the last period was atrocious for them.
You win some, you lose some. Pizza after the game, I think, will be our new routine.
Vero spent the entire time talking to Holden.
That girl hates talking, so the fact that she wants to use words with him is incredible.
Her therapist says it’s so hard for her mouth to catch up with her brain; it makes her not want to use her energy speaking.
She’s intentional and picky about when and who she speaks to, but she chose him. That has to be good, right?
We went home after Bella invited Holden to watch a movie, except the movie ended up watching her.
She was exhausted, and I don’t blame her.
A full day at school, then the game. She seems happier, though, and I love how much she laughs when she’s around Holden.
It makes me feel like this could be a good thing for all of us.
“Let me help with that,” Holden says, placing a hand on my lower back and reaching up to the high shelf, putting the binder back.
It’s been a long day, but we got everything done, and now, I just want to go home, take a shower, and crash in bed.
Livie’s watching the girls today. She got her period this month, and she asked to spend time around the only things that are good in the world.
My girls love her, so I said yes, even though putting a Band-Aid over what’s happening won’t make her happy. I know it all too well.
His hands grab my hips, spinning me in place. “Oh, hello.” My hands rest on his chest as he lowers his lips to meet mine.
“Hello, Beauty.” His words caress my lips, as if they were a question I only know the answer to. The kiss starts softly, as it always does with us, as if my lips were as tender as petals and he was afraid to bruise them.
His expert tongue asks for entrance, and once my lips part, granting it access, it’s technicolor flashes behind my eyes. My hands hold his face, the stubble brushing against my fingertips, taking me back to our first night together, reminding me exactly how he felt between my legs.
Holden pulls me flush to him, groans, and soft moans fill the small storage closet. I bite his lower lip in the way that makes him groan. Just like clockwork, he does, the sound reverberating through me, awakening my body as if I was listening to my favorite song.
His erection presses against my thigh, and the realization that I want this man to fuck me right here is staggering. But I do. I want him, and I want him now. I roll my hips, letting my body do the talking, and when he realizes what I want, he stops kissing me, searching my eyes for confirmation.
“What do you want, Natalie? Hm?”
“You know what I want,” I say, my voice breathy and full of desire.
He shakes his head. “Use your words, Beauty.”
I drag my lower lip between my teeth as my chest heaves with desire, channeling my inner confidence so I can speak. I trust him with everything I have. I should trust him with my wants too.
“I want you to make me come.”
He smirks devilishly, and fire sparks within me at the sight of his lustful eyes, his searing hands resting on my hips. “Oh yeah? How?”
“Um, it doesn’t matter.”
He brings his mouth to my neck, kissing my collarbone, my shoulder, dragging my earlobe into his mouth before he whispers, “It does matter. I want to make you feel good in the ways you want me to.” He drags a finger across my other shoulder, to my chest and over my thin top, drawing a circle over my nipple. “Just tell me how.”
My nipples pebble in response, and I close my legs, seeking friction at the promise of him doing exactly what I want. “I want you to fuck me.”
There, I said it.
His jaw drops in surprise but quickly transforms into determination. “I don’t have a condom,” he mentions.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” I shrug.
“Nat.”
“I want you bare.” Dang, Natalie, who are you?
“Fuck,” he groans, pinching my nipple between his thumb and index finger.
I arch against his touch, seeking more of that pleasure-pain line so easily crossed—a line his expert touch knows I like to be on.
I move his other hand from my hip to my thigh, sliding it under my skirt until his fingertips touch the edge of my underwear.
He sucks in a breath, but I don’t dare drop his hand or his gaze.
I continue exploring my body with my hand over his, our chests rising and falling now in anticipation, but when I guide his finger under the edge of my underwear to that spot where I want nothing more than to be touched, we both moan.
“Is this all for me?” His fingers spread wetness all over my sex.
“Yes,” I whisper, urging him to continue.
Which he does.
He touches me with dexterity, as if my body was second nature to him and he could anticipate my wants and needs. Until all I want to do is climb him like a tree.
“Just fuck me. Please.” I roll my hips again, seeking more. More friction, more fingers, more I don’t even know. More.
He bites my jaw with those perfect teeth and kisses it with his expert lips. “But getting you worked up is so much fun,” he teases.
I tremble at those words and the press of two more fingers against the most intimate part of me. His hand lets go of my nipple, giving it some relief, instead tracing every curve he can find. “Your body is so sexy,” he whispers against my ear. “So desirable, beyond my wildest dreams.”
“Holden,” I say in a needy gasp, rolling my hips again. He snakes his giant hand to my back, grabbing my ass tight.
“I forgot to tell you the other day how perfect your ass is.” He finally slides those skillful fingers in.
“Yes.” The word is loud and desperate, and I’m so, so close. Every single push of his fingers, the words he speaks, the way he looks at me, with those brown, green, golden eyes blazing with fire inside—all of him with the single purpose of making me not only feel good, but come undone at his hands.
“Come on, Beauty. Come all over my fingers.”
“Oh.” His fingers slide in and out, pumping and curving, driving me to the brink. His other hand climbs up my back as I hold tight to the table behind me, balancing on my now-weak knees, careful not to collapse. Not that he would let me.
His hand gets a hold of my hair, tugging gently, testing if I want it, but a breathy moan leaves my lips, answering his silent question.
“Even your hair is perfect.” The contrast is astounding—he’s forming coherent thoughts as I’m unraveling, and oh my God, he’s going to make me come.
“You are what I was waiting for and a little more.”
“Holden!” I scream, not able to hold it in for longer.
His fingers don’t relent, my head tilted back as he tugs at my hair, my mouth wide open on a gasp.
Not even a scream leaves my lips, completely gone on the feel of him everywhere.
He lets go, searching for my lips with his, swallowing my gasps with his mouth.
I let go of the table, my fingertips almost numb, welcoming circulation back to them after I just held on for dear life.
I find his belt, unbuckling it with ease and letting his pants fall to the floor.
He picks me up, not letting go of my mouth, frantically kissing me, finally losing control, and setting me on the table.
I swat at the clutter on the desk, trying to make room for us when he breaks the kiss with a smile, and with one slick motion, he knocks everything to the floor. “I’ll clean it up later.”
A giggle escapes me, followed by his as he glides me backwards.
His knuckles graze my thighs as he carefully slides my panties down my legs.
He peppers kisses up my calf, prying my legs open.
Each one draws a smile or a soft giggle that he mirrors, making me feel at ease in his hands.
At this moment, I realize I not only like him a lot, but I trust him with everything.
I can get lost in this moment and know he’ll take care of me.
I think I might be falling in love with Holden Clay.
“What is this little scar from?” he asks, kissing a small raised scar on the inside of my thigh, peering up at me. This man, between my legs, worshiping my body, will be my undoing.
“I went fishing once and got hooked there. It gave me that gnarly scar.”
He shakes his head, kissing the mark again, his stubble tickling me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Not gnarly. Beautiful.”
He continues, determined not to give me what I want, apparently, and taking his time paying attention to my body. He kisses and touches me so delicately and reverently. It makes me feel beautiful—powerful.
I open wider, giving him more space to continue his quest. “You don’t want to take your glasses off?” My question is breathy since his lips are still on me, on the juncture where my pelvis merges with my thigh.
“And risk missing a detail of your perfect body?” He looks up, clashing his lustful whiskey eyes with mine before looking back between my thighs, a wide smile taking over his face. “Or this perfect pussy?”
I gasp.
“You know what? Why don’t you show me, hm?
” He taps the back of my legs, and I open wider.
He shakes his head again, wrapping his long fingers around my ankles and propping them up on the table, making me gasp again.
I’m completely exposed to him, and where I once thought I would feel shame, it’s the opposite feeling that engulfs me now.
His eyes are hungry—hungrier than before—as he quietly looks at my most intimate part.