Chapter 15 #2
His bestial hand wraps around me and stops on the small of my back, hovering above my waist, like he’s trying to decide if he should pull me closer or push me away.
“How to clear our heads,” I whisper.
I’m desperate, okay?
If I have to sit and watch him cook up a whole-ass meal while he’s dressed like sin, I will self-combust.
He doesn’t answer. His body warms me as it presses against mine.
“Damn you. We can’t keep doing this shit and you know it,” he rasps, but he doesn’t push me away.
I know, I know.
But I also know stopping isn’t in the cards, so where’s the harm of facing it head-on, getting it out of our system?
Eyes burning, he brings both hands to my hips. When his fingers squeeze my skin, I almost moan.
I lean in closer, my hips locked in those big, eager hands.
I feel less guilty now.
I’m definitely not the only one who’s starved for attention.
We’re alone in this room, in this house, in this torture, and all this sexual energy has to go somewhere. It’s like a law of physics.
His eyes flare, a desert night teeming with secrets. He’s gazing into me, too, and I know what he sees.
Total desperation.
“Stop fighting it and kiss me,” I whisper.
After last time, I want him to initiate.
I want Holden to kiss me and tear the air from my lungs because he can’t stand to do anything less.
Because he feels the same animalistic call in his blood.
There’s a brutal, dark moment where I don’t think he’ll give in, control freak that he is. He’s older and wiser and why would he want the trouble?
I’m such an idiot.
He can wear that desire on his face without blowing up his life. He can touch me and walk away without turning into ash.
Then he releases a long, harsh breath and shoves me against him, gripping my ass as he brings his mouth down on mine, lips burning.
Finally!
Sweet heaven.
I kiss him back like mad, moaning, one hand tracing his neck, holding him against me. He overwhelms every sense as he opens his mouth and growls so hard it vibrates my bones.
His tongue claims my bottom lip until I welcome him in.
I suck him deeper into my mouth, needy as hell.
He groans.
He devours me.
Holden’s big, rough hands are everywhere. My hips, my waist, skimming up my sides until his thumbs brush my breasts.
Me, I’m just trying to hold on.
My nails rake through his short thick hair, grazing his scalp until he grunts. My other hand explores his shoulders, broad as the horizon holding up the sky.
This man is pure granite.
Miles of hard, carved rock and secret valleys.
Wild, wild country, certain to strand me in the wilderness, and baby, I’m ready.
Moaning, I dig my fingers into his skin.
More guttural approval in his throat. More breath and heat and desire against my lips, my throat, my collarbone.
Snarling, he yanks down my shirt, sucking hard, adding teeth.
“You asked for this, Nile. Don’t cry when I mark you.”
I’m so effing gone.
But at least we’re going down together, spinning off into senseless lust where it becomes elemental.
The fire of our skin.
The waterfall roar of our breath.
The slow, sweet ignition deep inside me, hotter than a wildfire and just as unpredictable.
He picks me up effortlessly, turns me around, and slams me against the counter.
Something rolls off it and crashes to the floor, but we’re both past caring.
My legs lock around his hips, pulling him closer, closer.
His cock’s weight moves against me, and thank God for those evil sweatpants, because I can feel the way he throbs when I fist his t-shirt in my greedy shaking fingers.
No one’s ever done this.
No one’s ever made me this ravenous while we’re still fully clothed.
He draws my bottom lip into his mouth and sucks.
Pure pleasure spikes, spirals, sinking into my core.
I grind against him like the helpless thing I am, loving how he groans.
“Clee,” he rumbles.
And he breaks away, both hands framing my face now, thumbs stroking my cheeks as he holds me in place.
His searing breath scorches my face like a delicate flower being burned. I tighten my legs around him, just in case he’s having second thoughts.
Even in the dim light, I see the hunger in his eyes, a desert night alive and restless with so much color.
“Don’t stop.” I lick his lips, messy and wet.
“We should—”
“Fuck you,” I throw back.
He chuckles. He actually laughs, and it must be funny when he’s reduced me to his toy and we both know it.
“Asshat,” I hiss. “If you were serious, I’d scream right in your ear.”
“Go ahead. I plan to make you scream, little girl.” When he looks at me now, his eyes are very, very dark.
Holy shit.
If any part of me wasn’t liquid before, it instantly melts. My pussy throbs with my pulse, racing to my ears, hollowing me out.
“You’re so arrogant, but you come by it honestly. I want that big cock,” I whisper, reaching between his legs, loving how he bares his teeth when I squeeze him.
Girthy doesn’t begin to describe it.
This man is part tree.
And he makes another feral sound—something deeply animal resonating from his soul.
“You want honest? Start by making me come with that mouth.”
I gasp with delight.
I’m still pretending to be Miss Confidence, but he has me all kinds of screwed up.
The darkness in his smile before he kisses me again tells me there’s zero chance we’re stopping now.
One hand fists my hair, forcing my head back so he can stamp kisses down my throat.
My breath is torn.
His hips grind against me, and I let out a muffled moan.
“Don’t hold back,” he tells me.
So bossy. I don’t even care how predictable it is.
I arch my back into him, offering him my breasts, and he takes the invitation, closing his mouth around one through the cotton of my shirt.
“Oh!” I gasp.
“These tits,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about them for days.”
I’m not exactly busty, but he cups my other breast like it was made for him.
It’s insanely erotic, watching his large hand eclipse me and squeeze.
The wet material of my t-shirt shifts against my damp nipple as he moves his mouth. He sucks my other nipple, and I tingle until I’m shivering.
I just hold him against me then, rolling my hips until he snarls and curses.
“Holden, fuck me right here. Now,” I whisper.
“The kitchen?” He lifts his head and glances at the window looking down at the distant road. If anyone was out for a walk and looked up, they’d see us.
My blood heats at the thought.
But maybe he’s right and we shouldn’t.
There are other worries. Safety concerns I haven’t let myself dwell on.
Everyone here is a stranger to me, but they’re his community. Neighbors. People who know him and Kit.
Do I demand he close the blinds or—
“Bedroom,” he says, lifting me up and carrying me to the stairs.
Again, I marvel at the raw force in his arms, the way he carries me like I’m weightless. He could throw me around without breaking a sweat.
I wrap my arms around him tighter, kissing the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck.
When I bite his shoulder, he grunts, trapping this low purr in his throat as I lick away the sweetest sting a second later.
I glide down his body slowly, until I grab the tip of his cock.
He pauses, turning so my back is against the wall.
We’re still in the hall. I wonder if we’ll even make it to his room.
Honestly, I’m way past caring.
Let him have me against the wall, the floor, wherever he pleases.
He can have me in hell itself just as long as he’s in me.
Shaking, it’s my turn to bite his lip. He drags his cock against me viciously, more punishment than tease.
And I’ll take it because I know I’ve been so bad.
“You’re making it hard to walk, Clee.”
“Your knee again?” I tease.
“Bullshit. You know why.” He slides a hand under my shirt and places his palm against my stomach. My every muscle tenses, and I suck in a harsh breath as his fingers slide toward the waistband of my jeans. “How fucking wet are you?”
My heart lurches.
Oh, everything would be so much easier if I didn’t have any feelings besides lust. Right now, I’ve got enough of that for both of us, but he makes me feel so shy.
From the heavy weight of his cock, I think he’s suffering just like I am.
I arch up toward his exploring fingers, opening my legs, offering up everything.
His eyes beam dark promises as he lifts me back up and fights us both down the hall.
A few more steps and I’m writhing in his arms, my lips frantic against his skin.
No one his age should have washboard abs, but they give me a wonderful surface.
The ridges.
The hardness.
The primal temptation, calling to my lips.
With a ragged breath, he swats my ass, guiding me as I grind against him.
I hope he understands. I need the friction, the release, and holy shit it’s been so long since any man touched me like this.
Only my entire life.
No art boy could ever compare to these rough, hot hands.
I’m kissing his neck again, licking his skin, sucking and teasing and etching everything quintessentially Holden Verity into my brain.
Salt. Spice. Cologne.
Always this scent that’s woodsy and earthy and unmistakable. Like he sneaks up to Acadia every week and forest bathes for hours.
And under it, that heady musk that makes him all man.
I’m still breathing him in when we enter a dark room and he flicks on the light, dropping me roughly on the bed.
The blinds are closed. I’m so ready to shed my jeans until he stops me.
“No. Let me.” He leans over, pressing a kiss to my lower belly, killing any protest.
Every freaking part of me is liquified.
“So bossy,” I tease.
“If I want it, yes, I am.” He pops the button and lifts me up, easing them off my legs. When he sees my panties, his eyes darken at the damp patch in the middle. “Fucking soaked. You have been since morning, haven’t you? Don’t lie to me, girl.”
I can’t. The cherry blossom flare in my cheeks gives me away.
“Touch me,” I whisper pathetically.
He doesn’t wait, and my panties go the way of my jeans.
Meanwhile, I fumble with my t-shirt until he knocks my hands away and yanks it off, so fast it leaves me dizzy.