The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood 1)

I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but the last thing I want to do is open that door. Look into his pale eyes and see the same desire in them I saw back at the club. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not strong enough. I know that for a fact now. I’m battling too much, too soon, and I’ll sleep in the damn tub if I have to.

The knock comes again. “Look. You’re scaring me.” A beat. “I’ll bust down this door if I have to.”

I have no doubt that he will. Filling my lungs, I suck in a steadying breath, and yank the door open. “I’m fine. I’m a girl, ya know. We need more maintenance.” I hike my eyebrows, hoping my joke and forced, cool demeanor throws him.

It doesn’t. He’s braced against the doorway, his hands gripping each side of the doorframe, like it’s all that’s holding him back. Stopping him from getting to me.

As his gaze drifts down my body, lingeringly, I realize I hadn’t yet put on my sleeping bottoms. Holden’s biceps flex as he strains against the doorway. He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on one of the studs. A shudder wracks my body.

Please, go away. Now. “I’m fine.” My voice is small, shaky. And not convincing in the least. But I just need him to give me five minutes to pull myself together. If he keeps looking at me like that, my legs are going to buckle. And if he touches me . . .

He blows out a heavy breath and pushes away from the doorway. I can see the physical and mental fight it takes for him to do that one action. With a backward step, he says, “All right. Goodnight, Sam.” And then he turns and leaves. The audible click of him turning off the table light and then the darkening of the room sends my nerves back on high.

I still need time, so I gr

ab the toothpaste, and with a breathy curse, realize I didn’t bring my toothbrush in with me. I turn on the faucet. Wetting my finger, then squirting a line of toothpaste onto it, I decide it will have to do.

When I’ve talked myself down enough, and know that Tyler isn’t going to make an appearance, I turn off the light and the vent, and then walk out. The white-blue flicker of the TV illuminates my quick path to the bed. I keep my gaze on the carpeted floor. Then I crawl under the covers. They’re cool and crisp, dousing some of the heat still clinging to my skin.

And with a groan, I realize that I still forgot to put on my bottoms. Hell. What is wrong with my brain? The answer comes with Holden’s hurried movements, adjusting his position in the bed next to mine. Just the sound of him rearranging his pillows and rustling his covers sends my nerves careening against my arteries.

I force my eyes closed. Will myself to fall asleep. My traitorous hormones have no control over me. Holden is an asshole. He’s my boyfriend’s brother. He broke my heart—but his words at the oak begin to pulse through me, hitting me hard. What if I was wrong about him?

With his past, I can’t imagine how messed up he must have been during that time. I don’t know anything, really, about the man lying in the bed next to me. And suddenly, I want to.

My mental assault breaks off as I hear Holden’s deep exhale. “Are you still not wearing pants?”

Shit. And what’s my excuse? “No. It’s pretty stuffy in he—” No time to finish that sentence as Holden bounds from his bed and stands over me, the evidence of his torture apparent in his boxers.

He rips the covers back, and I yelp. “What are you—?” But obviously words mean nothing to him. His eyes are blazing blue, even in the dim light, and he forcefully moves between my legs to hover above me.

“Holden,” I say, trying like hell to put conviction in my tone. “We can’t. You know this is wrong . . . on like . . . so many levels.”

He nods. “I know. And I’m going to answer for every one of my sins. But right now, I don’t give a fuck.” He grasps my ankles and pulls, flattening my back against the bed. My tee rides up, exposing my black boy shorts and stomach.

My skin tingles as Holden slowly raises my leg, resting my ankle on his shoulder. He’s kneeling, using his other hand to angle himself above me. His eyes only release me when he turns his head to press a soft kiss to my calf.

My breath catches in my throat.

His hand skims my leg, his mouth trailing its path, the cool metal of his lip ring sending so many, too many shivers dancing across my skin.

I’ve never felt so helpless, so immobile, and so hopeful that he doesn’t stop—if I don’t move, if I let him continue, can I pretend I’m not a willing participant? No. I can’t lie to myself. If I’m going to stop this, I have to now. Because as his mouth moves to my thigh, and his tongue just grazes my skin, I know I won’t be able to soon.

“Holden—”

“Say anything but stop,” he says, low, his voice husky with need.

I swallow. “Please,” I get out.

“Oh, I’m going to please you. You can bet your sweet ass.” And he sinks his teeth into the flesh just below my center, eliciting a soft moan from my throat.

Against my will, my hands go to his hair and my fingers curl. His groan rumbles through me as he tugs my underwear down. My eyes open.

“Stop.” It comes out soft and desperate, but it’s enough.

He looks up at me from between my thighs. Leaning on his elbows, he grasps my hips with both hands. “You don’t have to do anything, Sam. Just let me make you come. That’s enough for me.” His eyes seek approval, and they reach right into my soul. His words and heated breath against my skin making this the most difficult thing. Ever.

When I don’t deny him, Holden kisses the soft, sensitive skin along my pelvic area, right above my slit, and I gasp. The ache blooms, building into a pulsing pain. As his tongue flicks my skin, and his lip ring grazes me, the ache deepens. All I want is for him to enter me. Make the ache stop.