I move closer to him, needing contact. ‘What about?’ I lift my own fingers to his cheek, tracing the bruise, wincing at the colour there.
He catches my hand, his eyes clashing with mine. ‘Life. My choices. His choices.’
It’s a suitably vague response. I ignore it. ‘You’ve done something he doesn’t agree with?’
His lips shift into a grimace. ‘You could say that.’
‘What...’
‘Just leave it, Cora. It’s a family thing.’
My heart stings. A family thing. The words shouldn’t have such an impact but they do. I feel as though he’s pushed a line between us, reminding me of my place in his life.
As if to underscore that, a second later he leans closer, his lips crushing to mine. ‘Come upstairs with me.’
I want to tell him to go to hell, I want to demand he stays right where he is and tells me everything I want to know, but in the midst of that I want to kiss him and hold him, to be held by him and kissed by him, to feel the passion that’s capable of sweeping any pain from my mind and heart.
He takes my hand, pulling me to standing, and for a second he simply stares at me as though he’s unable to stop. He stares at my eyes and my heart quickens, my insides melt, and then he’s pulling me behind him, his hand holding mine, his step long so I have to walk quickly to keep up.
Security guards stand at a roped-off section. They unclip one of the thick burgundy ropes as we approach. We walk through as another guard presses a button for the elevator. The doors open after only a minute and we move inside. As soon as the doors are shut Holden’s kissing me, one hand lifting to curve around my throat, his thumb brushing the base of my jaw as though he can’t help himself, his tongue probing my mouth, his big, strong body pushing me against the wall, pinning me there so I can’t move, can barely breathe, and definitely can’t think straight.
His kiss is everything I need—reassurance, promise, hope, everything. I surrender to it even as my brain is screaming at me that he’s too big, too much, that I’ve become too consumed by him. I kiss him back though, trying to lift up against the wall of the elevator, trying to get him closer to me. His head presses to mine, his kiss intense, and then he swears, cocking his head towards the control panel to see how many floors there are to go. Not many and the elevator moves quickly but his urgency sears me. As soon as the doors ping open he’s lifting me, carrying
me and kissing me through the penthouse. We barely make it to the bedroom. His hands push at my clothes, ripping my shirt as he fumbles it from my body. He utters a guttural oath as he strips himself naked with the same imperative, barely pausing to sheathe himself before lifting me, wrapping my legs around his back and driving into me, making me cry out with pleasure and surprise, with blatant need.
He steps sideways, pushing my back to a wall so I’m supported by it and him, and then he thrusts into me, desperate, hungry, insatiable, mine.
Mine.
The word echoes through me with every shift of his hard cock. Pleasure radiates inside my blood. I’m not conscious of anything except the beauty of this feeling. I run my hands through his hair, kissing him, all of me all of his. His hands roam my body, his hands rough on my breasts, his touch perfect.
He swears, moves his mouth to the side of my throat and buries his lips there, kissing me then nipping his teeth over my flesh, and I groan, pleasure threatening to consume me. My orgasm is so close I can feel every inch of it. I dig my nails into his shoulders and hold on and then I’m screaming his name at the top of my voice, completely overpowered by the way he makes me feel.
He holds me as I explode, his body my comfort. He stands where he is, his breathing ragged, as though he’s trying to keep a grip on his own feelings, his own desire rampant and almost impossible to control, and then he carries me to the bed, sitting on the edge of it, positioning me on his lap. His head is the same height as my breasts; he leans forward, drawing a nipple between his teeth as he begins to move again, each thrust of his hips driving him deep inside me, his cock so perfect for me that I wonder how I ever doubted he’d fit. It’s as though we’re designed for this, him and me.
I tilt my head back, arching my breasts forward, so while his mouth tortures one nipple his hand plays with the other. A thousand butterflies explode through me. I grind my hips down, wanting so much more of this, knowing I’ll never grow tired of how he makes me feel, knowing I need this and him, and that life without Holden in it will leave me, in an irredeemable way, empty.
The thought is unwelcome. I ignore it. Tomorrow will come and another tomorrow beyond that, and eventually a day will come that is devoid of Holden, and any prospect of seeing Holden. But it’s not today. It’s not tomorrow. There’s still time, and I intend to utilise it—and him—for as long as I can.
He cries my name out against my breasts. I roll my hips and he swears, and the power I hold thrills through me.
His weakness for me is abundantly clear. I revel in that knowledge, and I revel in this—him—us, even as fear is like a drumbeat pursuing me mercilessly.
I catch his face with my hands, lifting it, and as I feel his control being obliterated I kiss him, my mouth dominating his for a change, my kiss driving us inexorably to a mutual release. He groans my name into my mouth now, breathing the word deep inside of me, and I swallow it, holding it there, not realising that the combination of two syllables are beating a tireless march towards my heart.
* * *
It’s dark outside. We lie together in silence for so long I wonder if he’s fallen asleep. I stare at the ceiling and I contemplate getting up, grabbing my things and going home.
Escaping.
Hours after meeting him in the bar, I am spent, and I’m exhausted and now, with passion satiated, I’m scared.
Yes. I’m scared.
Because I’ve found myself in exactly the kind of position I wanted to avoid. I don’t have a good track record with relationships. In fact, I’ve come to accept that I have terrible taste in men. That’s why this—with Holden—was going to be so perfect! Because it was casual and easy—sex so unbelievably hot it didn’t leave room for anything so banal as feelings and emotions.
This isn’t the time for me to be getting involved with anyone. For once in my life I’m going to do what I need to make my dreams come true, and a broken heart isn’t part of that.