His gaze darts to my exposed thighs. My chest. My eyes. “You can’t tell?”
“You’re hard to read.”
“True.”
“And I’m a little…” Something. “I do like it. When you’re happy. It’s not like other people. It fills me in a different way.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s weird, talking to you like this.”
“Like how?”
“You’re being sincere.”
“I’m always sincere.” He tries to hold his poker face, but it cracks immediately. “All that bullshit is the real Holden.”
“You, uh… you were right.”
“About?” He holds up the birthday chocolate. Are you ready?
I’m not. But I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. I nod yeah. “The drinks.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a much easier way to drop inhibitions.”
“Too easy sometimes.”
“Yeah.” My laugh is awkward. “I, uh…”
The lighter flickers on. He holds it to the candle. Lights it. Brings it toward me. “Make a wish.”
I close my eyes. Hold tightly to my usual wish. Then I let that dissolve into something more urgent.
I blow.
Open my eyes.
He’s staring at me, those gorgeous green eyes filled with curiosity and concern.
It’s not like him. Or maybe it is like him. Maybe I just don’t know him.
Sure, Holden and I have been friendly for a long time. He’s always been around. In Oliver’s life. He’s always looked out for me, more or less.
But we’ve only been talking for the last few months.
And he… well, he’s right. He’s not usually sincere. He’s not usually letting anyone in.
“You make a wish?” he asks.
I nod yeah. “I can’t tell you. Or it won’t come true.”
“You believe that?”
“A little.”
He breaks off a piece of chocolate. Brings it to his lips. Takes a tiny bite. “No wax.” He offers the rest to me.
My fingers brush his as I take it. Mmm, it is good. Rich and sweet. Then the faint taste of gas. Ick. I cough. Reach for the bottle.
He grabs it. Uncaps it. Shoots me this are you sure? look.
I nod of course.
Holden takes a swig. Passes the bottle to me. “Fuck, that’s strong.”
I wrap my fingers around the glass. Bring it to my lips. I can take a drink without making a fool of myself. I’ve drank and eaten way more disgusting things than alcohol.
So many, honestly.
Eyes closed.
I tip my head back. Then the bottle.
Fuck. The taste of alcohol overwhelms me. It burns my throat as I swallow. I vaguely recognize the rich, spicy flavor of the Manhattan. But only vaguely.
Holden laughs as I cough. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re adorable?”
“Too many people.”
“You are.” He takes the bottle. Sets it on the table. “Fuck, Daisy, you have no idea what you do to me.”
“What do I do?”
He shakes his head not going there.
But I need him to go there. I need this tonight. I need him tonight.
His eyes travel down my body.
My gaze follows his. God, there’s something about watching him look at me. It should make me shy or insecure.
But it doesn’t.
It sets me on fire.
I really do feel like some sort of sex goddess. Like I’m beautiful, like I’m desirable, like I’m enough.
“I… Uh…” My fingers brush his jeans. “I, uh… want to…”
“Yeah?” His breath is heady.
Kiss you. Touch you. Fuck you.
Anything.
Everything.
I want to taste the chocolate on your lips. And on that condom. Will you show me how to do it?
Will you ease into me? Make sure I enjoy it?
Please, Holden. Please kiss me, touch me, fuck me.
“Swim,” I say. “You had a good idea before.”
“I did?”
I nod yeah. “Skinny dipping.”
His pupils dilate.
I muster all the confidence I can. “You want to join me?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Holden
Yes.
Fuck yes.
Take your dress off. And your underwear.
Then come here and sit in my lap.
I’m going to make you come until you can’t stop. You think we can get to eighteen orgasms?
I’ve never managed before, but I’m game to try.
I swallow hard. Reach for some semblance of judgment. That voice in my head that tells me not to do stupid things.
It’s there. Somewhere. But it’s too fuzzy. Too quiet. Too overwhelmed by bourbon and ginger beer.
And beautiful baby blues.
Fuck, the vulnerability in Daisy’s eyes. Like she’ll die if I say no. Like she’ll die if I don’t fuck her now.
Or maybe I’m the one who will die.
Is it possible to die of blue balls? At the moment, it feels like it. Like I’m going to burst if I don’t carry her to my bed.
“Is that your birthday wish?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Just something I’m doing.” Her fingers brush my thigh. “You don’t want to?”
Fuck yes, I want to. I want to strip her naked, lay her on this lounge chair, lick her until she begs me to stop.
It’s stronger than usual.
I’m a generous fuck. I enjoy making women come. Enjoy the feeling of thighs against my cheeks. The way a woman—
Shit.
Not helping.
Not even a little.
Her eyes travel up my thighs. Stop on my hard-on.
Her chest heaves. Her tongue slides over her lips. She stares like she’s about to drop to her knees, pull out my cock, demand to see if that condom really tastes like chocolate.