Harden My Hart

by Clare Connelly

Cora was different.

  Before I can second-guess the wisdom of this, I open my door and step out. ‘Stay here,’ I direct the driver under my breath, closing the door behind me and doing a cursory inspection for cars before I step across to her.

  Perhaps she sees me in her peripheral vision because she pauses, midway to a dark green door, and turns around.

  I see the moment she recognises me. Her eyes flare wider, her lips part and she lifts a hand to self-consciously brush her dark hair back from her face.

  There’s something different about her—something I instinctively recognise because it moves within me. A darkness. A sadness. I pause, a frown creasing my brow.

  ‘Holden?’

  She’s dressed for the weather. Jeans, a jacket and a brightly coloured scarf that picks up the pink tones of her cheeks.

  I close the distance between us, my body only an inch or so from hers—close enough that I imagine I can feel her warmth, close enough that I can taste her familiar scent on my tongue.

  ‘Hey.’ My voice is low, drawn from deep inside me. I briefly wonder what I’m doing—once is always enough. But I know myself, and I know that, despite that, I want Cora again.

  ‘You’re still here?’

  I lift a brow. ‘I just got here ten minutes ago.’

  She shakes her head so her chestnut hair lifts with the breeze. ‘I mean in Australia.’

  Oh, right. ‘Yeah.’

  She nods slowly, her brow knitting like that tells her pretty much nothing.

  ‘And you’re...here why?’

  As soon as she asks the question I realise I’m here partly because of her, and this. Because I needed to see her again. Sure, there are meetings I need to have, but I could have Skyped those. And I’ve seen Felicity now, ticked that box. There’s no reason for me to still be here in Australia—except one.

  Cora.

  ‘I’ve got some business at the casino.’ The words give away nothing of my realisation; they’re dutifully laid-back and noncommittal.

  Her smile is enigmatic and so familiar it’s like being punched in the gut. I have this sense that she’s laughing at me.

  ‘I mean here, where I’m staying.’

  I look towards the building, but I feel her eyes stay on my face as though she’s touching me. It’s a nice place. Old, probably late nineteenth century, possibly early twentieth, with distressed bricks, a little Juliet balcony and several pot plants boasting geraniums, lavender and a bonsai lemon.

  ‘Holden?’

  I angle my face towards her. Cora is the first woman I’ve ever wanted more than once. I don’t know what it is about her but I want to fuck her out of my system.

  ‘Why do you think?’

  Her pulse races. I see the flesh at the base of her throat tremble. Her eyes widen, her lips part. I take a step forward so our bodies are just an inch apart.

  ‘I—’ Her tongue traces the outline of her lower lip. I want to suck it into my mouth.

  ‘Have you been thinking about me?’

  Her eyes drop—all the answer I need. At least the fever is not mine alone.

  ‘I’ve been... You’re not...’

  Another step forwards. Now our bodies touch. I feel her soft, sweet breasts crush to my chest and stifle a groan. ‘Yes?’ The word is dragged from me, demanding and raw.

  ‘Yes.’ She lifts her face to mine, staring at me so I feel a sharp stab of relief. ‘I never do that—sleep with guys I barely know. Of course I’ve been thinking about you. Wondering why it happened.’

  My smile is a cynical twist of my lips. ‘And did you work it out?’ I lift my hands to her hips, holding her there for a second before letting them slide around her back, pushing them inside her jeans, curving around her arse and dragging her against my cock.

  ‘Holden!’ The word sounds aghast and laced with needs all at once. ‘People will see.’

  ‘And you don’t like public sex,’ I tease, remembering her saying that on the flight.

  ‘I...’ Her cheeks flush pink and I suspect she might be warming to the idea.

  ‘Then invite me in.’

  A soft groan escapes her mouth. I drop my head, catching it in my own, my lips colliding with hers, my tongue teasing her tongue, my hands staying right where they are, cupping the naked flesh of her butt, only I grind my hips forward, pressing my cock against her clit, clothing no encumbrance to showing her pleasure. She whimpers in my arms. I smile against her mouth but it’s a grim smile because, in the back of my mind, I told myself I wouldn’t use Cora like this. She’s different, and she deserves better than to act as a form of lobotomy.

  My cock disagrees.

  ‘Where are your keys?’

  Her hand comes between us, so close to my cock I pause for a second, wondering if she’s going to touch me right here on the street. But she’s feeling around for her keys. I hear them jangle between us. Relief shifts through me.

  I pull my hands out of her jeans only so we can move. There are a few steps—paved with black and white tiles—that lead to the front door. She jams the key in and turns it. The big timber door opens with a low creak. No sooner has she stepped inside than I move behind her, kicking the door shut in the same movement I reach for her, dragging her back to me.

  My kiss is now heavy, demanding, my body no longer held at bay by doubts about whether she’d be happy to see me or not. I need her—I need this—and I’m not going to think about that for a second longer.

  I push at her jacket, freeing it from her body. She drops a bag to the floor to let the sleeves fall—there’s a bottle of champagne inside.

  ‘Celebrating?’

  ‘Apparently.’ She grins, and light explodes in my chest because it shows she has no doubts about this, and I’m glad. This doesn’t need to be messy or complicated.

  I palm her breasts through the fabric of her shirt, marvelling at their softness and size, stepping forward, leading her through this apartment, not caring where we end up, just needing to get there fast. Her hands push at my pants, apparently the same urgency driving her. I step out of them as we walk, kicking my shoes off, and my socks, until I’m fully dressed up top and wearing only boxer briefs below.

  As we walk her hands slide into my pants, pulling my cock out and gripping me so hard I see stars for a second. It’s too much. With a gruff sound I kiss her hard enough to push her backwards, against the stairs. She sits on one and I bring my body over hers, knees pressing into the timber, my cock at her sex seeking fulfilment. I came prepared. I pull a condom from the pocket of my jacket, roll it over my dick at the same time I push properly out of my boxers. Her jeans and underwear take seconds to remove.

  She’s panting, her voice making small, staccato bursts into the hallway.

  ‘Ever fucked on the steps?’

  She laughs, an uneven sound that makes me realise how completely blindsided she is by this. She shakes her head, shifts her hips, inviting me to take her. ‘But there’s a first time for everything, right?’

  ‘Right.’ I don’t hesitate a moment more. I drive myself into her, deep and hard, swearing as her soft, wet core squeezes around my length. Stars are in my eyes once more. I thrust hard, then pull out, then take her again, my arm curving behind her head to save her from hitting it against the tread.

  Steps is new for me too but hell, I can get so deep like this, my body is perfectly positioned to feel every little part of her. I push up for a second, staring down at her, my breath thundering through my body.

  ‘Too many clothes.’ The words are angry, accusatory almost. I soften them with an attempt at a smile then push at her shirt. She sits up, just high enough for me to push the clothes from her body, her sex squeezing me harder at the small movement. Her bra. Damn it. I drag it downwards so her breasts fall from the lace cups, her generous, pale, soft breasts, and I fill my hands with them, shaking
my head at how goddamned gorgeous they are as I begin to push into her again, hard and demanding, needing to take over, needing to make her completely mine. Without my arm her head hits the steps and she laughs, wiggling forward a little, propping up on her elbows at the same time.

  It just makes her breasts look even better. I fantasise about all the ways we could use these stairs—her kneeling on them, me taking her from behind, her wrists strapped to the banister, me sitting, her on top of me. Fuck. I feel a little cum leak out but I’m not ready.

  I drop my mouth to her breasts, drawing a nipple between my teeth and rolling it hard, flicking the sensitive tip with my tongue until she’s almost screaming with pleasure. I drop a hand to her hip then run it around to her backside, separating the roundness there and finding her seam. I push my fingers against her, my cock so deep inside of her, my fingers tracing the rim of her anus, pushing her upwards, hard against me.

  She cries my name out again and again, thrashing her head from side to side, so I push a finger in a little, just a hint, enough to make her swear and buck her hips, her muscles tightening everywhere. I move my mouth to her other breast and next time I push my fingertip into her butt I bite down on her nipple in time with it so she explodes, her orgasm so hard and intense that she almost cuts off circulation in my dick.

  Her face when she comes is perfect. I stare at her, my breath tortured, my dick harder than I’ve ever known it.

  I want more. I want this, her, all of it, all of her. I need... I don’t know. I watch as her breathing slows and then, before euphoria seeps completely from her, I pull out, staring down at her with a feeling of resignation.

  ‘What are you—’

  I grip her hips, lifting her as I move to lie down on the steps. She straddles me, understanding, taking me inside of her with a soft moan, her eyes drifting shut as she processes this. I buck my hips but she presses a hand to my chest, stilling me.

  ‘My turn.’

  I watch as she begins to move, up and down, her body doing everything I need, slowly first, then fast, as her moans become louder. Pleasure builds within both of us until it doesn’t—crash is inevitable. We surrender to it in unison, our release silent save for the sound of our breathing, frantic in its intensity, desperate and hungry.

  * * *

  When I leave her place ten minutes later—just long enough for me to throw my clothes back on—I feel as though I’ve been slammed into by a truck. And yet a grim smile lifts my lips because it was the best feeling I’ve known in a long time—the most authentic and genuine, the least complicated.

  I could get addicted to that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Five days after landing

  ‘I’LL CALL YOU.’

  He said that as he left. I was too shell-shocked to respond. Holden Hart showed up at my door like some kind of grenade. Gorgeous, sexy, and he kissed me so damn fast and hard that I didn’t have a second to draw breath, much less wonder what the hell he was doing at my place.

  Except it was obvious.

  From that first kiss I knew he hadn’t come to chat.

  He wanted me with the same ferocity I’d felt from him onboard. No, it was more than that, stronger. On the flight he’d been restrained, showing me pleasure after pleasure after pleasure, showering me in multiple orgasms before he’d finally taken possession of my body.

  This was different.

  He fucked me as though there was a stick of dynamite that would explode unless he moved fast. It was urgent and overwhelming, and then he shifted, lifting me from him easily, and smiled—that smile of his that almost looks like he’s in pain rather than genuinely happy—and he moved back down the stairs, pulling his clothes on as though what we’d just done was normal and expected. Ordinary.

  I watched for several moments before doing the same, but we moved like two separate, parallel weather systems circling the eastern seaboard. At the door he offered that same smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll call you.’

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him not to bother, then to point out he didn’t have my number, but a second later he was gone, striding across the street to an SUV with darkly tinted windows. He climbed into the back and it pulled out of the kerb almost immediately.

  He must have had my number though—on the same paperwork I’d filled out for Edward, I presume, he’d obtained it.

  No number came up when he called so I almost didn’t answer, except I’m waiting on a call from the university regarding my application.

  ‘Cora, it’s Holden.’

  He needn’t have said anything beyond the first syllable of my name. His voice is like a fingerprint, so unique, so him.

  My blood almost burst free from my veins.

  ‘Oh.’ Surprise flared inside of me. I really didn’t think he would call. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Are you free tonight?’

  My pulse burst to life faster. Harder. ‘I’m—Why?’

  A pause. My stomach twisted. Why did I think? To take me to dinner? To go to a show? I rolled my eyes at the naivety of my question. Holden Hart has made it abundantly clear what he wants from me.

  I swallow and close my eyes for a second. ‘Never mind.’ The thing is, I want the same from him. I can’t get distracted right now. Sex is fine but a relationship isn’t. Sleeping with Holden is amazing and uncomplicated. A smile lifts the corners of my lips.

  ‘I’m at the casino.’ His voice is smooth, deep and husky. My nipples are straining against my bra, remembering the perfection of his touch last time—the perfection of his touch everywhere. Heat stains my cheeks as I remember the way his fingers teased my ass, his cock inside of me, his lips on my breast, so I felt as though I existed purely for Holden, purely for pleasure.

  ‘And?’ I couldn’t resist prompting.

  ‘Would you like to come over?’

  But something about his manner makes me want to goad him a little. ‘Is “come over” a euphemism for “have sex”?’

  I can almost hear his grin. ‘Would you like it to be?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Begging for compliments?’

  His laugh spins something inside of me. ‘I’ll beg for you if I have to.’

  It makes my gut clench because, even though he just laughed, I hear something else in his voice. Something serious and gruff. Urgency.

  ‘Not over the phone. It’s much more fun in person.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ A pause. ‘I’ll send a car.’

  But I like the idea of having my own wheels, my own escape. ‘That’s fine. I can drive.’

  ‘Your Vespa?’

  I grin at his obvious surprise. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Another gruff sound. ‘It’s just incredibly hot, that’s all.’

  That brings a smile to my face. ‘I’ll wear the helmet up.’

  Another laugh. ‘Don’t. You’ll likely be arrested.’

  I laugh softly.

  ‘Come to the front entrance. Valet will take care of the bike.’

  I’m about to hang up.

  ‘Cora?’

  I wait, breathless.

  ‘The fewer clothes you wear the better.’

  * * *

  Hart Casinos are everywhere. There’s literally one in every big city of the world. This isn’t my first time stepping into one, so I’m familiar with the luxurious fittings. Burgundy carpet with gold details, dark wooden furniture, enormously high ceilings marked with ceiling roses and crystal chandeliers—every single one is a testament to old world glitz at the same time as boasting state-of-the-art technology.

  I’ve been to Hart Casinos before, but never like this I think as my Vespa is taken care of by valet attendants. I push into the doors and almost immediately a woman walks over to me. ‘Miss Andersson?’

  I’m startled by her recognition.

  ‘I—yes. How did
you know?’

  Her smile reveals nothing. Her tone is curt and professional. ‘Mr Hart is waiting for you.’

  She’s wearing sky-high heels and her stride is long. She cuts across the gaming floor so I have a brief impression of roulette wheels and then catch a glimpse of an opening door that shows poker tables beyond it. We cross a threshold and carpet gives way to marble. Two security guards in full black military-style fatigues and holding impressive guns flank a golden elevator door. The woman swipes a card she wears at her hip and the doors open.

  Her manicured hand gestures for me to precede her into the elevator. I do, and she follows, the faintest hint of Dior perfume reaching my nostrils. None of the buttons have numbers; they’re just discreet brass circles. She presses one then flicks me another smile, curt, just as the first.

  ‘How did you know who I was?’

  ‘We have security measures in place for any of Mr Hart’s guests.’

  It’s a reminder of Edward’s warning aboard the flight: ‘...he’s not someone I’d ever recommend getting involved with. Unless you’re after one night of mad sex—no guarantee he’ll remember your name the next day.’

  Well, he remembered my name. He remembered it well enough to come to my apartment, to make love to me against the hardwood stairs, and he remembered it enough to call me earlier this evening. Sure, it’s a booty call, plain and simple, but that’s everything I want. Sex with Holden Hart and no hope of anything more.

  The doors ping open and we’re in what looks like a very high-tech office space and, despite the lateness of the hour, it’s full of people sitting at desks.

  ‘I’ll just get you to walk through that arch, please.’ She nods to a security scanner and disbelief halts my breath.

  ‘Security?’

  ‘It’s protocol.’

  I compress my lips, reminding myself that Holden Hart is worth over one hundred and fifty billion American dollars. This kind of rigmarole is part and parcel of his life and, as insulting as it is on one level, on another it’s impossible not to understand the necessity for the precaution.