by Lynda Aicher
“Holden just left here,” Liv said, like she’d followed Vanessa’s train of thought. Was she that obvious? “He’s worried.”
She’d known that, but the words still hit her in the chest. She winced, thankful that her sister couldn’t see her. What was she going to do with him? “I know,” she finally said, letting the weariness show in her voice. She rubbed her temple, pressing on the ache behind her brow.
“There’s something between you two, isn’t there, V?”
The question wasn’t pushy—maybe that was why she answered honestly. “Yes. I think.”
“What do you mean?”
What did she mean? God, she didn’t know anymore. She was floundering and had no idea how to find solid ground. “I don’t know, Liv.” She sighed, a big gust of exhaustion and something close to defeat. “I have no clue what I was doing with him.”
Liv was quiet for a moment before she spoke. “Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Would you miss him if he were gone?”
Her chest compressed, the air squeezing tight at the thought of not seeing him again. “Yes,” she whispered. She could lie to herself, but not Liv.
“Good.”
She could hear the smile in Liv’s voice but didn’t understand it. “Why?”
“He’s a good guy, V. Don’t push him away when you really want him to stay. You deserve to be happy, just like everyone else.”
The tears slipped wet and silent down her cheeks. Her throat ached with the emotions she kept locked inside. Liv’s words were too close to her own thoughts. Yet she didn’t know if she had the courage to trust in Holden.
To take a chance and risk that big.
“I don’t think he’ll let you down,” Liv continued. “He was trying hard not to show it, but he’s pretty torn up about everything. Why won’t you talk to him?”
Vanessa was such a bitch. Of all the people she was closing out, Holden was the one person who’d earned the right to be let in. He hadn’t betrayed her or let her down. He’d proven himself again and again, and she still resisted. Doubted.
He was probably the only person who truly knew all of her, even more than Liv or her friends at The Den, who only knew certain sides of her. She’d spent years piecing out aspects of herself to different people so no one ever knew her well enough to hold any power over her. She really had no idea how Holden had gotten behind her barriers and found all of her.
For the first time in eighteen years, another man had the power to hurt her, and it scared her beyond reason.
Her hand shook when she reached for a tissue, and again she was thankful Liv couldn’t see her weakness.
“Hey, V?”
She took a sip of water and forced her voice to work. “Yeah?”
“You’re the strongest person I know. You can do this.”
Could she? She wouldn’t know if she didn’t try. What was the worst thing that could happen? Her heart couldn’t possibly hurt more than it did right now. “All right,” she said, feeling braver with the words. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Good. Do it now before you back out.” Liv laughed a little. “I know this from personal experience.”
Vanessa laughed, the first time in what felt like days. “I will.”
“Promise?”
She held up her pinky finger, visualizing Liv doing the same thing. “Promise.”
“I’m here when you need me.”
“Ditto.”
They hung up and Vanessa stared at her phone as the screen went black. She could spin words for just about every situation there was. She’d maneuvered more stories, dodged many scandals and even lied with a smile on her face and a clear conscience. But she couldn’t think of a single word to say to Holden.
So she texted him instead. It was straightforward and in words he’d understand.
Be here at 8 tonight.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The porch was the same as the first time Holden had stood there, as every time he’d waited for Vanessa to open the door. The shadows were long with the approaching twilight. The flowers in full bloom along the walk now overpowered the cut grass scent, but the fragrant mixture was the same. A few frogs croaked their greeting in the distance, highlighting the quiet and lack of random kid sounds.
It wasn’t the same though, because he was different.
They were different.
He had no idea what to expect tonight, but God, he’d been so grateful to get her text. He’d been sitting at the end of the street, debating if he should go to her or not. His instincts had been pushing him to go to her, but his gut had said wait. Like every phase of their relationship, it was a dump into the end zone in the hopes he could make a break for the net later.
Her text had solved everything. He’d gone back home then and paced his house until it was time to come here. He smoothed his fingers through his hair and exhaled before he moved into his rest position.
He jerked when the door swung open without the warning click of her heels that usually alerted him to her approach. Not tonight.
Tonight she stood barefoot, toes curling into the rug in the foyer. His green and white oversized college shirt that was now hers stopped at mid-thigh. The sentiment warmed him, easing his knotted muscles, but it was her soft smile that clutched at his heart. His breath hitched, and his throat tightened around the fear that had clawed there since last night.
Her cheek was bruise-free, but it didn’t erase the memory of what had happened or the worry that had plagued him.
She stepped back, her hand out in silent permission to enter.
And he did, right into her arms and a hug she received without saying a thing. He held her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her head cuddling into that spot just for her on his shoulder. He inhaled, his nose buried in her hair, and soaked in everything. Her scent, her warmth, the weight of her in his arms, each dip and curve pressed against him.
And finally, he breathed.
That was when he knew that this was better than any orgasm. Better than any Scene in her playroom.
This was love.
Her soft exhales tickled over his collarbone, her only words to him. They said more than a monologue and it was spoken just for him.
His throat burned for all she was saying and all he couldn’t say. So he held her, kissed her hair, her temple, the shell of her ear. He wove his fingers through her soft hair to cradle her head, tilted it slightly until he could reach her lips. He kissed her, gentle touches that said he got it. Little nips that told her he was here. Soft and yielding, she opened to his touch, gave him silent permission to lead.
Her trust humbled him for only a second before a fierce protectiveness burned his soul. It wrapped around him, them, what they were and what they were becoming.
She eased back, eyes searching and full of questions. He caught them all, scooped them up and swore to answer what he could.
He closed the door, never letting her go. The soft click was gentle, like the moment. She touched his cheek, a stroke along his jaw that simmered over his skin and scored his heart. Whatever she wanted, he would give her. No questions, no hesitation, no doubt.
She took his hand and led him toward the stairs on silent feet. His flip-flops squeaked on the floor and he kicked them off. She paused to smile over her shoulder, the look endearing.
A peace flowed within him, not unlike the calm he found under her dominance. But it was different, softer. Quiet instead of a roar.
He didn’t falter when she headed up the stairs, the carpet gentling their steps. The house settled around them. The air kicked on and the rush of wind swooshed through the vents to follow their progress to her bedroom.
The deep scent that was her filled the space as he stepped into her room. The last of the daylight hit the
sheer curtains in strips muted through the wispy material.
The questions were in her eyes again. Would he hurt her? Should she trust him? Did he understand?
There were still a lot of holes, but he knew how to respond to every one. He cupped her face and made sure she saw his answers. Never was followed up with a kiss between her brows. Always was confirmed with a pass of his tongue into her waiting mouth. Yes was reinforced when he scooped her up to lay her in the middle of the bed.
She traced his lips with her fingertips, the questions replaced with hope hidden in want. He lowered himself down, her curves soft beneath his. With his weight on his forearms, his legs wound with hers, he dipped in to nourish that hope. He wanted it all.
All of her.
Her soft moan was pure sweetness under his lips. He took it and swirled his tongue into her mouth, seeking more. She gave it to him in open cries and silent gasps. In feet that swept over the hair on his legs and fingernails that dug into his skin. Every move was another request and reply that brought them closer, bound them tighter.
Her shirt slid off with a swipe of his hand up her side, her skin smooth under his palm. The material was tossed aside, forgotten as he dove in to suckle her nipple. He swirled and played with the tender nub until she pulled his hair tight. She gasped and her back arched with her desire. Only then did he move to the other one.
Time was lost to the rustle of the duvet, the saltiness of her skin, the hushed sounds that signaled her appreciation. His dick was hard and damp with his arousal, his balls full and heavy, but the screaming urge to come was subdued. She was more important. This—here—was everything and not the warm-up.
The skimpy piece of violet silk and lace panties slid off her legs to be dropped blindly to the floor. He kissed the delicate arch of each foot, cherishing the simplicity of it and what seeing it meant.
He scanned the length of her. Each dip, curve, bump and mark right up to her parted red lips, and dark eyes, heavy with everything being said without words. A temptress spread before him with her black hair haloing her head.
Even like this, she was still his Mistress. More so now. He would kill to protect her, guard her with his very life to keep her safe from the world she tried so hard to control.
He spread her legs and inhaled her musky scent that was now an aphrodisiac for him. Deep, potent, intoxicating—everything that was her. Hot on his tongue, her arousal was the flavor he craved, her touch a new necessity.
He sucked on the bundle of nerves that had her hips rocking, flicked and played with it until her abdomen clenched. Then he moved down, found her entrance, the source of her sweetness and swallowed it down.
Vaguely he noticed the wet stickiness of his shirt on his back and the drop of sweat that fell into his eye, the burn an irritant that was ignored. Just like the throb in his hard cock.
He hummed his approval for her. Saying the words wouldn’t do justice to the emotions that swelled within him. The ones bursting to be free now that he understood them for what they were.
So he showed her, loved her, gave her all he had with each caress of his hand over her skin and touch of his lips to every inch of her.
A tug on the neck of his T-shirt had him lifting up. The material was yanked over his head and down his arms with no finesse. She grabbed his face and pulled him up to claim his mouth. Her tongue stole inside with a new desperation, a fire that matched the pace of her breath and beat of his pulse.
Her kisses were quick, hard bumps meshed with licks and sucking as she worked down his neck, her hands fumbling at the snap on his shorts. He heard what she was saying and got his shorts open. The last of his clothing was shoved down and kicked off.
Then it was skin on skin, slick and heated. His erection rubbed on her thigh and the moan that rushed up from deep in his groin was raw with emotion. Need, want, longing, and—more than anything else—the love that was now bigger than him.
She patted the pillow, then pointed. He followed the line of her arm and finger to the nightstand and heard her once again. He was gone just long enough to grab the condom from the drawer, fumble with the packet and get the damn thing on. His head fell back when her hands joined his to roll it down his length. It was almost too much, but it was nowhere near enough.
It would never be enough with her.
He understood that now. Accepted it. Welcomed it with arms open and heart exposed.
The room had darkened, the shadows taking over corners. But even with his eyes closed, submerged in total darkness he would’ve seen her. Just like he’d heard everything she’d said since the front door had opened.
She reached down and guided him into her, a slow plummet that sucked the breath from his lungs and the strength from his muscles. The wet heat encircled him, accepted and took. He caught her gasp and gave it back. Rocked his hips and savored the low keen that rumbled into his mouth.
This was the rhythm he’d sought for so long. What he needed to give and have received.
Her legs wrapped around his hips as she met him stroke for stroke, the pace a dance created by them. Her heels dug into his upper thighs, ground and pushed with each roll and dip. And he listened, followed her beat as he traced the shell of her ear, sucked the lobe into his mouth, nibbled down the line of her neck to the hollow of her collarbone.
Chin raised, throat exposed, mouth parted, eyes closed and cheeks flushed—the expression of passion. He captured the image in the frame of his mind.
He found her nipple again, sucked it before adding the edge of his teeth. Her cry and buck put a hitch in their rhythm and went straight to his need. He dug his arms under her, arching her back more, pulling her closer. She went with him, arms falling to her sides to claw at the bedding. A scramble for purchase where there was nothing to hold on to but each other.
He buried his head between her breasts, their skin slick wherever they touched. One stroke, a glide, a tilt of hips to deepen the plunge, a grind and swivel that ended with another thrust. He cupped the back of her head, eased her up and took her mouth, his tongue matching the movements that played out below.
The sounds increased, wet slaps meshed with throaty murmurs and sharp breaths. Their scent was everywhere. Arousal and musk and sweat and somehow, it was etched into him as love. It was poignant and sweeter than basic sex. It was intimate to a level that pumped his blood hot and left him exposed to a whole new level of vulnerability. Deeper than he’d ever thought possible.
Nails scored his back, moans reverberated through the air, limbs trembled and breaths hitched. His pulse was rampant, a drum in his ears that matched the intensity.
Their movements increased, each drive becoming harder, seeking that crest that rode them higher, dragged them deeper, held them secure from the world. For that moment, right there, when nothing else mattered.
Her cry broke through the dense air, muted and sharp to everything in him that needed to hear it. Feel her muscles clamp around him, tense under him, spasm without control when she let go. He held her tight, hips still driving as she tumbled into her orgasm.
Beautiful and free. Wild lined with innocence that locked him in.
Her eyes fluttered open, the chocolate-brown pools hiding nothing. He shook with his desire. On the possession that choked his breath when she cupped his cheek, the touch so tender it tore him apart from the inside out.
“Come, Holden.” She kissed his lips, a butterfly touch that froze his movements so he could catch it all. “For me,” she whispered, her breath becoming his.
He gasped, clutched, savored for one more second before he crashed into her. Let it all go and gave her what she asked for. He emptied the weeks of buildup, the anticipation that’d morphed to frustration before settling into acceptance. It was all there, shaking through him. Shudders of relief chased by fear before the euphoria hit.
There was salt on his tongue,
flesh under his teeth, pain snaking behind nails down his arms and pure ecstasy skittering through every nerve ending. The roar that ripped from his chest was muffled into her shoulder, absorbed by her skin and the soft pillow behind her head.
Empty, done, shaking, he sucked in breaths that were laced with the scent and taste of her. There was a kiss to his jaw, another to his cheek, still more along his shoulder, silent messages that he tried to process through the heavy encryption.
He managed to roll to the side and somehow found the strength to reach the bathroom to clean up. He grabbed a washcloth and brought it back with him. She reached for it, but he shook his head. She was his to take care of, and he would. He wiped her clean before turning down the bedding and tucking her into his side.
The shadows had deepened, leaving charcoal sketches of the room. Outlines of the wood furniture, the shiny glare from the large mirror, fuzzy shapes of trinkets on the dresser were all random pieces to the puzzle that was her. But he closed his eyes and listened instead.
To the trail of her fingers that traced random patterns on his chest. The pace of her breath that whispered over his skin. The placement of her leg between his and the glide of her toe where it edged a repeated line into his calf.
He heard it all and tucked her in tighter, held her safe until she was ready to let go. Did she hear him? Did she understand?
He didn’t know, but right then it didn’t matter. He was here for her for as long as she wanted him. Forever if possible. Until tomorrow if that was all he could have. He’d take it and love her every chance he had.
* * *
Vanessa ran her fingers over his chest in a pattern that was now habitual. The feel of the skin and muscle under her fingers was soothing. Just like the beat of his heart under her ear and the slow rise and fall of his chest. She inhaled, eyes closing as she savored the rich scent of sex and him. Somehow, this had become safety.
Holden was the first man she’d ever brought to her bedroom. He’d earned the right to be here. She couldn’t think about what that meant or why anyone had to earn her love.
