Holding Her Close

by Lexi Ryan

But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? That’s why I want this so much. I don’t want to be me anymore. Especially not tonight. I don’t want to be the fool who kissed her ex. Who believed his lies. I want to be the woman in the mask who sneaks off with a man just because his kisses make her head spin.

  I hold his gaze as I lower the zipper on my top, watching Cade closely as it falls to the floor. I’m not wearing a bra—there wasn’t room or a need for one. He swallows hard, and his gaze drops to my breasts then lower, taking in my belly ring and the low waistband of the pants before returning to my breasts. My nipples are hard and aching, and every inch of me is on fire, despite the cool autumn air rushing in the open doors.

  My hands shake as I remove the boots and then find the zipper on my pants and lower them slowly until I’m standing before him in nothing but this mask and a skimpy black lace thong.

  “You’re perfect,” he says, his voice rough. He doesn’t rush forward, but looks at me with so much intensity that every spot his eyes touch comes alive with a delicious tingling energy. “Lie on the bed.”

  My mouth opens with surprise, but the way he said it—the assuredness in the command, the confidence that I’d do whatever he asks—makes the muscles between my legs clench with need. Part of my brain warns this is too risky, that the night with Tom left me and my career on a dangerous precipice, and the wrong move will push me right over it. Tonight was supposed to be about fixing my mistakes and not about making more. But apparently it’s the other part of my brain that controls my limbs, because I’m climbing on the bed, lying on my side so I can study him. Is there anything sexier than watching a man watch you?

  Cade emanates this growly alpha authority, and that, paired with the greed in his gaze? Mother, may I?

  “Roll to your back so I can look at you.” He takes a step closer. The first one since before my striptease.

  “You still have your costume on,” I say.

  He yanks his mask off his face and flings it across the room, where it lands with a soft thunk. “Better?”

  I love that I can see his face without him demanding to see mine, that he respects my need for the mask even when I took the liberty to look under his at the party. He seems to understand how important my anonymity is to me. Could that be because he already knows who I am? Maybe. Do I want him to know?

  My stomach squeezes and flutters all at once.

  I shake my head, pushing that mess of emotions from my mind for another time. I drop my gaze to his costume. “Take off the suit, Batman.”

  He growls and takes a second step, his hands restless at his sides. “It’s gonna cost you.”

  “Name your price.”

  “I want to know your sweet spots. I want to know how you like to be touched.”

  “Then come here and find out.”

  His third step brings him to the side of the bed, and he skims his knuckles over one nipple then the other. “I want you to tell me. I want to hear you say it. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I say in almost a squeak. I can’t imagine describing what gets me off, but it’s even harder to imagine telling him no.

  Cade removes the top half of his costume and stands before me in nothing but leather pants. He’s all hard muscle with broad shoulders and narrow hips, just like I suspected before I knew who was under the mask. On his left shoulder, he has a tattoo of what I think is a Celtic symbol, and inked up his side are words in a language I can’t make out. I wait for him to take off his pants, but instead he comes to the end of the bed, slides his hands under my hips, and tugs me to the edge.

  I gasp even as my knees instinctively draw up, opening to him.

  “Time to pay up,” he says, settling his hands on either side of my hips and leaning over me.

  I lick my lips and rise up onto my elbows. “You don’t move like a man who needs to be told where to touch a woman.”

  The corner of his mouth tugs up into a lopsided grin. “Trying to get out of paying your debt?”

  “Never. I’m a woman of my word. But you’re not undressed yet.”

  “I don’t have a condom, precious, and these pants will serve as a reminder of lines we won’t be crossing tonight.”

  A condom. Right. Why didn’t I think of that? Why didn’t I ask Maggie where she kept hers when I got her key? But now that the line’s been drawn in the sand, I can see it needs to be there. The condom is the obvious reason, but even if I had one, having sex tonight would complicate things—for me, if no one else. I was always an epic failure when it came to separating sex and emotions. But maybe tonight, beneath this mask, I can try.

  Cade moves one hand to my breast and cups it before rolling a nipple between his fingers. “You like this?”

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  He lowers his mouth and flicks his tongue. My nipples tingle, and I arch into his touch. His mouth latches on to me and sucks. He kisses his way down my belly as he sinks to his knees on the floor.

  My breath catches at the sight of him there—his dark eyes studying the most private parts of me, his mouth a breath away from my sex. I’m not shocked by what he’s about to do. I’m shocked that I want him to do it. Receiving oral sex has always seemed so much more intimate than intercourse. Intimate, but not particularly sexy or enjoyable. Tom is the only man I’ve ever let go down on me. I loved him, so it was special, but nothing I would have asked for even from my husband, let alone a near stranger. Right now I’m so turned on by the idea. There’s nothing I want more than Cade’s mouth on me.

  He lifts his gaze to meet mine. “Can I taste you here?” The words are accompanied by his fingers trailing along the thin lace of my thong, and I shudder. Because it feels good. Because I’m tangled up with hot need. But mostly because by asking permission, he’s snagged a piece of my heart in a night that’s supposed to be about nothing but our bodies.

  “Yes,” I whisper, lifting my hips ever so slightly off the bed so he can remove my panties.

  Instead of peeling away the lace, he cups my ass and lowers his mouth to my sex. Then his tongue is on me, stroking my clit through my panties, and I’m pretty sure he’s a fucking genius, because the friction of the lace against my clit combined with the wet heat of his mouth sends me to the edge faster than anything any man has ever done to me.

  He circles my clit then strokes it again, circles then strokes. I’m so wet and so swollen it’s all I can do to keep my hips still. I bite my lip and focus hard on not grinding against his face, because I don’t want to do anything that might make him stop.

  And that’s when he pulls away, and I want to whimper.

  Tom used to do that. He’d put his hand between my legs and play with me just enough to get me excited, then demand a blow job or fuck me from behind with no concern for anyone’s pleasure but his own. He really wasn’t the greatest lover, come to think of it, but that wasn’t why I married him.

  I frown because Cade isn’t switching positions. He’s still kneeling between my legs as if he’s waiting for something.

  “Look at me,” he murmurs. I don’t want him to see the disappointment on my face, but I make myself meet his eyes. “You like this?” He brushes his knuckles over my swollen clit and another shudder rocks through me.

  “Yes.”

  “And you like my mouth here.” He slips a finger under the lace and circles my entrance.

  “Please.” I gasp. “I need . . .” I don’t know how to finish that sentence or where to find the courage to try.

  “You need my mouth?” he asks. “Or my fingers?” He slides one inside me and curls it, and I’m so close to coming, I clench tightly around him.

  “Both,” I manage. “I want both.”

  “Are you afraid to fuck my face, sweetheart? Because I feel you fighting it, and call me a selfish bastard, but I want all of you. I want you wild. I want you to move those hips and grind against me until you come against my mouth and around my fingers.”

  God, his words alone slingshot hot pleasure through me. I fight to open my eyes
as he slides a second finger inside me, slowly fucking me with his hand and unraveling me from the inside out. “I’m close.”

  I’m treated to that boyish lopsided grin again. “Damn straight.” He removes his hand from between my legs and repositions himself on the bed to kiss me full on the mouth. His kiss is long and slow and thorough, and I can taste myself on his lips. My abandoned sex aches as he peels my panties from my hips.

  “Please.” The word is barely a whisper. A breath trapped between our mouths.

  He slides his fingers inside me again and rocks his palm against my clit. “I’ll kiss you here again,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine. “But promise you won’t hold back on me. Squeeze my fingers. Fuck my face. Scream. Anything but holding back.”

  For the first time since he removed his, I remember I’m still wearing my mask. Right now I’m free to be anyone I want to be. And I want to be a woman whose lover tends to her needs and not just his own. “If you promise you won’t stop before I’m done, I won’t hold back a thing.”

  Just that quickly, he sinks to the floor again and his mouth is between my legs and his lips and tongue and fingers—holy shit—it’s almost too much, and yet I rock into him because I want more. I crave it and the heady freedom of this night. I need it.

  His lips wrap around my clit, and he sucks as his fingers curl to milk that sweet spot inside me. My hands fist into the sheets and I come apart, an orgasm that takes my whole body and wrings it out.

  I definitely didn’t fight it. And I might have screamed. But judging by the look on his face when he pulls us to the top of the bed, he’s pleased.

  “That was”—I draw in a ragged breath—“a first for me.”

  “Not your first orgasm,” he says.

  I release a puff of sound that would be laughter if I had any energy left. “No, my first orgasm from that.” I shake my head lazily. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you. I just thought you should know.”

  He squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s in pain and swallows hard. “Christ, you’re sexy.” He’s not the first man to say that to me, but the way the words seem to scrape from his throat makes them feel more sincere than any compliment I’ve ever been given about my looks.

  “Your turn next,” I whisper, my eyes floating closed.

  He chuckles. “Rest a minute. You earned it.”

  I obey, and he pulls me against him so my back is to his chest and his cock is cradled against my ass. I wriggle against his length and moan as I imagine what it’d be like to have a man like this inside me. Would he still be so selfless? So driven by my pleasure?

  “Be still, woman,” he growls against my ear. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

  All that vodka followed by all that pleasure and my body is spent. I smile but don’t bother to open my eyes. I just want a little rest.

  * * *

  I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I wake up to the sound of my phone buzzing. I reach for Cade, but it’s not his arms around me anymore. It’s the blankets.

  I push out of bed and rub my eyes as I search for the light switch. I’m in the room alone. The clock on the bedside table reads three a.m. Beside it is a note with a phone number.

  If you can’t catch me with the Bat-Signal, try this.

  I bite my lip. Maybe. Just maybe after I put this whole morality clause mess behind me, I could give Cade a call. Would he understand why it took me so long?

  Pushing out of bed, I find my pants and pull my phone from the pocket. I have a text message from Matt. Crap. He’s probably pissed I ditched my fake fiancé tonight, but no one’s going to know the difference. What’s another day?

  The text message says: Call me NOW.

  I ignore it and pull my clothes on. I don’t need a lecture from Matt right now. That can wait until tomorrow. All I want to do for the next five hours is climb into the bed in my brother’s guestroom and dream about Officer Cade Watts.

  Chapter 3

  Cade

  I haven’t woken up feeling this good in weeks. I got out of bed at five and ran, like every morning, but this time I smiled with each step.

  Maybe I don’t owe this mood to my mystery woman. Maybe I needed a night where I let go for once.

  No, I know she’s responsible for the grin I can’t get off my face. Every time I close my eyes, I think about the way she moaned when I got my mouth between her legs and how hard she came when she finally let go.

  At this rate¸ I’m going to have to spend my whole day in a cold shower.

  I wanted to bring her home with me. When she fell asleep in my arms, I wanted to take off her mask and see the woman beneath. But something held me back. Something told me it was better not to spoil what we’d had. So I left her the note, pressed a kiss to the wickedly smooth skin of her bare shoulder, and left.

  I’m just getting back home from my run when my phone rings. Catwoman? She probably hasn’t even gotten out of bed yet, but part of me still hopes I get to start my day by hearing her voice.

  My caller ID tells me it’s my sister. Ignoring my disappointment, I swipe to answer.

  “Good morning, sis.” I head to the sink and fill a glass of water.

  “I thought you weren’t going to do this again.”

  “Haven’t we talked about you lecturing me before six a.m.?”

  She snorts. “Don’t change the subject. I’m very upset. And whatever. You’ve probably been up and have run ten miles by now.”

  I only did four, but I don’t correct her. When Laure’s pissed, she’s not to be trifled with. “Tell me what I did wrong.”

  “Don’t be a smartass. I’m only hurt because you didn’t tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “You said no more actresses.”

  I set down my water and it sloshes out of the glass and onto the counter. I don’t like reminders of Cara any time of day, let alone before my first cup of coffee. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re going to play dumb with me? Well, you can’t. Not now that it’s all over the internet.” My sister has never been terribly rational, and when she’s upset about something, her ability to jump to nonsensical conclusions is nearly superhuman.

  Looking at the ceiling, I exhale slowly and count backward from ten. Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .

  “I mean, you know she’s sleeping with her ex-husband, right? It’s all over the news. She wants him back. But apparently she’s gotta break my brother’s heart at the same time. God, I really thought you were done with actresses.”

  “What are you talking about?” I don’t like the cold chunk of ice that’s taken up residence in my gut.

  “And you didn’t even warn me. Nooo, I have to find out while skimming my gossip sites. Who do I see? My brother dressed as Batman with his hands all over Janelle freaking Crane.”

  Suddenly, that rock of ice in my stomach liquefies, and I sink to the floor, my smile drowning in the fucking obvious. Those eyes. I should have recognized those deep brown eyes, that perfect mouth. I should have known who I was touching. I hadn’t wanted to see the truth.

  Fuck.

  “I’m worried she’s no better than Cara,” Laure says. “This smacks of too much déjà vu, ya know? And Cade, maybe I wouldn’t care so much if you weren’t still heartbroken from the last second-rate actress who screwed you over.”

  I don’t think anyone would call Cara Fray a second-rate actress. But heartbroken? Fuck. I’m not even sure that word covers what Cara did to me. She didn’t break my heart. She stole it, used it, and spat it out. She decimated me, and I allowed it to happen.

  I won’t make that mistake again.

  * * *

  Janelle

  There’s someone in my room. Someone who wants to die, because he’s saying my name and shaking my shoulder, and there’s no way I’ve slept more than a couple of hours.

  “Go away, Nate,” I growl at my brother. I tug the sheets over my head and roll to my stomach. “I’m hungover.”

  �
�I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Ugh.” I flip back over. Brothers can be such—

  Yeah, only that’s not my brother. Not by any stretch of the imagination is this scowling, scruffy, broad-shouldered sexual Jedi at the edge of my bed my brother. I swallow hard as I look into the dark eyes that kept me under their spell for the better part of last night. Hell, who am I kidding? Those hours with Cade Watts were the better part of my week. Month. Year.

  Judging by the look in his eyes, I’d say the feeling isn’t mutual, and he’s not here looking for a repeat performance.

  That’s probably for the best, considering today I have to get serious about Operation Fake Fiancé. But still . . .

  “Promise you won’t hold back on me. Squeeze my fingers. Fuck my face. Scream. Anything but holding back.”

  Damn shame.

  “You know who I am?” I ask, dragging a hand over my face.

  “Now I do. What the fuck were you thinking?” He plops his phone on the bed, and I reluctantly order my eyes to stop studying the way his T-shirt stretches across his pecs. They happily shift to appreciate the way his jeans hang low on his hips.

  “Speak,” he demands, pointing to his phone.

  “So bossy,” I grumble. Something flicks across his gaze—a memory of how much I enjoyed his bossiness last night, perhaps?

  Doing my best to push aside that and all other memories from the last twelve hours, I grab the phone so I can figure out what has him so pissed off.

  When my brain clicks on enough to allow me to process the words and images on the screen in front of me, I feel like I’m free-falling—like someone stole the bed and the floor and my feet all out from under me. “No.”

  “Yes,” he growls. “And let me tell you something, sweetheart. I don’t know where you got the idea that I was the one to fix the mess you’ve made of your life, but you picked the wrong guy.”

  I shake my head and hold up a hand, scanning the article as quickly as I can before going back to the top to take in the details. First, there’s a picture of Cade and me kissing on the dance floor at the party. The caption under the picture reads: Actress Janelle Crane and local police officer experiment with cosplay at singer brother’s Halloween party.