Smoking Holt

by Sabrina York

  But he didn’t.

  He kept saying “Now what?” in that tender patient tone—

  Her heart stuttered then thudded painfully.

  Oh. God.

  That was it.

  He’d told her she was in charge. She made the rules. He was letting her take charge. He wouldn’t do anything unless she told him to.

  The idiot.

  She should punish him. She should just command him to lick her pussy again until she came and then just thank him politely and walk away—but the smoldering cauldron in her womb wouldn’t allow it. She needed him in her, deep and hard. And she needed it now.

  “Where’s that condom?”

  The relief on his face was so profound, she felt a ping of guilt for making him wait, but she pressed it away. When it came to Holt, there was no need for guilt or pity or politesse.

  Holt was a fortress. A fucking machine. There were no tender sentiments lingering in his soul of souls. She didn’t have to worry about hurting his feelings or wounding his ego. He fucked women and walked away every day. She was no different. She was nothing to him.

  Still, she liked the way he scrambled for that foil packet. She liked it a lot. He ripped it open and unrolled it over his cock. She watched, avidly tracking every move.

  God, he was beautiful.

  His cock was large, hard, insistent. She loved the fat head, the long, shaft, thickly veined, the nest of dark hairs at the base. His attention, as he pulled the latex in place, was absolute. Her gaze drifted over his face, his high cheekbones and the sharp chin covered with manly scruff.

  He turned back to her, eyes alight, ready to say, “Now what?” once more and she couldn’t help it. She cupped his cheeks and pulled him close and kissed him.

  His breath gusted into her mouth; she’d surprised him with her greedy attack, but he settled into it. Settled into her. He pressed her back on the bed and nudged her thighs apart. Her bra, still wrapped around her torso, bothered her, but his chest, scraping against her bare nipples, distracted her from that discomfort.

  And then—dear God—something else distracted her. Distracted her entirely.

  He found her entrance, slick and ready—and slipped in.

  She groaned as he filled her. Shivers of delight wracked her. God. It was amazing. He was amazing.

  He huffed out a breath as he seated himself inside her. Shuddered. His cock pulsed, “N-now what?” She loved that his voice cracked when then said those damned words.

  “Fuck me, Holt. Fuck me hard.”

  Something flared in his eyes. He lifted his hips and pushed her legs farther apart, opening her. But the move tightened her as well. She bit back a whimper.

  She was not a whimperer. She would not whimper.

  He pulled out and thrust in again, and again. Each lunge in a new direction. Finding, stroking, delighting a new bundle of weeping nerves with each foray. She couldn’t help it. She grabbed his ass, clutching him, guiding him.

  But he needed no guidance. Somehow, he knew just what to do. Just how to move.

  Tension rose within her as he worked away, breathing into her ear in little puffs. She groaned as he hit a particular spot. He stilled for a second and then deliberately did it again.

  “Yes,” she huffed. “Yes. There.”

  He growled something in his throat and changed angles, increasing his pace, pummeling her with a manic barrage. He sucked a nipple into his mouth. Nibbled. Bit.

  The sharp pain surprised her, but what surprised her even more was the wash of arousal it evoked. “God, yes,” she snarled, planting her feet on the bed and arching up into him.

  “You like that?” He didn’t wait for a response. Did it again.

  Waves of delight and agony and need raced through her. The juxtaposition of sensation, the stinging at her breast, the singing of her womb, all befuddled her. Her brain ceased to function. She was nothing, nothing but a welter of pleasure. A desperate woman, filled to the brim with the cock of the man she wanted more than anything—had wanted forever.

  It was fucking awesome.

  He yanked out and she winced, clung to him, but he pulled away. She was about to wail, protest, complain, when he flipped her over.

  One strong hand to her hip. A flick of his wrist. As though she were thistledown, he turned her. Lifted her hips. Yanked her legs apart.

  And, before she could process this new position, he drove in. Deep.

  Everything in her seized.

  God. Fuck. Shit.

  This new position, with him looming over her, grasping the cheeks of her ass, guiding her movements, controlling her, plowing in and in, made her weak. Telltale shivers skittered through her lower body. Little flutters, harkening her impending explosion, grew. She sucked in a lungful of air and pushed back against him as he fucked her, fighting for domination. When that didn’t work, she tightened around him. He stilled, buried deep inside, and shuddered, groaned. So she did it again.

  His response was feral, a growl that might have been her name.

  He took her hips in a tight grasp and held her steady, though she wanted to move. Wanted him to resume that manic pile-driving action that had her so close to rapture. But he didn’t.

  Slowly, he pushed her away. She shuddered as he withdrew. Then he eased her back, impaling her. Again and again. Tormenting her with his agonizing patience.

  With each long slow drag, he filled her. Perfectly.

  Also, as she moved back and forth beneath his guiding hand, her nipples scraped over the bedspread, sending shards of exquisite pain through her.

  She ached. Everywhere. Twitched with impatience and need. So close to coming. So close…

  The palm, landing on her ass, shocked her.

  The sharp sting, certainly. But the shot of pure, unadulterated scalding lust shocked her even more.

  She whipped her head around and stared at him over her shoulder. His features were tight. His jaw clamped. His nostrils flared. He drew his palm over the burning spot on her ass. “Now what, Bella?” He paired the question with a tiny thrust, as though he wanted to hold back, torment her, but he just couldn’t hold back completely.

  It nearly undid her.

  That tiny little thrust.

  It told her, showed her, he was as crazed as she.

  No matter what. No matter what happened tomorrow or the day after that or the day after that, he wanted her now.

  “Do it Holt. Fuck me hard.”

  The expression on his face made her quiver. Hot, hard, hungry man. A beast. A warrior. A dominant male.

  His palm landed again and sensation scorched her. She wailed, but pushed back against him, clutching his cock with wet folds. He shivered. Pulsed inside her.

  And then he went wild.

  He still held her steady, but this time, he was the one moving. Hard. Fast. Deep. He pounded into her in a wild welter, a barrage of thrusts and lunges and manic plunges, each accompanied by a guttural groan.

  “Yes,” he growled. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  Her ass stung. Her nipples burned. Her womb ached.

  That small flutter swelled.

  Bella knew she was close. Knew that her crisis was upon her.

  She arched up and looked back at him. Their gazes locked. She saw the panic, the desperation, the cataclysm in his eyes.

  “Bella.” He mouthed her name. And then, louder. “Bella.”

  His cock swelled. Surged.

  He released his tight hold on her hips, hunched over her and slipped a hand between her legs, seeking and finding her hard, wet, clit.

  It took one pass. One tender, tentative pass, and she came.

  The ripples deep within grew as the wave spread outward. Swelling and welling and filling her soul. Pleasure swamped her. She closed her eyes and cradled her head in her arms.

  And then, at the very peak—the peak she’d known many times before—his fingers closed. On her. On her clit. And he tugged.

  Something. Something completely knew, utterly foreign in her ex
perience, took her, ate her raw. This new sensation, an orgasm unlike anything she’d ever felt, consumed her, possessed her, whipped through her like a wildfire in a summer-dry forest.

  He came with her, his jerking cock scraping over her super-sensitized flesh as he spasmed, driving her higher and higher still. Like a lost soul, she thrashed, wailed.

  And then, as the storm settled, as she melted beneath him onto the bed. When he slipped out and pulled her into his arms, a tiny whimper escaped her lips.

  Never. Never before had she known such bliss.

  She doubted she ever would again.

  At some point, they fell asleep.

  Bella had no idea how that happened, but when she opened her eyes again it was morning. They still lay crossways on the bed where they’d collapsed. Sometime in the night, Holt had covered them both with a blanket, and brought pillows around. He cradled her gently, spooning her back. His arm was a heavy weight on her hips.

  He shifted, making her suspect he was awake and had been for a while, just waiting for her to rouse. She moved restlessly, though she hadn’t intended to do so. Something long and hard and warm surged against her buttocks.

  “Good morning.” His voice rumbled through her, scratchy with sleep, or perhaps worn thin by his growls the night before.

  She tried not to stiffen and failed. “Morning,” she muttered.

  Honestly. How could a man’s morning breath be so tantalizing? It skated over her cheek as he bent to kiss her. She turned her head and the kiss landed on her ear. He nuzzled. Shivers of delight slid through her. Her body softened. Heat pooled in her belly.

  He stroked her breast through the blanket. Even through that thick fabric, a bolt of electricity slammed her when he nudged her nipple.

  Just nudged the fucker, for God’s sake.

  She’d always had the hots for Holt. Always. But that didn’t mean she was easy.

  He should at least have to try a little harder. Other men had to.

  Hell, some men had to try for hours to get her to this point. All he had to do was fucking breathe on her.

  If that wasn’t confirmation of how dangerous this guy could be, she didn’t know what was.

  Last night, in the grip of lust—and whiskey—she’d imagined she could have him, take him, fuck him once. Yeah. Once. That would be enough. Then she could walk away knowing—finally knowing—what it was like.

  This morning, her resolve was not so strong.

  Not with him cradling her in his arms and stroking her nipple and nuzzling her ear. His damp mouth trailed over her neck, leaving a warm trail that sent shivers through her as it cooled. His teeth scraped that one spot, just at her nape—the one that made her all achy and soft.

  It annoyed her that he’d found it so easily when others had failed. Some of her lovers had never found that spot.

  It was as though he knew exactly what to do to turn her on, and he did it. Unrepentantly.

  She gasped as he whipped back the covers and turned her over. Sometime in the night he’d removed her bra. She was naked. He dipped his head and took a nipple into his mouth and—before she could so much as protest—sucked.

  A whimper slipped out.

  She tried to swallow it, but couldn’t. It was far too insistent.

  She should stop him. Really. She should. They weren’t doing this again. Couldn’t. Shouldn’t…

  He found her nest and he dandled her clit, rubbing it in a circular motion with just the right amount of pressure. Her thighs parted.

  Maybe a moment. Just a moment more and then she’d stop him.

  He slipped deeper, easing two fingers into her pussy. They slid right in. She could tell she was wet. Soaked. He groaned and the sound vibrated through the nipple in his mouth. He nibbled it. She clenched him in a tight grasp.

  Something—possibly a tiny orgasm—walked through her.

  It couldn’t be an orgasm. Not even a tiny one. She wasn’t easy. Not that easy, anyway.

  But when he raised his head and locked gazes with her and shoved in another finger, working her, rubbing her, massaging her just where it counted, she realized she was wrong.

  She was that easy.

  She came in a flood. A flood of sensation.

  It was one of the sweet ones. A lazy, effortless early-morning orgasm that rose up like a gentle tide and swamped her.

  And all the while—the whole time he led her, guided her, skillfully drew her along—he watched her, a scorching intensity simmering his chocolate brown eyes.

  Chapter Six

  She came beautifully.

  He’d wanted to see that. He’d had a glimpse last night, when she came on his lap, and again when she’d glanced at him over her shoulder as he’d been buried in her cunt. But this—this was different. Face to face. Almost nose to nose. He could see it all, playing over her delicate features. The confusion, the resistance and then, finally, the acceptance and release.

  And she was glorious in her release.

  Once she was done, once her body had ceased to tremble and he had soothed her, he drew back and brought his fingers to his lips. Tasted her.

  He shuddered. Yes. This was her. Bella. Her essence.

  His cock twitched. He needed her. Again.

  Then again, he’d awakened needing her.

  He levered up, preparing to cover her, to slip inside, but before he could, she leapt from the bed.

  “Oh no,” she said, raking her hair. It was wild and long and unkempt. He loved it. “We can’t. We shouldn’t have…”

  His gut clenched. He’d suspected this. Expected it. Nothing with Bella was ever easy. But he’d be damned if he would make this easy for her.

  He leaned on his elbow and watched her hunt for her clothes in a room strewn with clothes. “Shouldn’t have what?”

  She whirled on him with a frown. “Shouldn’t have…” she waved a hand toward the bed. Toward him. “That.”

  “Fucked?”

  “Yes! Fucked.” She found her t-shirt and pulled it on. He hated seeing her breasts disappear, but they were still pretty damn splendid, cradled in cotton. “We shouldn’t have fucked. I was…” He smiled because he knew what was coming. “I was drunk.”

  “Are you saying I took advantage of you?” Might as well go on the offensive.

  She froze. Her gaze flicked to him. Her lips parted. Damn. Those lips. He’d love to feel them wrapped around his cock right now.

  He’d love to feel anything wrapped around his cock right now. It ached like the devil.

  He threw back the covers and stood, noting with pleasure that her attention fixed on just that.

  “Are you? Saying I took advantage of your inebriated state?”

  She swallowed. Forced her attention to his face. “N-no.”

  Relief trickled through him. Although he knew it wasn’t true, it mattered to hear her admit it.

  “But we shouldn’t have.”

  “Why not?”

  She blew out an impatient breath and picked up a pair of jeans, shoving her legs in. He nibbled on his lower lip. They were his jeans.

  They looked damn cute on her, but they were way too big.

  She realized her mistake, kicked them off and growled something under her breath as she found her own. He waited until she had her armor on to repeat his question. “Why not?”

  She glared at him. Her lips worked. “Because, Holt!”

  “Not an answer. Why should we not have fucked, and might I add, rather magnificently, last night?”

  Her lashes flickered. “Magnificently?” A small voice.

  “Rather magnificently.”

  She threaded her fingers together and pursed her lips. “We don’t even like each other, Holt.”

  He quirked a brow. “We covered this Bella. We like each other plenty.” He waved at the bed. “Plenty enough.”

  “You’re a Dom.”

  “We covered that too.” He stepped closer, because her arguments were waning, her expression softening. “You took the lead last
night. I did everything you asked. And that worked out pretty good.”

  She crossed her arms. Her breasts thrust out. He disciplined himself to focus on her face.

  “I didn’t ask you to smack my ass.” She flushed as soon as she said it.

  “No you did not.” He paused, giving her a moment to think about it before he added softly, “Did you hate it?”

  Her flush turned a rosy red. “I— That’s not the point.”

  “It is exactly the point. If you hated it, if you told me never to do it again, I would not. On that you have my solemn vow. And that goes for everything, Bella. If you told me never to do this again,” he cupped her breast and thumbed a nipple. “I would never do that again.” He drew a slow circle. Her nipple swelled to a hard point. “Do you want to ask me not to do that again?”

  Her lips parted. Her eyes dewed. “I—”

  “Or this?” He found and stroked that spot on her nape. As he knew she would, she shuddered. “Do you want to ask me not to do that again?”