Thank You For Holding: On Hold Series Book #2

by Julia Kent

  Bedsheets made of high thread counts move against my bare flesh like silk, the in-between space as Ryan sinks in beside me a warm cocoon. Hungry hands cover me, roaming and free, moving with the abandon of a man given blanket permission to do as he pleases.

  And to please me.

  “Ryan,” I whisper, tears welling in my eyes as emotion overcomes me. He’s stroking my face, compassion softening his features, and if we had more light in the room the shadow over his face would reveal worlds unseen, love unfelt, time unlived.

  “I do love you, Carrie. Have for a long time. It’s killed me to wait, but now here we are.” His palm goes flat against my cheek, gliding slowly, achingly meandering down my shoulder, over my collarbone, leaving a trail of tingling anticipation. Ryan’s gaze goes dark as he looks at me, following his hand, the smooth, confident touch growing bolder.

  As his fingertips close over my nipple I gasp, a tight pain zinging through me, followed by a wellspring of desire that courses through my body, making me ache to have him in me. So soon, I know, and yet I can’t wait any longer.

  We’ve waited too long already.

  “Kitten,” he says, making me smile, the nickname a shared secret, an inside joke that makes me want him inside me. Forcing myself to slow down, I press my fingertips into his shoulder, the layers of definition mine to explore. Mine.

  “This is Ryan,” I say, reveling in the words this time, unafraid and with a finality to my tone, shoulders lowering, body relaxing.

  “Yes,” he says, his hand moving down, finding me wet and very, very ready. “You were expecting someone else?” He’s playful but serious.

  “When we were at the Inn, I kept thinking to myself, ‘This is Ryan,’ because I couldn’t believe we were naked and in bed and that you were touching me and we — ” The sheer beauty of it all makes me stop, my throat tightening. He moves his hand to my hip, forehead touching mine, his eyes closed as he honors what I’m saying. Grief has no place between us now, and yet a sliver of regret has to be let in for this to remain honest.

  To remain real.

  “This is Ryan, Carrie. I’m here, all the way.” His kiss makes sure I know it. “I’m not sure I can hold back,” he adds as I stroke him, enjoying the feel of him, his body rising up as I touch him, hips drawing toward me.

  “Then don’t. Don’t hold back. Don’t ever hold back,” I implore him, my fingers traveling down the wide plane of muscled torso, reaching for him with a greedy hand and a needy soul.

  And then he’s between my legs and I open to him, fully and freely, whispering his name as if it’s become my heartbeat. As he enters me he groans, the sound resonant and I am so wet, he slides straight in, making me gasp with joy, enjoying the power of having someone so close to me.

  This is Ryan, indeed.

  “I’m here. Not going anywhere, Carrie,” he says as he thrusts, so slowly, the movement reverent. All the ways that I feel disconnected from the world fade away as he moves inside me, my hands on his ribs, fingers divining the way to his heart. I feel it beat beneath my flattened palm, my appreciation for his very existence mingling with the soulful, steady gallop.

  He finds my hands and moves them beside my head and weaves our fingers together as he begins to thrust and I meet him, bracing myself with one arched foot. I can see my other foot above his shoulder, stretching to the ceiling and the universe beyond, the feel of him exquisite, the feelings inside me more ecstatic.

  This is all I want in the universe. Ryan.

  “I never, ever want you to doubt me,” he says tenderly, kissing me as he makes love to me, my hands now finding all the corners and curves of him, yearning to show him all my corners and curves, too. We’re just planes of existence folded and twisted by life and love, and it’s the unraveling, the blossoming of a tight bud that allows us to let the love in.

  “I don’t. I doubt myself, but not you. I wish I’d seen you as you are, like this. I never thought I had a chance with you,” I murmur in his ear as he dips down to take one nipple in his mouth, teeth doing something that makes me tighten, makes me spiral to a place without form, without anchor, where pure pleasure fills in the gaps of who I am.

  “You’re all I want, Carrie. Let me love you.”

  “Let me love you back,” I beg, unable to talk, moving against him as I match his quickening pace.

  I can’t hold back any longer, the lovely buildup reaching its intense peak and cascading over, going on and on as my sounds tell him it’s time and he lets himself go, exploding into me with such force. I can feel every pulse, all shyness long gone, our openness more erotic than any stroke. He is still for a moment, then he moves again, his breathing ragged, his cheek against mine, all his weight on me.

  I love it. I can’t move, can’t escape, can’t avoid.

  Can’t help but love him.

  My body is like thousands of ribbons blowing on the wind, carefree and unmoored, following nature’s plan. We are still feeling the last waves of our lovemaking, Ryan’s hands pressing into the mattress as he lifts himself up, kissing the tip of my nose as I smile.

  “Sorry,” he whispers. “That was fast.”

  “What? No. That was perfectly normal.”

  “Normal isn’t good enough, kitten. You deserve far more than normal.” He rolls off me, resting by my side, every bit of his thigh, hip, and torso touching me. My side boob rests against his arm like an obedient, well…

  Kitten.

  I frown. “If that was just ‘normal’ sex in your world, Ryan, what the hell is ‘great sex’?”

  He grins, a shock of brown hair matted to his sweaty forehead. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll show you.”

  “Ten minutes?” I lift the sheet, look down at his endlessly delicious body, and raise one eyebrow. “Besides, twice in one night? No one does that.”

  “What’s your sample size of experience?” he asks, reaching for my breast, stroking until I can’t quite answer him. He shakes his head. “No one does that?” he mimics, face hard to read. “We’ll see.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything sooner?” I gasp, rolling against him, lifting my knee against his thigh, my curves against his muscles a beautiful paradox.

  “Because I was stupid. Cowardly. Afraid you’d reject me.” He rolls slightly toward me until we’re face to face, breathing each other’s breath.

  “Reject you? You?” I wave at his body like my hands have become hummingbirds. “Who in their right mind would reject you?”

  Like a wounded animal, his shoulders hunch, just for a second before he squares them and answers me forthrightly. “Lots of women.” His heart speeds up under my hand, like someone pressed the gas pedal of a car. I trace the thick, colorful outlines of the tattoos on his left arm. Mandelbrot Set. It was one of the most compelling details about Ryan when I first met him. Anyone who tattoos fractals on himself has a commitment to nonconformity.

  “Carrie, I wasn’t always like this.”

  “Good in bed? Bad at blurting out feelings? Wasn’t always like — ohhhhhh,” I say, grasping his meaning. “You mean your high school graduation picture.”

  “My huh?”

  “Tessa showed me. Class of 2008.” I do the math. 2008 - 2001 (my graduating class) = 7 years age difference. When I’m old and wrinkly, he’ll be seven years less old. Less wrinkly. Then again, I have longer life expectancy, so the balance favors me.

  Ryan sits up sharply, the covers falling off our bodies. I look down, soft moonlight giving us a stippled glow, our legs tangled. “Tessa showed you? I’ll kill her.”

  “No — Ryan, it’s actually good. It helped me to understand. And you look like a lot of the guys I liked back in high school.”

  The shy look he gives me makes my heart say Awwwwwwww. “I’ve changed a lot since then.”

  “Haven’t we all?”

  “More on the outside than the inside,” he says, clearing his throat. “I didn’t realize it until you were available and I could take a chance. Tell you how I felt.
Suddenly, though, it was all too — ”

  “Real?” I interrupt, snuggling against his chest, listening to his heart. Who knew pillow talk could be so revealing? When Jamey and I talked after sex, it was mostly about the new deCordova museum art exhibit or whether Blue Ginger was still worth the hike out to Wellesley.

  Ryan talks about feelings. Naked. Feelings and nakedness combined are lovelier than any new trend.

  His hand strokes my shoulder. “Yes. And I’m sorry I ran away from the wedding. That really was cowardly of me. I heard you and Chloe at the reception. You told her we weren’t compatible.”

  “No, I didn’t!”

  “Yes, you did. But that’s all in the past.”

  “Ryan! I told her we weren’t compatible on the surface, but deep down we were.”

  “I know. Chloe told me.”

  “You talked about me with my boss?” My self-respect starts Irish dancing in my throat.

  “I went to O to resign, and Chloe — ”

  “You resigned?”

  “Yes. I really am moving back to California.” He squeezes my hand. “With you.”

  “California.” My words sound breathy, like an ocean breeze. A Pacific Ocean breeze.

  “Stanford it is. My mother is going to love you.” He kisses my temple.

  “Your mother?”

  “My dad’s sick. She wants me to move back home anyhow. So I’ll go for Stanford instead of Cal Tech.”

  “We’re both moving to San Francisco.” I sit up and stare at him, heedless of my bare breasts, suddenly comfortable being on display. Enjoying it, even. “Less than an hour ago I was eating takeout and hating on Dermot Mulroney. Now I’m naked, in your arms, and you’re talking about moving to San Francisco with me to start a new life.”

  He smiles. It’s electrifying. “Sounds about right.” His arms tighten, pulling me closer.

  “Don’t you think it’s all kind of… fast?”

  “No. We wasted two years, C-Shel. I can’t be with you fast enough.” Tension fills his body, all of the parts of me touching him shifting as he turns into one giant, gorgeous rock. “Unless you’re having second thoughts.”

  “What? No! Hell, no.” I crawl up him, my bare belly against his, straddling him as we kiss, a deep wet affair that leaves me with no doubt that Ryan’s ready for round two, should one of us call for it. “Fast isn’t fast enough for me, either.”

  “You look incredibly beautiful,” he says softly, as our heart rates slowly return to normal, our kiss a seal on a deal we’ve been waiting to make.

  A self-conscious laugh escapes me. “Yeah, no…”

  I know for sure — I’ve heard from Jamey and his predecessors — that this is not my best look. Messy hair that I should have washed today, flushed face, lipstick long gone (was I even wearing any?), maybe a little sweaty…

  What is he doing now? Ryan flips on top of me, pinning me in place, but he has twisted sideways and he’s rummaging on the floor next to the bed. He comes up with his phone in one hand and swipes at the screen with his thumb.

  “What are you doing?” I crane my neck, trying to see what’s on the other side of the phone.

  He slides over next to me and holds the phone at full arm’s length. His face is pressed right next to mine and he is smiling at the screen, which reflects us.

  I know what this is, and I screech “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” as I yank the bedsheet up over my face, trying unsuccessfully to stop the selfie from being taken.

  “I am saving this moment forever. For all time. So someday I can show you how gorgeous you are and how much we love each other. In case you ever forget.” A heated kiss follows his words, tongues dancing, mouths saying more than we can in any other way.

  “But it’s my mission,” he adds as he pulls away, leaving me open-mouthed and panting, “to make sure you never, ever forget.”

  I close my mouth. I narrow my eyes. I drop the sheet. This is me, trusting him. After all, making things look better is in my blood.

  A huge smile spreads across my face as he pulls me in the frame, as is, perfect just as we are, rumpled and disheveled, wild and free.

  Click

  * * *

  ;)

  * * *

  Dear Readers: a huge thank you to all of you. Elisa and I deeply appreciate your taking the time out of your busy lives to read Ryan and Carrie’s story. If you haven’t read Our Options Have Changed, which is Nick and Chloe’s book, we encourage you to grab your copy now and sink into their unconventional tale:

  Our Options Have Changed

  About Julia Kent

  Text JKentBooks to 77948 and get a text message on release dates!

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent turned to writing contemporary romance after deciding that life is too short not to have fun. She writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.

  She loves to hear from her readers by email at jkentauthor@gmail.com, on Instagram and Twitter @jkentauthor, and on Facebook at facebook.com/jkentauthor

  Visit her website at http://jkentauthor.com

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  About Elisa Reed

  Elisa Reed is a journalist-turned-fiction-writer whose snappy, irreverent prose combines with an irrepressible zest for the simpler, and often intimate, pleasures of life to produce fun(ny) contemporary romance with a focus on second chances.

  New England born and bred, Elisa Reed now lives, writes, and plays in New Orleans and along the sugar sands of the Gulf Coast.

  You can find her on Facebook at: http://www.facebook.com/elisareedauthor

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