by Leisa Rayven
“Is this okay?” I ask, touching him more firmly.
He doesn’t answer, just nods. His approval spurs me on, so I work up the courage to wrap my fingers around it and squeeze.
“Oh, wow,” I say. “That feels amazing.”
He groans. “You can say that again.”
I gently move my fist up and down, blown away by the sensation of skin moving over muscle. I alternate between watching my hand and watching his reaction, and soon I become more confident with my pressure and rhythm.
“Oh … Cassie …”
Look at him. Look at how beautiful he is.
His face is stunning. Mouth open, brows furrowed. Every pass of my fingers makes him gasp, or moan, or curse.
I need to kiss him, so I keep moving my hand as I crawl back up his body and claim his lips. He kisses me back passionately, then closes his fingers over mine and squeezes.
“Harder,” he whispers, and grunts his approval when I comply.
I don’t know what I thought it would be like to touch Holt intimately, but I didn’t realize it would be so … satisfying. Seeing his reaction to my touch and hearing the noises I’m causing, it’s truly the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced. And when he whispers urgently that he’s going to come, I feel like I’ve just split the atom or invented the wheel. So powerful and clever.
When he climaxes, I’m in awe.
His whole body tenses, and I mentally claim ownership over his spectacular orgasm. I caused that. Me. Inexperienced virgin that I am, I made Ethan Holt come, and quite explosively I might add, all over his stomach.
I am a sexual goddess.
Holt moans long and loud as he finishes, and I kiss his face as he lies there struggling to get back his breath. Then I go and get a warm washcloth to help clean him up.
When we’re finished, he pulls his shirt on and buttons his jeans, and I get a rush of emotion so powerful I don’t know what to do with it. He must see something on my face, because he pulls me into his chest.
“Cassie? Hey …” He cups my face, concern coloring his voice. “Do you regret doing it? I was joking about pressuring you. I’d never make you do something you didn’t want to. I’m not that much of an asshole.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No, I really enjoyed it, I just …” I blow out a breath and look at him. “I’m just so happy that I managed to make my nonboyfriend come. Is it wrong that I’m proud of myself?”
He laughs and strokes my cheek. “No. Your nonboyfriend is also proud of you. And that was your first time? Damn, woman. I hate to think what you’re going to be like after a bit of practice.”
“I’m going to ruin you for all other women,” I say seriously.
He nods. “Too late.”
He gives a deep sigh before grabbing his book and opening it to where we left off. “I hate to say it, but we really should get back to studying. Unless of course you want me to … uh … you know, return the favor.”
I smile and shake my head. “No, I’m good. Although I do have one request before we get all serious with the book learnin’ again.”
“A request?” he asks with a smirk. “Okay. What is it?”
“Kiss me.”
FIFTEEN
GREEN-EYED MONSTER
Two Weeks Later
Westchester, New York
The Grove
I look at my hands, too nervous to face him but knowing from the heat at my back that he’s there.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says. “If you believe the stories about me, I’m a killer. An animal not worthy of love or human kindness.”
“I know. I’ve heard people talk. They’d sooner string you up and dance at your funeral than for one second open up their mind and let in a little reason. They’re not happy unless they’re miserable, and seeing other people’s flaws helps them overlook what they hate about themselves.”
“But that’s not you?”
“No.” I take a deep breath to calm my runaway pulse and look him square in the eyes. “I may not be the cleverest girl in this town, or the prettiest, or the richest, but I know people as well as anyone can. And though folks speak of your evil, I’ve never seen it. All I’ve seen is a man who’s looking for a second chance but is too proud to demand he gets one.”
He swallows as he brushes the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “You can’t be saying things like that to me, girl. It makes it impossible to not kiss you.”
“That’s what I was going for.”
Then he’s kissing me, slowly, warm lips and soft hands. For a moment I’m confused, because his lips feel different, and his taste is all wrong, but I know those are Cassie’s thoughts, not Ellie’s.
When we pull apart, there’s a huge round of applause as the scene ends. I blink and take Connor’s hand as we face the audience.
Tonight our class is performing script excerpts that have been chosen and directed by the third-year students, and even though it was weird to be paired with Connor instead of Ethan, I did my best to make it work. Our director, Sophie, is in the front row clapping and jumping up and down, so I figure she’s happy with what we’ve achieved.
Connor and I bow and exit the stage, and he gives me a brief hug while the next pair is introduced.
“So, I don’t want to brag or anything,” he says. “But we just kicked ass out there.”
I nod and smile. “That screaming applause was the sound of our awesomeness.”
He laughs as we walk toward the backstage crossover. “I just need to get my shirt, then we’ll head out to watch, okay?”
“Sure.”
“See you back here in a few minutes.”
I’m grateful, because there’s someone I really need to see. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can make out Holt near the lighting cage, pacing and mumbling.
Tonight he’s performing an excerpt from Glengarry Glen Ross with Troy and Lucas, and because we’ve been rehearsing in separate groups all week, I’ve barely seen him.
I walk over and smile. He barely looks at me.
“Hey.” I’m playing nonchalant really well, considering all I want to do is drag him into the shadowy lighting cage and kiss him all over. “How’s it going?”
“Hey.” He keeps pacing, taking deep breaths as he goes.
“You okay?”
“Yep. Great. You?”
He’s being short with me. Avoiding eye contact. I kind of expected a warmer reception, considering our time apart. I think I know what’s wrong, but if I’m right, then he’s being ridiculous.
“Holt—”
“Look, Taylor, I have to warm up, so if you don’t mind …”
He turns away and rolls his neck. It cracks loudly.
I decide not to push. He’ll be going on stage soon, and he needs to focus.
“Do you want to”—I lean in so no one can hear—”you know, snuggle? Or I could give you a foot massage if you have time.”
He sighs but doesn’t turn around. “Nope. I’m fine. I’ll see you later, okay?”
I look around. Apart from Aiyah, who’s watching Miranda and Jack onstage, there’s no one else who can see us, so I wrap my arms around him and hug his back. Then I lay my cheek against his shoulder and inhale.
He smells so damn good, I almost moan.
His body tenses as he whispers, “Cut it out. People can see.”
I squeeze him tighter. “I don’t care. I’ve hugged everyone else tonight. Why shouldn’t I hug the one person I really want to? I’ve missed you.”
For a second he doesn’t say anything, but then his shoulders slump and he places his hand over mine and intertwines our fingers. “Dammit, Taylor … I’ve …” He sighs. “Me too.”
He steps away, but the way he’s looking at me gives away that he’s missed me every bit as much as I’ve missed him.
Maybe more.
I hear footsteps, and Connor appears next to me. Holt’s posture is immediately tense.
“Hey, Ethan. Cassie, ready to go out?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, even though I’d really like to stay with Holt a little longer. “So, Ethan, uh … you … do good, okay?” I eye-roll my epic lameness.
Holt gives me a halfhearted smile, and I hate that he looks so sick. I’m hoping it’s nerves and not me and Connor, but I’m betting it’s a little of both.
“Have a good one, man,” Connor says and pats Holt’s shoulder. “See you after the show.”
As we walk away, I’m sure I hear Holt mutter, “Not if I see you first, asshole.”
A few minutes later, his group is introduced, and as soon as he walks onstage, I’m mesmerized. Lucas and Troy infuse the scene with the sort of machismo-fueled rivalry that it needs, but it’s quite clear from his energy that Holt is the alpha male. He also looks completely edible in his suit and tie.
Their scene ends to huge amounts of applause, and after several more group performances, the show’s over. Erika comes onto the stage and makes a speech congratulating us all on a great collaborative effort before wishing us a good weekend.
As Connor and I head backstage to get changed, he puts his arm around me, as usual. It shouldn’t make me feel weird, because he’s always been physically affectionate, but with things being the way they are with Holt me, I feel guilty. It’s bad enough I’ve spent all week kissing Connor for our scene.
It’s not like I have feelings for Connor beyond friendship, but part of me wonders what it would be like to go out with a boy who isn’t afraid to show affection in public. Hell, I wonder what it would be like to go out with a boy. What Holt and I are doing could hardly be defined as “dating.” Mostly we hang out at my place. On the rare occasion we do go out, it’s to parties with the rest of our class where we spend the whole night avoiding each other. Then when he drives me home, we paw at each other frantically until someone orgasms.
He hasn’t once asked me out on a proper date. He hasn’t even invited me over to his apartment.
“See you at the party?” Connor says as we go our separate ways. I nod and wave. I’d like to think that Holt plans to take me, but the only consistent thing about him is his unpredictability.
When I finish getting changed, I grab my backpack and head to his dressing room. I step inside to find him sitting on the couch unlacing his shoes. He’s still wearing his suit pants, but his shirt, tie, and jacket are slung over the chair, and all he’s wearing on his upper half is a white tank.
Oh. God.
I stand there in a state of debilitating lust, watching his arms flex as he tugs at his laces. He looks up and catches me.
He frowns as he pulls off his shoes and socks. “You okay?”
“No.” Pretty sure I’m slack-jawed and drooling.
He stops what he’s doing. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I gesture to his shoulders and arms. “That’s what wrong, mister. All of that! I don’t see you for five days, then you show up wearing that?!”
He rests his elbows on his knees as he looks down at himself. “Taylor, you’ve seen my arms before.”
“Not recently. And it’s not just your arms. It’s your shoulders. And your neck. And that little bit of hair on your chest. And all of it together, wrapped up in that … That ridiculous piece of clothing you’re wearing.”
“My tank?”
“Yes! It’s like wrapping up the very definition of the word ‘sexy’ in a layer of irresistible lust.” I grunt in frustration and whisper, “It does strange things to me, Ethan. It makes me want to do strange things to you, too.”
He stares at me for a second before trailing his gaze down my body, then up again. “What sort of things?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I think it’s safe to say that I really, really do. Show me.”
“It’s too embarrassing. You’ll judge me.”
“Taylor, you haven’t touched me in five days. Do you really want to keep discussing this, or do you want to do something about it?”
He has a point. “Uch. Fine.”
I walk over and kneel between his legs. He watches me with wary eyes as I put my hands on his thighs.
“Flex your bicep,” I order quietly. He looks confused. “Just do it.”
He shakes his head before clenching his fist and curling his arm, causing the muscles to contract and bunch in ways that makes me bite my tongue to keep from making an embarrassingly wanton sound.
I lean forward and press my lips against the bunched muscle. Holt seems confused.
When I trail my teeth over the soft skin and press into the hardness underneath, he frowns. I close my eyes and suck on the thick muscle. He makes a strangled noise, and when I look at him, I notice he’s panting and his pupils are huge.
I give his bicep one final suck before my mortification wins out, and I pull back.
“That’s the sort of thing it makes me want to do,” I say as I sit back on my heels. “Now, aren’t you embarrassed you like someone who’s so obviously disturbed?”
He lowers his arm and blinks. “You have no idea, do you? You literally have no clue.”
“About what?”
“About how insanely fucking sexy you are.”
He wraps one arm around me and pulls me forward as he splays his fingers across my cheek and kisses me, sudden and passionate. His mouth is warm and insistent. I react by making more noise than is probably wise considering I can hear my classmates moving around outside the dressing room door.
“Sshhh,” he whispers as he pulls me against him.
I’m dizzy, and I clutch at his shoulders as he kisses down my jaw and onto my neck.
“Wow,” I say, breathless. “If this is how you react when I suck on your bicep, imagine the fun we’re going to have when I get to other parts of your anatomy.”
He immediately freezes.
And there it is. The reaction he always has when I imply I’d like to take him in my mouth.
“You know,” I say, trying to loosen his arms so I can pull back and look at him, “most men have a completely different reaction when a girl offers to pleasure them orally. Are you afraid I won’t do it right, because I have no experience? I can assure you, I’ve watched enough porn to know my way around a penis. I mean, I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it all the way in like some of those girls, but I’m sure, with enough practice that I could—”
“Fuck me, Taylor …” He lets me go and slumps back against the couch. “You just … you can’t go around saying that kind of stuff.”
“Why not?”
“Because …” He rubs his eyes, then looks at me, pained and turned on. “I’m trying not to let things get out of control with you, and if you keep saying that stuff, it’s going to be fucking impossible.”
“Fine. I won’t talk.”
I push up his tank and kiss his stomach before moving down to the waistband of his pants. A long, tortured groan pours out of him.
“We can’t,” he says, his voice cracking. “Someone could walk in any second.”
“So?” I unlatch his belt buckle. “I’m sure it’s not the first time drama students have been caught pleasuring each other backstage. We’re a very horny bunch, or haven’t you noticed?”
I stroke him through his pants, and even though his accompanying moan sounds like a protest, he doesn’t stop me.
“You’re killing me, Taylor. You know that, right? Every time you touch me, you kill me a little more.”
There’s a rush of running feet outside, and Holt springs off the couch and refastens his pants right before the door bursts open, and a naked Jack Avery streaks into the room.
“Pre-party nudie dash!” He does a quick lap of the room and exits.
“Jesus. I did not need to see that.” Holt strides toward the open door. “Why don’t these goddamn doors have locks? Hide your shame, Avery!”
He slams the door and slumps back onto the couch.
“Actually,” I say, “nude Jack has nothing to be ashamed of. Who knew the geek was packi
ng that larger-than-average lightsaber in his Star Wars underoos?”
Holt rolls his eyes, and I laugh as I sit beside him and stroke the back of his neck.
“You were really good tonight,” I say, running my fingers over his ear.
He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I love watching you onstage. You’re so … sexy. And talented. In fact, I think you’re sexy because you’re talented. I mean, you’re also ridiculously handsome, but so are soap actors, and they do absolutely nothing for me because they’re terrible actors. So yeah, I find your talent a turn-on. Is that weird? Should I stop talking now?”
He smiles and leans forward. “Yes.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me gently. I grip his arms to steady myself as my heart kicks into overdrive.
He pulls back and sighs. “You’re talented, too. Way too talented in too many ways.” “So,” I say as I take his hand and stroke his fingers. “Did you see my scene with Connor?”
He tenses. “Uh … yeah. I saw it from backstage.”
A hint of agitation creeps onto his face, and I can almost hear his brain whispering things that aren’t true.
“And what did you think?”
“You were good.”
“Uh huh. And Connor?”
He shrugs and stands. “He was all right. He made some obvious choices, but I guess they worked.”
He strips off his pants, giving me a very nice view of his butt in dark gray boxer-briefs before he pulls on his jeans.
“So … you don’t want to talk about anything else to do with the scene?”
He grabs a V-neck sweater and yanks it over his head. “Nope.” He pushes up the sleeves and runs his hand through his hair.
“You don’t care that I kissed him?”
He sits on a chair opposite me and pulls out his boots and socks from under the bench. “I care. I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he says as he pulls on a sock, “talking about it … even thinking about it, makes me irrationally fucking angry.”
Wow. He’s admitting something. This is epic.
“Holt, you know you have nothing to be jealous of, right?”
