I give Holly what I hope is an encouraging smile. Then I place both hands on the bar that opens the door.
I’m not sure what makes me pause before I push against it and step out into the employee parking lot. The silence feels wrong, maybe. Or the faint smell of cigarette smoke in the air. I crack the heavy door and there, at the bumper of my truck, is Timmy, talking to the Poughkeepsie Record news reporter from the press conference. A photographer stands behind them.
I shut the door quickly and pull Holly back. “Shit.”
She makes a pinched sound and grabs my hand. “Oh my God. What are they doing?”
Adrenaline spikes through me, from the shock of seeing the reporter out there like a burglar in a bedroom. It sparks against the low-burning flame of all these past few days—the exhilaration, the disbelief. The desire.
And suddenly my heart is racing. Holly is standing beside me, inches away, her hand in mine. And we’re both trembling like idiots. And then laughing at how ridiculous we are.
And all at once, I can’t take it. I just can’t.
All that energy twists inside me into something deeper.
Darker.
And I want her so bad I think I am going to fucking die.
I release her fingers and turn her to face me. It’s too soon, too fast, but I can’t help it. I slide my hands into her thick hair and hold her there. Her eyes fly open. Her mouth, too, and she sucks in a breath.
I kiss her, and I’m not smooth about it either. I push her against the wall and slip my tongue into her mouth. And, oh Christ, she tastes good.
Like bright, warm light. Like honey. And suddenly everything feels absolutely fixed in place. Stilled, and right. Like I’m not spinning anymore. Like I can stand to be where I am. In Holly’s arms, pressed against her body.
I feel her heartbeat rocketing into mine, the vibration of her shocked moan against my lips…and this, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I pull back from her with effort, and hold her at arm’s length. Just to look at her, to stop this moment in time. Because when this single moment passes I am going to ask her an impossible question. A question we won’t be able to turn back from.
I’m stuck here in the store unless I want to face the reporters outside, clamoring to interview me or waiting to follow me home. My guess is it’s the same for her.
We owe them a story, and we don’t want to give them one. It’s too much, already—all the changes bearing down on us. And we have to feel our way through that with people watching? It’s more than anyone could handle with any sort of grace.
The pressure of screwing it up, of being judged, of taking a wrong step and being humiliated for it—it’s more than I can take now. It’s more, I think, than Holly can take, too.
The only thing either of us wants to do, I’m sure, is lose ourselves for a little while. Just go somewhere and take a break from all of this. Step off the wheel for a minute and figure out where we are. What we are.
What we want.
“Holly.”
She stares at my mouth, breathing hard, and I swear to God my knees almost buckle.
“There’s a…there’s the hotel. The one behind the…out the side—”
“Yes,” she says. She raises her gaze to mine. Her blue eyes are dark and dilated. “Yes, Ray.”
Chapter 11
Holly
We find an emergency exit on the side of the building and open it carefully. It leads out into a short stretch of grassy marsh. On the other side of that is a mid-range hotel, tall and nondescript against the bright afternoon sun. I’ve passed it every single day I’ve worked at Cogmans, and each time I’ve wondered who in the world stays there.
We walk in through a tall, bright atrium that leads to the front desk. The silence is cushioned, lush, and compared to the constant chatter of Cogmans, it feels…expensive. I duck into a ladies’ room while Ray checks in, just to get away from the ambiguous stare of the woman behind the desk. She probably thinks I’m a prostitute. I yank my denim skirt down lower so that it almost covers my knees, and wash my hands. The soap smells like sage and mint.
Ray is waiting for me by the elevator. I see him before he sees me, and I almost turn around. I almost sneak out the way I came in.
When he suggested the hotel, I didn’t have time to think. Or rather, my ability to think was…compromised.
I wanted him. I wanted to forget. About everything else. If we had made love right then and there, surreptitiously behind a stack of detergent, I could have claimed that I’d been caught up in the heat of moment, that I didn’t mean to do it.
But I stopped. I said yes. I walked here with him and waited while he checked in. I can’t pretend that I didn’t decide this, that I’m not actively choosing it.
—
Ray turns and sees me, and smiles, and it’s the shyness of that smile, the sweetness, that makes me walk toward him.
Yes, I am choosing this. I want this. I take his hand, and the warmth of it, the fullness of that warmth, is an unspeakable relief.
He doesn’t say anything in the elevator. We stand side by side, hand in hand, and watch the numbers light up one by one.
When the doors open to our floor, he leads the way to the end of the hall and slides the card key into the lock. The room is larger and brighter than any I’ve ever stayed in before. The bed is wide and clean.
I’m guessing Ray charged the room to his credit card since we don’t have our money yet. I bet it’ll feel good to him to pay off that bill next week.
I think of the debt I’ve been struggling under for years, the interest that keeps adding up, the balance that’s now three times as much as what I actually spent. A balance I’d never have been able to repay in one lump sum, let alone in minimum-payment increments.
I’ve carried that debt since Brett and I got married. I charged my wedding dress to that card.
Next week it’ll be gone, like it was never there. I’ll be free.
Ray moves into the room, a gentle energy vibrating off him. He’s wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. Work boots. Muscles line his back, his arms. He stops at the window and turns to me, the sun in his hair.
I go to him, and lean my forehead against his chest.
He’s free now, too. Both of us, we’ve been cut loose. None of the old rules apply to us anymore. We’re out in the ether, alone.
Except for each other.
I press a kiss against his rib cage. I listen to his heart beating.
“No one knows we’re here,” he says.
His smile arrows through me, and I remember the first time I met him. He walked into the break room while I was drinking coffee, and sat down and introduced himself like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t the hottest man I had ever seen in my life, like his body didn’t radiate heat.
Maybe he didn’t realize. I tried to be helpful to him, as a coworker, to be kind, and I forced myself not to show any reaction to him, any attraction. I didn’t want to give him that kind of power.
Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. We’re in a hotel room together in the middle of the day. We both know why. And I’m scared to death. I don’t even know of what.
“It’s true. No one knows we’re here.” I try to sound nonchalant about it, flirty, but my voice cracks, and immediately he pulls back.
“You okay?”
“Y-yes…Why?”
“Because, I mean…” He presses his lips together.
I’ve ruined the moment. I’ve made him self-conscious. Hell, I’m self-conscious.
“Holly, we don’t have to…I mean, I don’t want you to feel like…”
I don’t want to ruin this moment. I don’t want to make us both feel weird just because I can’t relax.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man. I’m embarrassed by how long.
I sit down on the bed. It is absurdly soft, and covered in a million pillows. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”
He laughs a little, and
sits beside me. “At what? Sleeping with someone in a hotel room right after you’ve won the lottery?”
“Guess not.” I lean back until I’m lying down, and kick off my shoes. “They sure don’t skimp on the pillows at nice hotels.”
Ray eases over and lies on his side to face me. “Nope, they don’t.”
“I’m a little freaked out, Ray.” I lay the palm of my hand against his face. It’s bristly. I don’t think he’s shaved today.
He covers my hand with his. “So am I.”
“Really?”
He blows out a breath. “Sorry, is that not sexy? The guy’s supposed to be in charge and all that?”
I think of Brett, who always led the way on everything. Who acted like he was above human feeling. “Actually, no. It’s…it’s good.”
Ray smiles into my palm. “Well, I got that going for me.”
I look into his eyes for a few moments. His warm, brown eyes. And soon I’m looking at his mouth. At his lips that are still curved—with affection, I realize. Affection for me.
Ray has been nothing but open and friendly since that first day I met him. And interested. Unlike me, he’s made no secret of that. He was interested in me.
I’ve never felt like the kind of woman who could interest a man like him. Brett always made it seem like I was lucky he chose me, like I was a step down for him. In retrospect I guess he had to put me in my place like that, in order to control me.
And it worked—for years. It’s still working. Because even now, here in this room with Ray, Brett is haunting me. He’s here, telling me to hold back, to not trust this, to not trust myself.
I used to think I had decent judgment, that I knew how to tell the difference between someone cruel and someone kind. It seemed like such a basic thing, something anyone should know. Yet I ended up with Brett. I twisted myself in knots trying to make him love me.
And look how that turned out.
I want to believe that Ray is a good man. That he’s not lying in wait, looking for signs of vulnerability he can use against me.
But the fact is, I can’t know that for sure. I’m taking a risk, being here with him. I don’t know him very well, not really.
But I’m taking a risk because I want to.
Because I want him.
Because I’m a grown woman. A mother, a hard worker, a good friend.
I’m taking the risk because I’m so fucking tired of being afraid. Of being tentative, of holding myself back.
I close the gap between Ray’s body and mine, and press my lips to his.
He breathes out, into my mouth, and this time I’m here for it. I feel it lick through me like smoke.
I hold him there, just like that. To feel him, to get used to him, to learn the sensation of his lips against mine.
Then I touch my tongue to his lower lip.
He doesn’t move at first, only breathes in once, sharply, and lets me explore him. I take my time, tasting him, feeling the flood it unleashes in me. A thick, drugging need.
I arch my back and press into him, and finally he responds. His tongue finds mine, and he’s kissing me back. Licking me hotly, caressing me. His hands move under the hem of my shirt, over the curve of spine, my hip.
“This T-shirt,” he says, fanning his thumbs over my belly, “is fucking killing me.”
“Why?” I manage, breathless.
“Because, look at you.” He sets me back a few inches and rakes his gaze over my breasts, my stomach. Which is not as flat as it used to be, in the days before Drew. He lowers his face and presses it against my heart. I feel the heat of his lips, his breath, the faint bristle of his slight beard through the cotton of my T-shirt.
I want to feel it against my bare skin. I sit up and pull the shirt over my head, and toss it onto the bed.
Ray just lies there for a moment, on his side, and gazes at me. At my belly, my bra, my face. He sits up, slowly, and takes me in.
I get the feeling that he’s being careful. That he’s trying not to spook me. I’m grateful for his slowness. For the fact that he’s taking his time and making sure we both feel comfortable.
But I don’t want him to be careful anymore.
He holds my bare arms in his hands. I feel the tension in those hands, the restraint. The energy coiled inside him that he’s holding back.
“Ray.”
“I don’t want to scare you, Holly.”
“I’m not scared,” I lie.
“You should be.” His fingers grip me tighter. “I am.”
All the air goes out of me. Just flies out. He stands and steps between my legs where I sit on the bed. Then he leans in and presses his mouth against the slender bra strap on my left shoulder. He licks his way down, tracing the satin, down to my breast. And then his hands come up and ease the bra down. He releases the snap in back and lets it fall to the ground.
He lifts one of my breasts to his mouth and licks, his tongue curling around my nipple, and my body bends back, my hands go to his hair. I’m pushing my nipple into his mouth, and he’s licking me, and I’m dying.
His other hand moves, palm down, under my skirt, opening my thighs. He makes a fist and presses it against my underwear. And I can’t help it; I push into that fist. He groans against my nipple and sucks it into his mouth.
There’s too much clothing in the way now—my skirt bunched tightly around my hips, his jeans. His boots are still on. I stand abruptly to undo the button at my waist, and accidentally knock him backward. He stumbles into a side table and almost falls on his ass, which makes both of us double over, laughing. Me, half-dressed and probably bright red in the face, and him, struggling to get out of his boots, and failing.
I get down on my knees and help him take his boot off. He stretches out his legs, leaning back on his hands, and watches me, chuckling.
“I’ve never had my shoes removed by a topless woman before.”
I straighten a little so my stomach doesn’t pooch out too much, and go for his other boot.
“Not that I’m complaining.”
He’s wearing brown socks that are insanely cute. They make my heart lurch a little as I take them off. I hold his bare foot in my hand. It’s strangely intimate, how warm his foot is, how sweet it feels against my palm.
I look up into his eyes.
“Why is it like this, Ray?”
He knows exactly what I mean. “This intense? I don’t know.” He pulls his foot away gently and rises to his knees, facing me. “You gonna admit yet that you’re scared?”
I tug on the hem of his shirt, and he stands and pulls it off.
“Maybe.” I rise and face him.
He inches forward. “Maybe?” His chest is hot against my breasts. His forearm presses into my back.
I kiss him, and already his mouth is familiar—the taste of him and the texture, and painfully, achingly necessary.
Yes, I’m scared.
But it’s too late to turn back now.
I unbutton his jeans, and drive my hands into the waistband. I take his gasp into my mouth, and flatten my palms against his thighs as he helps me pull everything down. His pants, my skirt. Then I drop to my knees.
“Holly—”
But I don’t let him finish. I take him in my hand, taste him with my tongue. He hisses out a breath and tries to steady himself. There’s nothing to hold, though. He sways, and slides his hands into my hair. I have to brace his legs with my hands, to fix him in place. While his cock slides hotly into my mouth.
God.
He’s so thick, and hard—the muscles in his thighs contracting, tensing, his fingers knotting into my hair. The heat of him, the salt, the silk…I’m dizzy with it. Sick with it. I want more.
It shouldn’t turn me on so much to feel him in my throat like this, to feel him pulling my hair tight.
But it’s Ray. Who I know would stop if I said it was hurting me. Who is breathing right now like I’m breaking him in pieces, and I understand that’s what I want. To break him apart, to be brok
en. To let that happen. To not have to hold it all together.
He shudders, and pulls back, and then he’s half lifting, half dragging me over to the bed. He rips the blanket aside, pushes me down onto my back, and spreads my legs.
I make a sound then. I say his name. He spreads my legs and breathes against my labia, and all I can do is brace my feet against the bed frame. My back arches—I can’t help it, and he exhales sharply.
“God, Holly.” He presses his face briefly against the inside of my thigh. “You’re so beautiful.”
I don’t have any time to react before he licks me. Just bends his head and licks my clit. His tongue is hot, burning hot, and I want to scream. I want to tear the sheets beneath me apart.
“Fuck,” he says against me. His hands reach up and trail over my breasts, over my swollen nipples, and his tongue moves in tiny, controlled licks. Small, precise movements that make me feel like I’m being strung up with wire, tighter and tighter. He’s barely touching me, and it’s torture.
“Ray.”
He smothers a moan and pushes his mouth against me harder. Squeezes and pinches my nipples until they hurt, and it’s exactly right. Exactly what I need.
I’m so close to coming, so soon. I feel like I should hold off, like I should wait for him, or slow down. But there is no slowing down. His mouth is relentless. I wrap my calf around his naked back and the muscles there completely undo me. His mouth moves fast, my nipples strain against his fingers, and I’m coming hard against his tongue, crying.
He lets out a shuddering breath and presses his face again against my thigh. I don’t have time to think, to come down, before he goes to take a condom from the pocket of his jeans.
“Got these at the front desk,” he says, returning. He wipes a strand of hair out of my eyes. “You okay?”
I nod, breathing hard, and he edges up between my legs. I want to be on him.
I turn him over and take the condom from his hands. Roll it on. His face is flushed a deep crimson. There’s sweat on his neck. I lean down and lick it off him, and he makes a strangled sound.
“Holly.”
I guide him between my legs. And then lower myself onto him, inch by inch. My body clenches around him, trying to adjust to his thickness, his heat. It’s overwhelming in a way I didn’t prepare myself for, the way he fills me. How deep he goes. I feel his hips between my thighs, the strength of his chest against the palm of my hand. And I begin to move, rising up and then slowly, slowly sliding down.
Rolling in the Deep Page 8
