by Wendy Owens
We’re still talking, every day spending time together; we even flirt insanely with one another. When it comes to physical contact, though, we both seem to be treading water, waiting for some sort of sign. Last night, after the pub closed, we went for a moonlit walk. We held hands, talked about what we hope for our futures one day, and then he walked me back to my room.
We were kissing just outside my door; he had me pressed up against the wall with his body, and I could feel him growing hard against me through his jeans. I twisted my body, shoving my key into the lock and pushed open my door. He stepped back, which I thought was to give me room to go inside. I stood there, just in front of my bed, looking at him, waiting for him to pounce.
He stared back at me. It was like he was a vampire and couldn’t enter without permission. The silence between us became awkward, and I started to nervously shift from foot to foot. I wanted to tell him he should come in and have his way with me, but I said nothing.
“Goodnight.” He broke the silence before I could come up with something.
I was left with only one response, “Goodnight.”
He turned and walked away. If there was a female equivalent to blue balls, I certainly had it last night. For the first sleepless hour I was angry. How could he not know? Then it shifted into a couple hours of self-loathing. There must be something wrong with me if he could resist my charms the way he did. Lastly, that gave way to a plan. Sheer determination to make this man fall to his knees and beg me to screw his brains out. Kenzie would be proud.
I stretch out my limbs to their fullest, as if pushing away the sleepless night. I stand and walk over to the window. Immediately, Holden captures my attention. He is at his truck, pulling something from the back. He looks so well-rested I’m once again frustrated with him. He pulls out a package and tucks it under his arm; my frustration shifts to intrigue.
I hear the front door open and, without any hesitation, his footsteps bounding up the stairs. Before I can move from the spot where I’m standing, there is a knock at the door. I glance down at my clothes: a skimpy tank top without a bra and some sleep shorts. I consider grabbing my robe. While what I’m wearing isn’t exactly what I would call sexy attire, it may be enough to fuel his curiosity. I decide to forego the robe and walk over to answer the door.
I take in a deep breath and open. He steps inside my room without even looking at me; so much for the vampire theory. “Good morning, beautiful.” The familiar greeting means nothing to me considering he hasn’t even looked at me.
He rushes to my bed and places the package on top of the mattress. With a smile that nearly splits his face, he turns and faces me. Now he sees me, and his look of excitement twists.
“What are you doing?” I inquire.
He shakes his head, as if to disperse the wicked thoughts in his mind. “Oh, I have something for you.”
It’s time to make him beg, I tell myself, and lean to one side, shoving the door closed. “Is that so?” I ask in the most suggestive tone I can muster. I know being seductive isn’t my strong suit, but it’s obvious he wants me to some extent, so how hard can this be.
“Are you all right?” he asks, furrowing his brow.
“Wow, I’m even worse at this than I thought.”
“At what?”
“Nothing, never mind.”
“Are you sure?” he follows up in a concerned tone.
I nod.
He rushes up to me and takes my hand, dragging me over to stand next to the bed. “I got you something.”
I look down at brown box.
“What?" I gasp, surprised.
"I got you a gift."
“What is it?” I inquire, now genuinely interested.
“Do you remember what we talked about last night?” Holden asks me. I try to focus, but it’s difficult with him so close to me.
“We talked about so much ... what part?”
“Outside, on our walk,” he continues. I lift my shoulders in bewilderment. “Your writing, do you remember?”
“I suppose; what about it?” I feel confused.
“It keeps coming up, this love you have for books, and how you wish you could be a writer."
"I don’t get what this has to do with anything."
He smiles and squeezes my hand. "You said in college your professors used your work as an example, and that from the praise you received you considered becoming a novelist.” Holden was nearly levitating with excitement.
“Yeah, so? I’m still not fully understanding what this has to do with anything.”
“I think you should give it a go.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, not meaning to sound as frustrated as I do.
He reaches out and flips open the flaps to the box, pulling free a gleaming white case. On the cover I see the image of a sleek and slim laptop. "Maybe this will make it to easier to understand,” he says and hands me the case.
I gasp. “I still don’t think I understand.”
“I thought it was kind of self-explanatory,” he says, the excitement oozing from him.
I read the box, “Macbook Air.”
“I’ve seen you scrawling by hand in your journal, so I assumed you didn’t have a laptop,” he explains. “No ...” I hesitate. My heart is racing, and I don’t know what to say. “I don’t, I lost it when I quit, but this is too much. I can’t accept it.”
“Don’t be silly. I got it for you because I wanted you to have it,” he insists.
My hands begin to shake, and I shove the box toward him. “No, really. I can’t accept this.” Holden looks down at the box. He’s silent. I hope I haven’t angered him. I want him to say something, anything.
At last he speaks, “When you recommend a book to be looked at for publishing, why is that?"
I furrow my brow. “Because I see something in it.”
He stares at me, runs his tongue across his lips, and says, “Just like I see something in you.”
“It’s not the same thing,” I insist.
“Isn’t it?”
“No!" I exclaim, "It’s too much money.”
“Isn’t that for me to decide?”
“Not something like this. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone.”
“And you think that’s the type of man I am?” His question sends a chill through me.
I swallow hard and wish I’d phrased my words differently. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Since we met you’ve talked mostly about writing. I consider this an investment. I expect to see you create the next best seller on it. Last night, when you were talking about the encouragement your professors had given you, it took everything in me not to tell you about it.” He looks at me, waiting for me to say something, but what can I possibly say? I’m not even sure how to process the gesture.
“You don’t like it?” he asks. “I thought you’d love it.”
“No, that’s not it.” my voice shakes. “Don’t you see? This is a waste on someone like me.”
“What? How can you say that?”
“I’ve told you before ... a writer needs to write what they know. They write from the life they’ve lived. I’m not interesting, and nobody is going to want to read anything I write,” I explain, wishing I could make him understand. I work in the publishing industry. I see books all the time that are written by talented people, but their story isn’t interesting enough. I don’t want to be one of those people.”
Holden grips my wrists and pulls me into him. The strength with which he does this, sends my heart racing. “Stop!” he demands. “You won’t be. I wouldn’t have given you this if I thought anything different.”
“What—”
“Damn it ,Belle, just stop it! I think you’re very interesting. Do you think so little of me? Do you think that I would care for someone as much as I care for you who isn’t absolutely amazing? Who isn’t beautiful or brilliant or exciting?” He must feel my legs buckling and drags me to the bed.
He pushes the emp
ty box to the floor with his foot, and sets the white case on the nearby desk. We collapse onto the bed, my eyes never looking away from him. I feel them growing wet, and I think my heart might burst, but I can’t look away.
“Oh, Holden.” A single tear rolls down my cheek. I go to wipe it away, but he doesn’t let me. Instead he presses his lips against the wet trail on my face. I shiver as I push all the air from my lungs.
“Are you all right?” he asks, pulling away.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. You scare me.” The words are honest, but they make him laugh a little.
“Why do I scare you?” he asks, pulling away just a little more.
“When I’m with you, you make me dream.”
“And that’s bad?”
“If my dreams are too big, then yes.”
“They’re not, Belle. I know you have something amazing inside you, if you’d just let the rest of the world see what I do,” he says.
I know asking the question will make me weak, but I can’t stop myself. The words leave my mouth before I realize what I’m doing, “And what do you see?”
He moves forward, his lips so close to me all I can think about is kissing them, tasting the sweet pleasure I know they contain. “I see a woman who is beautiful, and funny, and smart, and a woman who can do anything.”
“Please, don’t say things like that,” I plead.
“Don’t say the truth?”
“I’m not just scared about what you do to me, I’m scared for you.”
He laughs again, and I begin to wonder if he’s taking me seriously. “And what do I have to be afraid of?”
“I’m afraid you want something from me I can’t give. I can’t fall in love with someone right now, do you understand that?”
“I’m not asking for anything from you. I know where you’re at, and I take full responsibility for what happens to me as a result.”
“I can’t do that to you,” I protest.
“It’s not your choice. I make my own decisions, and I’ll care about whoever I want. If you want to run from this, Belle, you go right ahead, but I’ll be here when you figure out I’m not going to hurt you.”
With those words I feel a surge run through my body, and I want nothing more than to feel him over every inch of me. I straddle him with my legs, lifting up onto my knees, my head hovering just slightly above his. I wait until his neck is strained, he’s pressing against me, trying to reach my mouth, but I make sure I stay just out of reach. Frustrating him enough so that when I finally crash into him, it will be an explosion of desire.
“God, I want you so bad,” he moans.
“I know,” I say with a smile then bite my lip. He reaches up and pulls down on my shoulders, pressing his lips against mine, and the kiss is just as I had expected. A firm expression of his craving.
In an instant he is on his back, and I’m clawing at his shirt, running my tongue up his firm stomach. I don’t recognize who I am, so powerful and determined to have what I want, but I like it. He moans and pulls his head up to see my face, which only causes his core to tighten. He shifts wildly under me, pulling off his shirt so I have complete access to his chest, then relaxes back into the bed.
I catch a glimpse of my eyes in the side mirror, and it startles me. There is something burning in them, something that makes me wonder if I could devour him, leaving only a shell of him behind. I don’t care in this moment; I want what I want. His hips begin to rise against me, and I feel myself grow warm all over.
I lean over, pulling his hardened nipple into my mouth. He lifts up slightly so his hands can reach my ass. Sliding them inside the fabric, he squeezes my bare flesh, and I suck in startled breath. He obviously likes what he does to me, and he forces me upright by sitting, pulling me down against him so I can feel his erection through his jeans on my inner thigh. I lean in to kiss him, and he pulls away. I stop and peer down at him with big eyes, my dark hair hanging in my face. He lifts one hand, supporting himself with the other, and brushes my hair to the side, cupping my face. I dare not move. He grazes his lips against mine—it’s soft, and I wonder if there could be a more perfect kiss than this one. My muscles twitch and convulse in delight, and I involuntarily exhale in delight.
Our eyes lock and now he has an intense and blazing stare. Below the surface of his gaze is a pain that I’m scared to get to close to, but above that is an intensity that I feel like I’m drowning in. It’s like I’m stuck between panicking and falling back, allowing the force that is Holden to envelop me, consequences be damned.
He pulls me in closer, as our kiss grows deeper. At one point we are pressed so firmly against one another, my breasts are unable to expand, not allowing me to inhale a complete breath. But I don’t pull away, I don’t struggle, I don’t dare panic as I might lose that moment. That intense second that I wonder if it might push me over the edge.
Our lips part, and he moves his mouth to my neck. He links his hands around my lower back, and I allow my head to fall, closing my eyes, and letting his kisses dance across my upper chest. His mouth trails slowly over the fabric of my tank top, his lips catching on my hardened nipple. I shudder in ecstasy. I lost my virginity to the boy I went to prom with, and though I’d only admitted it to a couple people in my life, Jack was only my second intimate partner. Neither had ever made me feel the things Holden is.
He pulls on my back, twisting me off to one side, and flips me onto the mattress. Suddenly we’re reversed, and I’m lying on the bed, with him on top of me, still kissing me. I marvel at his skills. He pauses, pulling away just enough to look at my face.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes against my cheek.
First, there’s a wave of heat between my legs, which then transforms into a flipping motion, rising up and traveling all the way to my stomach.
Without warning, a rancid acid taste fills my mouth. I’m terrified; I know what’s coming next. In a panic, I slap him on the arm, my eyes wide in horror, and my cheeks puffed out from the bile. He must have heard the nauseating sounds coming from my gut as he quickly rolls off me.
In a flash, I’m on my feet and racing to the shared bathroom at the end of the hall. I relieve myself of the putrid stomach acid I’d been holding in my mouth. Moaning in despair, I collapse on the cool tile of the floor, my cheeks hot with embarrassment. In that moment, I wish I could curl up in a ball and disappear into nothing.
Chapter Fourteen
Minutes pass, and there is a gentle knock at the door. I don’t say a word. I just continue splashing water on my face and hope I’m imagining the sound.
“Belle, are you all right in there?” Holden’s voice sounds so tender. How can he not be running from me? I can’t even have sex with a guy I find incredibly hot without screwing it up somehow. I suppose screwing it up is putting it mildly. Nearly vomiting on the guy must be some extreme low in the dating handbook.
I look in the mirror. My skin is green, and I feel the queasiness return. I rush to the toilet, trying to puke, but there is nothing left. I’m far from okay.
“Do you need me to get Bea for you?” he asks me through the door. His concern is touching.
I scoop some water into my mouth and pull my hair back into a ponytail before walking to the door, and with a deep breath, I open it. Holden is standing there, still in a state of half-undress.
I hang my head and groan, “I’m so, so, so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m just worried about you,” he says, reaching out and placing a hand on my shoulder.
“I’ve never done that,” I swear.
“Let’s get you to bed,” he says, before adding, “and it’s good to know it’s only the thought of sex with me that makes you want to vomit.”
“No, that’s not what I—”
He’s laughing.
“Hey!” I gasp. “I’m sick; it’s not nice to tease me like that.”
“I’m just playing,” he chimes, pulling back the covers and waiting for me to climb in. Much to my su
rprise and delight, he climbs in directly behind me, wrapping his strong arms around my body. His grasp brings me comfort.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I mutter.
“I can see why,” he whispers against my cheek.
“Such a jerk,” I grumble.
I can feel his smile against my temple. “But there really isn’t a reason to be embarrassed.
People get sick, you caught a bug, it’s life.”
“Promise me we’ll try again,” I say, closing my eyes.
“Oh, you can count on that,” he answers.
Chapter Fifteen
Ever since the day I almost had sex with Holden, I’ve been feeling queasy off and on. He seems to be taking it well, though. Making jokes about how eventually I won’t be able to cry sick, and then he will have his way with me. The idea of this nearly gets me worked up into a frenzy every time, but I always try to play it cool.
A few times this past week I managed to spend some time on the new toy Holden got me. I think part of the intrigue was what it meant. Someone believing in me to that extent. I even started digitally writing my journal entries.
We’re coming up on the six-week mark since I came to The Three Horseshoes, and Holden mentioned wanting to do something special for the marker. Perhaps a nice dinner with some of the locals, and of course Bea and Abner. I told him I’d think about it.
For me, the more time that passes isn’t a reason to celebrate. It just means I’m running out of time; soon I’ll have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life. I don’t know much, but I know I can’t hide out in this place for the rest of my days. I have people in my life I have to answer to. The thought has begun to cross my mind—an idea blossoming that there could be a life here for me. An idea that tells me maybe it isn’t such a crazy notion.
I’m sitting on my bed, after once again finding myself heaving over the toilet. The instant the smell of the eggs hit my nose, there was no hope of saving the meal.
