by Holly Stone
The room was filled with slick wet sounds as I pumped us both with a frenzy I didn’t recognise. I was on the edge of coming and maybe he knew because he started talking, his mouth so full of filthy words I wanted to lick them right out. “I can smell you, Rebecca. It makes me so fucking hot. I know you’re close, so do it harder. Imagine it’s my cock stretching you open, slamming against your ass. Imagine I’m watching it spread you open until you’re dripping…”
It was the image of him fucking me that took the bundle of coiled arousal in my pussy and pushed it outwards through my body and mind until I couldn’t see or breathe or even register what was happening around me. All I knew was dark pleasure; like a thick velvet drape, it swathed me in shadowy sensation. I registered a noise but it took a while before I realised it was coming from me. The sound was too much, too desperate and wanton. And all while I still had his cock in my mouth. I felt like I’d been rent open, all the emotions I’d been pressing down suddenly bubbled upwards until tears spilled silently over my cheeks and I drew in a rasping breath, pulling back and hiding my face in my hands. Andrew was silent as I half sobbed, half panted into my palms, the vibrator slipping to the bed with a thud.
This was everything I had feared; emotions unearthed and me totally out of control.
I must have looked a wreck but I wasn’t sure what I wanted Andrew to do. When he shifted I thought he was going to reach towards me, but then his foot thudded against the floor and he whispered, “I’m so sorry,” and that was the last thing I wanted from him. Pity burns so hard when your wounds are raw. And it stung more because this whole pile of crazy had transpired because of Andrew’s reactions to his own hurt.
Before he could get away I grabbed his wrist and held him as tightly as I could. “Don’t you fucking dare,” I said. “Don’t you do this, Andrew. You want to hold the strings and pull them so you don’t need to get close to the reality of anything, tie me up in knots so I can’t touch you, hold yourself so remotely so you can walk away unscathed. Well, fuck you, if you think you can walk away now. Fuck you.”
“Rebecca,” he said with so much pain in his voice I felt something shatter inside me. I was up and off the bed, standing just an inch from him, breathing hard, and he didn’t move.
“You don’t get to use me like that Andrew, to fuck out your misery and move on, denying everything and lying to yourself.” I was so angry at him and sorry too. It’s hard to face hurt so visceral when you are still recovering from it yourself. To see a reflection of your own pain magnifies everything to a needle-point of anguish. I swiped at my face that was wet with tears.
“Let me go,” he said softly, reaching out to cuff my hand that was still gripping his wrist.
“No,” I hissed, shoving him hard in the chest with enough force to knock him off his feet, and back onto the bed. His hand released mine as his instinct to steady himself took over. I’d released his wrist too and stood in front of him, breathing hard. I felt wild and angry as I leaned towards him slowly until my mouth was hairsbreadth away from his. His eyes searched mine with confusion and something that looked like hope. “It’s my turn, Andrew. You got to have everything your own way. Now it’s mine.” I licked against his mouth, taking first his top lip, then his bottom between mine and sucking. He kept his hands at his sides, resting flat on the bed. When I pulled back I could see he’d grasped the quilt in tight fists as if he was restraining himself from reaching out.
“Rebecca,” he whispered, almost a warning, but I wasn’t going to let anything he said get to me. I looked down at his body, the beauty of it that I’d never been allowed to touch, and I wanted to feast on it. I deserved that much. I watched my own hand reach out to touch the golden skin that rounded over his broad shoulder and he shivered as my finger traced lower, over his bicep and then across his heavily muscled chest to his tight brown nipple, circling it lightly.
When I pinched it gently, he made a strained sound but I carried on regardless, down over the ripples of his stomach muscles, following the soft trail of hair from his belly button until my fingers grazed the head of his hard cock.
I put one knee onto the bed, pressing the inside of my leg against his thigh and opening myself in front of him. His eyes were between my legs as I held onto his shoulders and straddled his lap. “You see…this is going to go a little differently this time,” I breathed into his ear, grinding my pussy against his cock. “This time I get to take exactly what I want.”
“Yes,” he breathed, licking against my neck and stroking my hair that hung over my breasts in dark streams.
“Yes,” I said, reaching between us for his cock and holding it steady so I could lower myself onto it. I hadn’t realised how important it was for me to have an element of control during sex. As I took him inside me, it was a different sensation; one of acceptance rather than surrender. I was as wet as a river and it took just one downward push for our bodies to join and he grasping onto my hips with desperately firm fingers that pulled me towards him.
The feel of his smooth skin under my palms was so sensuous and I realised how much I’d missed being able to touch him during sex.
Being more of an active participant brought a different edge to things I knew I was getting what I needed but suddenly wondered about how he felt. I held his face and brought his gaze to meet mine, and reeled from the fear and the yearning I saw there.
Andrew was scared; as scared as me.
I started to roll my hips, slowly at first, holding his face as I moved, watching his lids lower with lust. He shook his head slightly, as if he was warring with himself, willing his body not to enjoy what was happening or his mind to not succumb to the intimacy of it. I stroked over his lips with my thumb, ground my clit against him and moaned when I felt him start to swell inside me.
“Andrew,” I said, not recognising the sound of my own voice. “Look at me.” He shook his head so I put my face right in front of his. “You feel so good,” I said, kissing his mouth. “I love touching you.”
He moaned as I sped my movements, pulling me tightly against him and rolling us so the cool of the bed was at my back and the heat of him was pressed on top of me. He took over, thrusting into me so hard I felt myself shifting up the bed and I wrapped my arms around his chest, pulling him down against me so we were mouth to mouth and joined as much as we could be. He was trembling and I held him tighter, legs clasped around his hips, arm around his chest and hand clasped to the side of his face. “Rebecca,” he rasped against my mouth. “Fuck.”
He came hard, seizing so tightly, face screwed up as though it hurt. He didn’t stop thrusting through the whole thing, as though he wanted to extract absolutely every ounce of pleasure he could, or was trapped within the need to release more than just his orgasm. His breathing was so ragged it chaffed at my heart. “It’s okay,” I soothed. “It’s okay, baby. Let it go.”
Andrew stayed above me, even as he softened, face pressed into my neck. My sweat cooled but I didn’t move, just held him to me and stroked his back. Eventually he lifted his hips slightly so his cock slipped from me. I felt a trickle of wetness between my legs and registered that he hadn’t used a condom. I was on the pill but it was stupid, regardless. Stupid and so unbelievably sexy to feel what he had left inside me spilling out onto the sheets beneath.
He had a hand resting at the top of my head and I could feel him absently playing with my hair. We didn’t talk, just rested in our own thoughts for a while. I had so much to say to him but it didn’t feel like it was my turn to speak. I’d said enough.
I knew that I felt something deep for this man who was such a strange mix of tenderness and strength, who held himself apart so he didn’t get hurt and cared so much about my feelings he’d flown over an ocean to mend things. I was so frightened of going back to the bitter grief I’d been feeling, to those times when I woke each morning feeling normal for just a few seconds before the sadness crashed over me like breakwater. I wasn’t ready for this but I couldn’t go back. I’d taken a
chance in that hotel bar, wanting to do something frivolous and adventurous; my first one night stand. But instead I’d ended up with this growing connection to someone who was obviously in no fit state for a relationship and with no desire to form one.
Stupid girl for risking my heart again.
As if he read my mind Andrew started to speak softly against my neck.
“I’m so stupid, Rebecca. I shouldn’t have followed you here. I shouldn’t have done any of the things I’ve done. If I’ve hurt you, I’m so sorry. You have to know I didn’t want that. You have to know how sorry I am.”
I turned my face so my lips were closer to his ear. “You said something to me in Atlanta, about me choosing what happened, and you were right. You think if I hadn’t wanted this that I wouldn’t have tried to stop you? I’m not saying that I’m not hurting, but it isn’t something you did alone Andrew. It’s something that started before I even met you and I know it started before all this for you too.”
Andrew shifted again, sliding off me slightly so his chest was only half across mine and one thick thigh was resting between my legs. He put his hand over my breast and cupped it tenderly, as he’d done before, but his face remained hidden in my neck.
“I loved someone once,” he said, as though the words hurt to come from his mouth. “I thought she was perfect but she lied about so many things that in the end, when I found out about what she’d done, I didn’t know up from down. I couldn’t trust anyone and worst of all, I couldn’t trust myself. I hadn’t seen what she was doing or suspected what she was capable of. It made me doubt all my decisions when it came to relationships.”
“So you came up with the rule?”
“Yeah. And the ‘face’.”
I ran my fingers gently through his hair, wanting to soothe him in whatever way I could. “Andrew, you know that you can’t blame yourself for any of that. The blame lies squarely with that woman. If you saw the best in her, that only reflects well on you. Don’t you see that?”
“In business I have certainty about what I’m doing. I know a good decision when I make it. But with my personal life, I just don’t believe that I can put myself on the line again.”
“How long’s it been?”
“Six years,” he said, moving to roll away from me but I held him tighter so he’d stay where he was. I knew talking was uncomfortable for him but now he’d started, I wanted him to continue.
“That’s a long time to be holding onto the hurt, Andrew. Life is full of risk, and we might not like that, but if we didn’t try and put ourselves out there, we would live miserably anyway.”
Andrew was quiet for a while, digesting our conversation it seemed. I was starting to get cold and shivered as the evening started to creep into the room. He pulled at the quilt and tucked it over me.
“You’re a good person, Rebecca,” he said. “And I’m glad that I met you.” Turning my face, I met his sad green eyes and felt a lump as big as a tennis ball form in my throat. Andrew cupped my cheek and then his lips met mine with the gentlest kiss I’d ever experienced. It should have tasted sweet but it was tainted with regrets and with goodbyes. I felt him pull away and turn to sit on the edge of the bed to put his clothes on. I couldn’t watch him leave so I curled into a ball and faced the other way, wrapped in the soft nest of my duvet. His shoed feet trod lightly on the carpet and I heard him pause in the doorway, maybe to save a final memory of what we had been, maybe with words on his lips that he couldn’t bring himself to say.
I registered him leave, the thump of his tread down the hallway, the sound of his suitcase on the tiles and the front door opening and closing, but I pretended it wasn’t happening. A car engine came to life outside. It was only when it drove away and the flat was suddenly silent that I finally allowed myself to cry.
ANDREW
I was back in Atlanta, sitting at my desk where I usually felt most at home, but my mind was elsewhere. I’d been running on autopilot for a week, since I’d left Rebecca’s little flat with her scent on my body and her hands on my heart.
Fuck. I couldn’t function.
I was dying. Slowly losing my fucking mind.
And I was angry, so goddamn angry with myself for getting caught up like this.
What the fuck was the point of having a rule if you were going to break it?
Barbara had been looking at me with pity in her eyes and that was pissing me off too, because I knew I was being a moody asshole but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. Work was building up but I kept catching myself gazing out the window with my mind lost somewhere other than the view.
I wanted to know what Rebecca was doing, looking at my watch to calculate the time difference, eating my lunch wondering what she was eating for dinner. When I woke unsettled in the middle of the night I thought about her going for drinks with another man who didn’t have ridiculous trust issues and baggage like me. The thought of someone else’s hands on her made me want to put my fist through something.
Fuck. I had to find a way of putting her out of my mind. I just needed to forget how she made me feel and get back to the life I had before. I needed to drown myself in meaningless sex that made me feel nothing except an explosive orgasm. Trouble was that I couldn’t seem to find the motivation to look for it.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my flask and took a shot of whisky, finding the taste off. I couldn’t even drink my favourite liquor without it reminding me of Rebecca.
I clicked open my email, thinking I would review my inbox as a way of passing the time without having to concentrate too much. There were around fifty new messages that I knew Barbara would have filtered, so that only the ones I absolutely had to see would be left. I started at the top, reading, filing and deleting as required. When I was about half way down I noticed an unusual name against one of the messages; Whisky Rose. My heart sped, thinking it might be a coincidence, that there really might be someone out there with a name comprised of two things that reminded me of Rebecca. The subject line was empty so I clicked on it hurriedly, hoping it would be her with a fierceness that surprised me and was laced with a shiver of fear that was all too familiar.
FROM: Whisky Rose
TO: Andrew Costner
I’ve heard it said that rules are made to be broken.
I’ll be in Rhode Island on Friday at the Providence Marriott.
We broke your rule once.
I want you to do it again.
I’ll be there, Andrew.
Will you?
I’d spent the last week craving her and now she was coming to the U.S. I took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. I had three days to decide what to do next.
Coming soon
HELD BY A STRANGER
BILLIONAIRE BEHAVING BADLY SERIES
4
End May 15
About the author
Hi! I’m Holly Stone. I live, work and write in London. Writing isn’t my day job but I love creating characters enough to do it in my spare time. When I’m not working, writing or parenting I’m reading, day dreaming about my next book and trying to stretch time like elastic!
I love people and chocolate and stories that grab you by the heart and squeeze. Before I became a mummy I travelled to cool places and studied ancient things and danced in heels and drank gin with orange juice. When my kids are grown I am planning to do all those things again, just wearing longer skirts!
Contact Information
I would love to hear from you. Contact me at [email protected]
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Subscribe to receive updates on forthcoming book releases here and I promise only to email you about really interesting things!
Reviews help authors and readers alike. Please leave one if you have time. It would be much appreciated. If you email me with a link to your review, I will put you on my list to receive a free ARC of my next book. The best 5 reviewers will be chosen by me!
This short sto
ry is independently published and I have tried really hard to spot any errors in production. If you find one, please forgive me! If you have time you can let me know the location and I will aim to remove.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to the amazing people in my life who have shown support and enthusiasm for my little dream. I can’t express how much it has meant to me.
For my two amazing Beta Readers – C.W and A.Z. Thanks for all your comments!
And thank you for reading.
Like steamy romances?
Amazon reviewers have called the Dance For Me Short Story Series:
“Erotic Romance with Heart.”
“A rare blend of spice and a lot of emotion.”
“Tender and beautiful.”
“The perfect blend of heat, sweet and happily ever after.”
“Beautiful - This is such a great story. Not just about sexual fulfilment but about knowing and following your dreams.”
Available now to buy now or borrow for free on Kindle Unlimited.
Dance for Me – Story 1
The note said DANCE FOR ME.
Annabelle McKenna hasn't danced since her daughter was born, but when Dimitri Novikov - superstar illusionist - challenges her to perform for him in his hotel room, she wants so badly to accept.
She used to dance for thousands. Can she dance for just one man?
Dance for Me – Story 2
“Stop, don’t take it off.”
