“You have bathrooms down here?”
“Yeah. It’s in the back of the kitchen. Where we met earlier.”
“Stay here,” he orders.
“Wait! Aren’t you going to untie me?”
“I’m not done sampling your goods,” he says, leaning into me.
When he takes my mouth in his, I’m shocked.
“I can taste myself,” I murmur against his lips.
Holt catches my lips in a searing kiss.
“Another one for the list,” he smiles.
“I guess so,” I smile back.
He kisses me again.
“That was round one, precious,” he says, pulling away. “We have a few more rounds to go.”
I’ve been told.
CHAPTER 21
Holt
“Fuck, that was amazing,” I say.
“I’ve lost use of my legs. And pussy,” Everly says.
“You complained during round two, but you still managed to come hard two more times,” I remind her, pulling her body against mine.
After carrying her up to her apartment, I made due on my promise. I fucked Everly with such determination, you’d think last Wednesday night never happened. Now, we’re both lying in her bed, too lazy to get up.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice. Your fingers and your tongue are lethal.”
“Poor little girl,” I tease before covering her face with kisses.
“Get off me. That’s how you tricked me the last two times. There will be no fifth time, mister. I’m warning you right now.”
“I’m sure I can convince you to change your mind.”
“Nope. Not happening. I’m numb down there. Sorry, I’m closed for business.”
We both laugh.
“Seriously,” she says, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get out of bed. There goes my career up in flames. I can’t stand up long enough to make donuts anymore.”
“My little dominatrix is a drama queen,” I joke.
“She’s an exhausted queen.”
I can’t remember the last time I fucked in a double size bed. Then again, her space is relatively small. A queen could fit, but it would be a tight squeeze. Although diminutive in size, her charming apartment is well decorated and cozy.
Out of nowhere, my stomach growls.
“Hungry?” she asks.
“I guess so.”
“You didn’t eat?”
“I ate three of your donuts this morning. Thank you very much for the special order,” I wink at her. “They were delicious. As always.”
“My pleasure,” she beams.
“Other than that, I had a quick sandwich at one o’clock. I had back-to-back meetings all afternoon at opposite ends of the city and then I had to pick up my daughter. The traffic back to my place was horrendous.”
“Of course. It wouldn’t be LA if it wasn’t.”
“It was a pain, but Naomi and I made the most of it. When we finally got home, we spent a few hours playing with Luna––the dog––before the nanny took over. As much as I wanted to spend more time with my daughter, I couldn’t. I had a few booked conference calls––one of the groups on my label is preparing for a big world tour––”
“How do you juggle it all?” she asks in amazement.
“Some days better than others. Working from home helps. That’s why I didn’t go back to the office after Mrs. Talbot came over, although the rest of the team was still holding the fort. I worked from my home office so I could be close to Naomi and I’d be able to kiss her goodnight before leaving. When I go out, Naomi usually ends up at Mrs. Talbot’s place, but tonight I want her sleeping in her bed because I was away earlier this week and she has ballet in the morning.”
“Four-year-olds in tutus. That must be so adorable.”
“It’s pretty cute. She takes it seriously, too.”
“I’m not surprised. I used to take ballet very seriously when I was a kid,” she says.
“Naomi is hardcore in everything she does. I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”
“All that to say the very busy single-dad-slash-record-exec is starved because he has too many balls up in the air.”
“That sums it up.”
“I can help!”
“The dominatrix to the rescue?” I chuckle.
“I offer to feed you and this is your response?” she teases.
“You know I’m joking. I appreciate it. Are your cooking skills on par with your baking?”
“I hold my own in the kitchen, but I’m untouchable when it comes to desserts,” she laughs.
“I can attest to that. So what did you have in mind?”
“Is Italian okay?” she asks.
“I love Italian. Are you actually going to cook me dinner now?”
“Nah. My cousin Ainsley was over last night and she stocked up my freezer. She drove all the way out to Belloni’s––”
“That’s one of my favorite restaurants in LA.”
“Mine too! I have the best of the best just a few feet away. I know I’m breaking an indelible law of Italian cooking––”
“Which is?”
“Meatballs should be served with roasted potatoes or bread, not pasta.”
“News to me.”
“Mom’s a Jersey girl. Her great-grandmother on her mom’s side was from Bologna. It’s still a hard rule for Mom. I prefer pasta. How does spaghetti and meatballs sound?”
“Sounds like I’m going to have to have seconds.”
* * *
“That hit the spot perfectly. Thank you so much for dinner,” I say.
“My pleasure. I could live off of Belloni’s food,” she admits.
“Same here. I’ve traveled to Italy many times, but I swear, they make the best tiramisu in the world,” I say before polishing off the last bite.
“I agree. I could eat this every single week and never get tired of it.”
“So you don’t discriminate when it comes to desserts,” I tease with a wink.
“Nope. I never discriminate when it comes to sugar,” she laughs. “Speaking of desserts, I have a confession to make.”
“I’m listening,” I match her wide grin.
“I toyed with the idea of making a quick batch of glazed doughnuts just for tonight… but they weren’t for us to eat… well, not you anyway.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I thought of slipping a donut over your cock and eating it.”
That got my attention.
“And what stopped you?”
“I did a Google search and landed on a video. Porn, of course––”
“You make it a habit of watching porn?” I ask, intrigued.
She’s full of surprises.
“It was in the name of research.”
“Right.”
“As I was saying, it didn’t take me long to understand it would never work.”
“How do you know without trying?”
“The guy on the video was half your size and he was struggling to stretch the donut’s hole to fit around his cock. With your impressive girth, it would be a lost cause.”
“Good call,” I laugh.
For a few seconds, we don’t talk. Just stare at each other and smile. In our heated passion, I’ve erased all traces of her makeup. She sits across from me, beautiful and vulnerable, wearing only a long loose-fitting gray off-the-shoulder sweatshirt. Her hair falls untamed around her face. In other words, she looks sexy as hell.
“We’ve shared a meal twice, polished off bottles of champagne and wine,” I say, dropping my eyes to the Italian red, “stuffed ourselves silly with dessert, I pretty much fucked you on every wall of your apartment and we even christened your shop.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. I was as hungry for you on Wednesday night as I was tonight, but there’s still something we haven’t done.”
Worry flashes across her gorgeous brown eyes. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“We haven’t gone out on a proper date yet.”
Her hands fly up to her mouth. “Ha! Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“A date?”
I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed the company of a woman this much.
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“So this isn’t only about sampling my goods and eating my donuts?”
“It’s mainly that, but there’s a little more,” I joke.
“I didn’t know a girl could hope for more with an unexpected hookup,” she admits.
“Once is an unexpected hookup. This is the second time I see you in two days. And I want to see you again.”
She bats her eyelashes wordlessly.
“You don’t seem convinced,” I say.
“Rock stars have quite the reputation. And according to Google, you’re right, you’ve lived the life of a rock star to its fullest.”
“Nah, I’m a has-been rock star. That was a lifetime ago. Now, I’m a respected executive and a loving father. To answer that last part, I don’t make a habit of seeing a woman more than once,” I set her straight.
“So I’m special?”
Cheeky baker.
I reach out and cup my hand over hers before squeezing tight. “You are.”
Her eyes shift from mine to our laced hands and back up to me again.
“Well, that changes everything.”
“Is that a yes?” I press.
“Yes. I’d love to go out on a date,” she says with a hint of shyness.
“Good,” I smile. “I already have a date for tomorrow night with a four-year-old, a Staffie and a string of Disney movies. Of course, pizza is on the menu, but if you’re available on Sunday, I’d love to see you again.”
She nods. “Princesses rule over bakers. Sunday is perfect.”
She’s okay with my daughter being a priority. I love that about her.
“Monday is back to school, so we might have to make it an early date on Sunday. Is that still okay?”
“Absolutely! I’ll get Callum to cover for me.”
“So it’s set,” I return her wide grin.
“Watch out LA, the music exec and the donut dominatrix are going out on a date!” she shouts lifting her hands above her head. She also does this little dance on her chair.
I can’t help but laugh.
Her sense of humor is so endearing.
“I’m glad the cousin likes me now. He won’t try to kill me for wanting to take you out.”
“You have nothing to worry about, he knows who you are.”
“He’s a friend, not a foe?”
“He’s team Holt!” she smiles.
“Is he also a baker?”
“No. Callum shines outside the kitchen. He’s never had to cook in his life. He works with me to stick it to his father. He didn’t want to become another cardboard cutout of the spoiled, douchebag rich boy who has it all and who feels entitled having earned nothing—like his older half-brother, aka the golden child in his father’s eyes. Thanks to unimaginable monthly trust fund transfers and his own judicious investments, he never goes without. That said, the way he takes every aspect of my business so seriously, you’d never know I don’t pay him.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, without him, I’d own another struggling donut shop. Thanks to his formidable marketing and business skills, I have a thriving business. On top of that, he secured the building.”
“I don’t follow.”
“After doing a little digging, Callum found out the building was a holding under his father’s portfolio of many companies. He negotiated the deal with his dad’s people and now we co-own a building that stretches four doors.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.”
“Yeah, Callum is loaded. It’s just part of being a Bickford-Smith.”
“I’m confused. Isn’t that your last name?”
“It is, but my father opted out of some of the benefits of being a cut-throat Bickford-Smith.”
“There’s a story behind that,” I say.
“You wouldn’t believe it. If you look up family saga under Google, we show up at the top of the results.”
I frown. “Ouch.”
“Dad’s oldest brother, aka Callum’s dad, made it blatantly clear at a very young age he was going to take over the paternal empire. You don’t want to cross Uncle Blaize. Blood is no guarantee you’ll be safe from his wrath. My dad can’t deal with that kind of daily confrontation. He became a respected professor. He teaches at MIT. His older brother, Uncle Joshua, became a sports doctor. They carved their own paths away from the family fortune. They’re still on the board of directors as silent partners, but they don’t have to deal with Uncle Blaize.”
“That’s a lot of drama.”
“It’s always been like this. Uncle Blaize makes it a point to remind everyone he’s the top dog and every decade, he quintuples the size of his father’s empire.”
“He sounds charming.”
“Very,” she sneers.
“You said your mom is from New Jersey?”
“Yup. ‘Jersey in the house’, is her favorite motto.”
“That’s funny.”
“Mom is sophisticated and polished, but she still has the Jersey girl who grew up in tough streets in her. You don’t want to mess with her or those she loves.”
“How did your parents meet?”
“I’m a walking dichotomy.”
“How so?”
“Dad is from one of the richest families in California and Mom grew up in one of the poorest neighborhoods in New Jersey. My grandmother was a single mom and she struggled to make ends meet for Mom and her older sister. Mom worked her tail off to become a doctor and today she’s a respected surgeon. Both my parents were attending Harvard for summer sessions in their respective fields. They were hanging out with mutual friends and the rest is history. On paper, my parents are complete opposites, but they have the most loving relationship.”
“Even as former rock stars, we don’t have that level of drama in our family and God knows my baby brother, Beckett, and I put my parents through the ringer and we’ve had our fair share of crazy mishaps. But just like your parents, Mom and Dad have an incredible relationship and they have strong ties with their siblings.”
“My dad’s rebellion and unwillingness to let his fortune and name dictate his life is one of the reasons why my mom never thought my ex was good enough for me—”
“I don’t know polo boy, but I’ll side with your mom.”
“You’d win extra points with her,” she says. “Mom is still angry at him for the way he ended our relationship and his callous timing.”
“You never finished telling me that story.”
She lets out a heavy breath.
“It’s okay if you can’t share,” I say, worried I brought up a sore subject.
She offers a small smile. “I could write a book on family drama,” she starts. She pauses and averts her gaze.
“Precious,” I reach out for her hand again. “If this hurts, we don’t have to go there.”
“The pain isn’t from Dalton, but he’s linked to it.”
That doesn’t make any sense to me, but I don’t press her.
“Remember when I told you about Sieglinde’s––Dalton’s mother––aspirations for her son?” she asks.
“I do. She had eyes on the White House.”
She responds with a smirk.
“I lived a charmed and peaceful life until, all of a sudden, my whole world shattered into a million broken pieces.” Jesus. I’m about to remind her she doesn’t have to do this, but she continues talking. “My sister Aurora was adopted. My parents couldn’t conceive, so they adopted an abandoned baby. Seven years later, my twin and I came along unexpectedly. She didn’t survive, but I did.” She closes her eyes for a fraction of a second, almost praying for strength. “After years of bad dates, Aurora decided she was doing it all wrong when she lan
ded on a site that connected older men with younger women. She was twenty-eight and she feared she’d never get married. So, she filled out a profile on MatureMen.com. I remember her showing me tons of dubious profiles of sleazy looking men until this really good-looking guy sent her a message. A few coffee-dates and dinners later, my sister declared she’d found her perfect match. Philip Barbesky was worth all the other frogs she had to kiss before him. Mom was worried because everything was moving so fast. She kept asking Aurora if Phillip was single and if he had kids from a previous relationship. He was forty-five––”
“More often than not, it’s a reality for a lot of men in their forties.”
“Exactly. My sister assured Mom Philip was single. She’d been at his place a number of times and there were no signs of a wife or kids.”
“He wasn’t single?”
She heaves a heavy sigh. “No.” A tear trickles down her cheek. I reach out, cup her face and wipe it away with my thumb. She allows her head to fall into the palm of my hand and lowers her eyes. The pain I read on her face is heartbreaking.
“You don’t have to continue.”
She closes her hands over mine. “It’s okay. I can do this.”
“Only if you’re certain.”
She nods. “Aurora had been seeing Philip for four months and she spent nearly every weekend with him. At 4 a.m. on a Sunday, the doorbell rang and there was loud banging on the door. Groggy, my parents and I made our way downstairs. When Mom opened the door, we were stunned.” She blinks away more tears. “Three police cars were parked in front of the house. Contrary to the movies, you get a call to show up at a precinct when something tragic happens. There isn’t enough manpower for house calls. When men and women in blue show up at your door, it’s serious.”
“Your sister?”
She nods. More tears trickle down her face. “Philip was married with four kids. He lied to Aurora. He was leading a double life and his wife found out. She went apeshit crazy and murdered both of them in their sleep in Phillip’s apartment—which turned out to be an Airbnb he rented for his multiple, multiple flings.” Jesus Christ. “His wife was on the run for three days after the murders, hence the police showing up at our door. They didn’t know if the jealous wife knew where Aurora lived and if she was coming after us.”
Torrid Rush: A Single Dad Romance (Bad Boy Studs Book 3) Page 18