by Jenika Snow
"Of course." He smiled affectionately at me. "And your friend. Rosie, was it?"
"Hello, Mr. Silver Fox," Rosie slurred, making me groan out loud.
Bastian got up and held a hand out for me, helping me to my feet. "I need to get her to the car. Can you open the doors for me, Holly?"
"Of course."
I felt jealous as hell as he picked up Rosie like she weighed nothing at all. I loved my friend, but I couldn't help the feeling of pure jealousy turning and twisting my stomach. I opened door after door for Bastian as he carried my friend out of there and put her in the backseat of his car. He even covered her up with a picnic blanket he had in his trunk.
Maybe he liked Rosie. Not me.
The thought was awful, filling me with self-doubt. Rosie was a gorgeous girl. Of course he'd like her over me. She was pretty, fun, and bubbly where I was an introvert, sweet but still stuck in a phase between girlhood and being a woman. Rosie had more experience, even though her parents didn’t let her date or have boyfriends. Self-doubt filled my head as I got into the passenger seat, feeling it eating me up from the inside. I didn't trust myself to speak, too afraid the tears would spill the moment I mentioned something to Bastian.
He got into the driver seat. "You got your friend's address?"
I recited it. Rosie lived in a bad part of town, but Bastian didn't comment on it as he put on some Christmas music and started driving to the address I'd given him. I was still twisted up with jealousy, but he didn't comment on my mood as we made our way through the city.
The drive took twenty minutes, and neither of us said a single word on the way there. When I glanced at Bastian out the corner of my eye, I saw the troubled expression on his face. Surely this wasn't his ideal way to spend a Friday night. If it were up to him, he'd probably be dining at an expensive restaurant with a beautiful woman on his arm, not rescuing two silly college girls from a fraternity party. I hated myself for the feelings of envy that twisted my gut, but I couldn't help it.
He was mine, and I was his.
How long would it take Bastian to figure it out?
"Here we go." He pulled to the side of the road in front of Rosie's house. "Can you help me get her inside?"
"Sure."
We got Rosie to her feet. She seemed to have sobered up a bit already, though she was still wobbly on her feet as Bastian and I walked her up to the house. He rapped on the door, and I cringed inwardly knowing how angry Rosie's Dad would be when he saw her.
My friend wasn't as lucky as I was. She was from the wrong side of town, and her dad... well, he got tipsy on a good day. On a bad day, he got drunk and threw insults in his daughter's face easily. I felt for Rosie, which was the reason she spent so much time at our place.
"Oh, God," she groaned as we waited for the sound of approaching footsteps. "My dad is going to be so pissed."
The door flew open. Rosie's Dad stood before us in a stained tank and a bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand. "What is this now? Holly, is that you?" He narrowed his eyes on me like he couldn’t see me very well in the darkness.
"Hello, Mr. Grimshaw," I managed. "We're just bringing Rosie home."
He glanced at his daughter before shaking his head with disgust and muttering something under his breath. He walked back inside the house while Bastian and I exchanged confused glances. Then, we walked Rosie into the messy house, past the living room strewn with pizza boxes and bottles, and into her tiny room in the back. I helped her get on the bed and tucked her in while Bastian watched. I kissed Rosie's forehead, and she muttered something before starting to snore. Giggling, I left her there to sleep and followed Bastian out of the room.
"Mr. Grimshaw?" I asked sheepishly as we passed Rosie's father in the armchair in the living room. "Could you make her drink some water? It will help."
"I ain't doing that," he muttered, never taking his eyes off the TV as he took another swig of his drink. "She can take care of her own damn self."
Bastian grimaced, and I knew an altercation was coming. "Please don't." I tugged on his shirtsleeve, making him look at me with those stormy eyes of his.
"Mr. Grimshaw." Bastian's gaze rested a moment on mine before he turned to face Rosie's father. "You will take some water up to your daughter's room. And tomorrow, you will make her a nice breakfast."
"Says who?" The man finally tore his eyes away from the TV, glaring at Bastian.
"Says me." Bastian pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to Mr. Grimshaw. "Here's something to help with that."
The man stashed the money, staring at Bastian with greedy eyes. His demeanor changed in an instant, and I ached for my friend, who had to live in a situation like this.
"Come on, sugar plum." Bastian tugged on my hand, and I followed him out of the house and into the night.
The cold air sobered me right up, making me remember all the things left unspoken. We got into Bastian's car without saying another word. He started the engine and started driving, and I felt my nerves act up as I asked, "Are you taking me home as well?"
"No," he said firmly.
"Where to, then?"
"My place."
I didn't dare argue with him.
Six
Holly
The rest of the ride was tense. I kept folding my hands in my lap, intertwining my fingers as I tried to get my mind off where Bastian taking me, trying to clear my head. Why was he taking me to his place? Was he disappointed in me? God, why’d I let myself get this way?
He hadn't said a word since we pulled away from the house, and the tension in the car was palpable.
Finally, we came to a stop in front of his apartment building. I hadn't been here very often, maybe once or twice in the past years, but never inside, which, now that I thought about it, was a little strange. But I’d never questioned it.
I was getting more and more nervous as he parked the car in the garage, sat there for a second, then got out and walked around to open the passenger door for me. He held his hand out for me to take, and I slipped my palm in his much bigger one.
Once I was standing, he didn’t move, crowding me in the best of ways.
"Are you feeling a bit more yourself?" They were the first words he'd spoken since he’d picked me up.
"Yes," I said softly. "Thank you again, Bastian."
The air around him was tense, his gaze seeming heavy-lidded as he stared at me for the longest time.
Finally, I followed him into the complex. When we reached his apartment, the inside was almost impersonal, with a lack of decor. It was as if he didn’t care about the little touches that made a house a home.
"Haven't you been living here for years?" I found myself asking Bastian as I looked at the only picture frame I saw. It still had the stock photo inside, and I felt my eyebrows knit.
"Yeah,” he said that lone word in a gruff tone. He grimaced right before he turned on the lights and walked into the state-of-the-art kitchen. I stood there and watched him grab a tall glass and fill it with water from the fridge. "I just never got around to decorating." It was like he said that as an afterthought.
"Or getting your things out of boxes?" I said softly, trying to add some humor to the awkward situation I found myself in.
He looked over his shoulder at me and smirked.
He walked over, handing me the glass. I gratefully accepted it and took long gulps of the ice-cold water, my gaze still on his.
"I don't have someone like you to make the place more my own. I know how much your dad appreciates your help around the house."
"Someone has to," I muttered and looked at the now empty glass. I hated that the words sprung tears to my eyes. I missed my mom. She'd been the one who took care of the house before me. Every time I so much as moved a plate in our kitchen, I thought of her. Everything in that house was a reminder of what we'd lost.
"Oh, Holly." Bastian approached me, wrapping a comforting arm around my waist. I should have known he’d be able to read me so easily. He ha
d always been able to. "I know it's hard. I know you miss her. But she'd be so proud of you, baby girl."
I nodded, my throat too tight to say anything in response. I sniffled, fighting back the tears. "Mom would've made you unpack too, you know."
"Oh, I do."
He laughed softly, kissing my forehead and sending shivers down my spine. Was he even aware of the effect he had on me? Did he know how excited his presence made me? Was every touch like this for him too? A mix of being forbidden, so very wrong but so right at the same time, making me crave so much more than he wanted to give me?
God, it was a wonder I survived in his presence. He woke up an innate need in me—this desire to be his, to take care of him like he did of me. I wanted Bastian. I wanted this. Us. Together. Against the odds.
I swallowed every reply I had for him, managing a weak smile instead. But it didn't escape him, and he furrowed his brows. "What's wrong, sugar plum?"
"Nothing," I muttered.
"Don't lie. Not to me, Holly. You know you can always be honest with me."
I groaned in frustration. Either the man was totally clueless or he freaking loved torturing me. "I don't want to say." I was tired of hiding how I felt, pretending like this wasn’t agonizing every time I saw him, was in the same room as him.
He tucked a stray strand of hair behind the shell of my ear. “Tell me,” he said gruffly. His touch was painful. Being around him was torturous. All because I couldn't act on the feelings clawing their way through me. I wanted him. I needed him. I couldn't be without him anymore. "You never have to hide things from me, baby girl."
"Please don't," I begged him, so very close to my breaking point. "Just... don't."
"Why do you think I brought you here?" he asked me firmly. His hand lingered on my hip, gently rubbing me there, inches away from where I needed him most. "What do you think you're doing here in the middle of the night?"
I turned my gaze to his, my heart pounding harder than ever. "Because you always take care of me."
"I guess I'm not as obvious as I thought." Bastian chuckled humorlessly. "Come on, sugar plum."
"Where are we going?" God, was that my voice, so breathy, so needy?
He pulled away from me and walked toward the front door. "I'm taking you home."
"What?" I felt my eyes widen, and self-righteous anger took over. "Why? Why even bring me here if you won't let me stay?"
"I brought you here, because I didn't want your dad to be mad at you for drinking a bit too much," he explained, shattering all my hopes with those words.
"I thought you brought me here, because...." I bit my tongue before I could tell him too much. "Never mind. Let's go."
My bottom lip quivered as I walked over to the front door, but Bastian's hand on my wrist stopped me from taking another step. Every touch we shared, every moment between us was electric, filled with too much tension to stand it.
"Don't, Bastian."
"Don't what?"
"Don't touch me." I stepped away from him as if I'd been burned by his fingertips. "I can't stand it. I can't handle it. I can't live like this."
"What do you mean, sugar plum?" His voice was dark, strained.
Our gazes locked, and I swallowed the reply I desperately wanted to give him. It was right on the tip of my tongue, my confession, the truth, but I swallowed it back down every single time. I couldn't tell him. I couldn't reveal my true feelings, which were so much… more than what I’d confessed in my bedroom.
"What are you so afraid of?" he asked gently, his hand finding its way to mine again, gently rubbing the pulse point in my wrist.
"I'm not," I insisted, barely able to fight back the tears. "I can't do this anymore."
He pulled me against him instantly, the tension between us palpable. I closed my eyes and tried to force myself to count down so I'd calm, but there was no getting around it.
"Please, Bastian," I begged him. "Don't torture me anymore."
His body was hard, rigid against mine, and I felt tears spilling down my cheeks out of pure desperation, knowing I couldn't be with him, knowing he couldn't be mine.
"I don't want to hurt you," he muttered against my hair. “I don’t want to cross lines.”
A small gasp left me.
He had his fingers on my chin, gently tilting my head back. His eyes bore into mine, a thousand unspoken words left between us, but only three of them really mattered. And neither of us said them.
"I shouldn't," he groaned.
"Then let me go." It was an empty sentence, because I didn’t want him to let me go.
I was pushing his buttons, unable to resist the pull between us any longer.
"Never." He moved his fingers to my cheek, gently sliding them down my neck, over my collarbones, his eyes glued to mine.
"Please, Bastian," I said then, my voice hoarse from every feeling I'd held back for years. "Don't make this worse than it is. Don't take it away from me."
"Take what away?" he asked. "This?" His fingers lingered over the top of my breast before going lower, gently gliding along the mound and making me hiss in response. "I'd never take that away from you, sugar plum."
"I need you." My voice was barely audible as I finally said those words. I did need him. I'd needed him for so long. But it was the first time he was open to it. There were no lingering looks this time. They were replaced by faint, desperate touches, eager for more but knowing very well that pushing that limit would change our relationship forever.
For the very first time, I felt the struggle so profoundly. I felt his love for me. And I wanted him. God, how I wanted him.
Before he could stop me, running on the last few fumes of the drinks I'd had that night, I pushed my body forward until my lips met his. His mouth opened in a groan and I took it, swallowing that sound with my lips firmly pressed against his, kissing him with every ounce of desperation, the last vestige of eagerness to hide my feelings for him flying out the window.
I could feel his hardness pressing against me, but he didn't reciprocate at first. He just stood there, cemented to the spot, as if he were too stunned to do anything in response. But when my tongue darted out and slid between my lips, gently touching his, it was as if something broke deep within him. The alcohol made me feel wanton, giving me the courage to just go for it, moving through me like another entity clawing its way up and out of me.
The illusion was broken. I was no longer his best friend's daughter. I was a woman, pure and simple. I was a woman he wanted so badly he didn’t care what lines got blurred.
I craved him. I needed him.
I was a woman who was going to take what she deserved.
"Don't stop," he muttered against my lips, and I deepened our kiss, moaning softly against his mouth. With my body firmly pressed against his, he had nowhere else to go, and finally, his resolve broke. And when it did, it was as if a dam had come down, the boundaries we'd put on ourselves instantly shattering.
He kissed me back. His mouth enveloped mine in a show of true love, and I melted into his embrace, moaning his name against his lips and ready to give him whatever he wanted.
"I've waited so long," I whispered, and he kissed the words off my lips. "Please don't make me wait any longer, Bastian."
"I’ve waited so fucking long for you, baby. I’m never going to deny us again." His hands found their way to the small of my back, gently massaging the pressure points there. "Just tell me one thing. Are you sober enough to make this decision?"
I was. Stone-cold sober and ready to experience every second I'd lost with him. I nodded my approval, pulling back so I could look into his eyes. “God, yes.”
He groaned and kissed me again, a deep one that made me want so much more. My heart sped up at the thought of finally having him, of being his… the way it was supposed to be from my eighteenth birthday.
"Good," he finally said, his voice deep and booming and moving throughout my whole body erotically.
I was ready. I was so ready.
&nbs
p; Seven
Bastian
There was no way I could have stopped myself even if I’d wanted to.
And I sure as hell didn’t want to.
I cupped my hand on the back of her head, held her in place, and leaned forward. For a second, all we did was stare into each other’s eyes and breathed the same air. I felt guilt for being with her, for betraying my friendship with her father. But I loved Holly, and there was no way I could let go of her. Figuratively or literally.
“Bastian,” she whispered. “Please, kiss me, Bastian,” she begged me in that soft, sweet voice of hers.
Fuck.
I groaned, my body shaking, because I’d wanted this for too fucking long.
She looked up at me with wide eyes, the desire on her face clear, her pupils dilated.
“I love you, Holly. I’ve loved you since I saw you on your eighteenth birthday and realized the woman you’d become,” I said on a harsh breath. I groaned and closed my eyes for a heartbeat. “God, I fucking love you so much it hurts sometimes.” I leaned down to kiss her like it was the last time I ever would.
But it wasn’t. Fucking hell, it wasn’t. We were just getting started.
I was just getting started.
Holly moaned for me, and I kissed her harder, plunging my tongue in and out of her mouth, past the seam of her lips, making her taste me.
With my hand on the back of her head, my fingers tangled in her hair, I tightened my hold on those strands and tilted her head back. I moved my mouth down her neck, licking and sucking, loving how sweet her skin was.
I ran a path down the slender arch of her throat, making her understand I loved every part of her.
“More, Bastian,” she cried out softly.
Fuck, I was going to come if she kept saying those things.
I sucked on her collarbones, loving the way she arched her back, her breasts pressing firmly against my chest.
“Yeah, Holly. That’s it, baby girl.” There was no stopping me now. I had her in my home, her lush, curvy body pressed against me, her need and desire saturating the air.