Holding Out

by Serena Bell

  But he was a tour guide tonight, and he had responsibilities. He had to set the standard for all visitors to come, so she would know what she deserved and never settle for less.

  “Oh my God, Griff, look. Furs!”

  There was, in fact, a fat little fur-covered ottoman in the shape of a bear.

  And a fireplace, with a fire in it. One of his requests. And a bottle of champagne on the table and a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries.

  She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Griff.”

  “First things first.” He opened the champagne, poured two glasses, and toasted her.

  Her eyes were not just big. They were shiny. His chest ached, hard. Well, damn. It was so easy to please her. Like no one had ever goddamn tried. And as mad as he was at all the other assholes who hadn’t, he was way happier to be the first, which worried him.

  He set the candles he’d brought around the room and lit them while she watched and sipped champagne. She’d kicked her shoes off, and he thought of telling her to put them back on, but he liked the way she was wiggling her toes against the plush of the carpet.

  “It’s so much,” she whispered. “It’s too much.”

  “That’s what she said,” he quipped, trying to lighten the mood a little. He didn’t want her to cry. That hadn’t been the point of any of this.

  She giggled and came close as he lit the last candle. She put a hand on his chest and slid it slowly down his stomach to his belt, where he caught it and removed it before she could finish her exploration.

  “Not yet.”

  “But I want to feel you.”

  The body part in question throbbed at the sentiment, but he shook his head. He felt wound up all over. Like his skin was too tight. Like his blood was rushing too fast. Like he was going to lose his mind if he didn’t kiss her.

  He touched her cheek. Eased his hand back to cup her head. Stepped forward at the same time as he drew her to him. And kissed her.

  She whimpered into his mouth. Fuck. She dug her fingers, hard, into his biceps. Clutched him, her body alive against his. She was going to kill him.

  He metered the kisses. Held them back, held her still, a hand on her head, then her arms, then her waist. He didn’t want to lose control. He could taste the wine she’d drunk but mostly he could taste her, a pleasure with no name at all that he was pretty sure he was going to crave for months after this.

  The length of her body pressed to his. Curves against chest, and then she tipped her hips against his dick, seeking him with her heat. The shamelessness of it, so at odds with the good-girl vibe, slayed him. He tipped back, rubbing against her, abandoning better judgment. He slid his hands under the front of her dress and found a triangle of lace that subsided to a sopping string before it dove between her ass cheeks. Jesus. He made a noise he didn’t mean to make and she bit him, hard.

  This wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be in charge here.

  He forced himself to man up. He crushed his lust, put an inch of space between his throbbing dick and her heat, slid his hand up the curve of her waist to the lace cup of her bra. He brushed the lace away. Her skin was softer than satin, and he wanted to apologize for the roughness of his palms, but he didn’t think the sound she made when he circled in on her nipple was begging for an apology. It was begging for something, but not that.

  Her nipple was the tightest knot. And when he brushed the tip, she whimpered again. And again. He tested her preferences. The flick. The pinch. The tease. The good news was, Becca liked it all. He knew that because his other hand was cupped over those practically non-existent panties, and he could feel her getting wetter against his palm.

  He pushed her dress up. And drew back so he could look.

  She was—

  “Becca, you are so fucking gorgeous.”

  Her eyes were huge, her lower lip slack and reddened—she was wrecked, and it looked good on her. So did the barely-there bra and panties. She was perfect. Generous but compact. Those tits—

  “I fucking love this dress,” he said, and sucked her nipple through the lace of her bra.

  She cried out. Not a little whimper or moan. A full-on cry that arrowed straight through his erection. Her knees buckled, which gave him such a double surge of lust and satisfaction that it almost felled him. He was going to have to get them both horizontal.

  Which—

  He hadn’t thought this all the way through. Her book fantasy man probably would have been twelve steps ahead of him, but apparently that guy hadn’t been with anyone half as hot as Becca or he wouldn’t have been thinking at all.

  He walked her backward to the bed and gently tipped her back so she was sitting on the edge. When he tried to pull away, she protested and clutched at him again.

  She was greedy, just like he’d been sure she’d be.

  Why the fuck hadn’t every guy on the West Coast wanted to give her the world?

  Idiots, all of them.

  He was going to have to compress the world into a single night, because that’s all he could give her. Maybe he was no better than all the other douchebags in the long run, but at least he would show her what she deserved. Just this once.

  16

  No.

  That was about how well her brain was working at this point. She just knew she didn’t want him to walk away. She wanted his body pressed against hers, she wanted as much of him as she could have, and she wanted it as soon as possible. The idea of him moving away, taking his warmth and the intense pull of chemistry that had pretty much blown all rational thought away—

  No, no, no.

  She grabbed his arms, but he evaded her grasp. He had a plan she couldn’t understand, because she just wanted.

  He was turning the covers down for her. Pushing them back. Making a space for her on the clean white sheets.

  He came close again, stood between her legs, and she reached for his belt buckle. He batted her hands away.

  “Patience,” he said.

  “I’m ready.”

  He laughed. “Not yet.”

  “You’re a tease!”

  “I’ll tell you when you’re ready. You wanted the job done right.”

  He stepped closer, which made her pussy cry out for contact, but all he was doing was reaching for the zipper of her dress. He maneuvered it down, and she let the dress fall away from her shoulders. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. God. You are—”

  She lifted her butt, pushed the dress to the floor, kicked it away. Reached for his buckle again and was rebuffed again. “I just want to touch,” she whimpered. “I just want to see.”

  Apparently she wasn’t above begging. She’d never actively longed to see or touch a penis before, let alone begged to. This was what people meant when they talked about sexual chemistry. It was some weird fucking magic.

  “Scoot back,” he said.

  She obeyed.

  “Lie back.”

  She did, and let her knees fall open, and he groaned. He traced a finger along the top edge of her panties, which sent heat surging to her core. Then along the edges of the vee, and she closed her thighs on his fingers. He cupped her, and she rubbed herself against his palm. And holy, holy, that was sweet friction.

  He took his hand away.

  “Nooo!”

  He laughed at her.

  “Griff.”

  “Are you always like this?”

  She was suddenly insanely self-conscious. She sat up, brought her legs together, crossed her arms.

  “Oh, no, hell, no, don’t do that. It’s a good thing. It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. You, all—” He gestured at her. “Flushed and riled up and sprawled out and sopping wet. So fucking hot.”

  Ohhhhh. Well, hell yes, then. She uncrossed her arms. Lay back again and let him resume his work. Which he did, running a fingertip along the skinny little strip of damp fabric between her legs. Pausing to nudge it aside and find her clit. Just for a second, but her hips bucked. He knelt. Even
that made her wetter. He kissed his way from one knee up her inner thigh and back down the other side.

  He settled a kiss on her, through the lace, and she strained for contact. Putting a hand on each of her hips, he held her steady as he teased over the fabric with his lips, nipping and licking and blowing heat.

  “Griff.”

  “What do you need?”

  “More.”

  He tugged the ruined underwear down, knelt again, and touched his tongue to her clit. Circled it. Just the tip, then the flat, the tip again, his lips closing over her. She felt his teeth for an instant, and the almost-pain of that doubled her sensation. Then more caresses, his tongue so skilled she froze like she was listening to the feel of it. Besides, he was holding her down so she couldn’t move, even if she’d wanted to.

  She was going to come. She could feel it gathering. She was panting, the back of her throat dry with it. One of her hands had fisted the covers, and her heel was dug into the side of the bed.

  And then he stopped.

  “No! I was going to—”

  “You were going to what?”

  “Come. I was going to come.”

  “I know. That’s why I stopped.”

  “No. Fair.”

  “I want you to come with me inside you. If you can.”

  She knew that wasn’t easy for some women—she’d had enough conversations with friends and read enough books. And if it wasn’t easy for most women, it would probably be even harder for her.

  But she had confidence that if anyone could make it happen, it would be Griff.

  She reached for his belt buckle again.

  “Not yet.”

  “But—”

  “But what?” he egged her on.

  “I want it.”

  “You want what?” He was smirking again.

  “I want you.”

  His eyes got darker. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to—” She faltered and pulled in a deep breath. “I want you inside me.”

  “That’s not what you were going to say,” he scolded. “Say it.”

  She didn’t even care anymore. She was beyond feeling self-conscious. “I want you to fuck me.”

  “That’s the way. But you know what? You’re not ready yet.”

  “I am! I am ready.”

  “Nope,” he said. “You know how I can tell? Because you can still form coherent sentences. We have to fix that.”

  He began unbuttoning his shirt. She watched, fascinated, as the sides of his shirt fell back, revealing toned pecs and rippled abs that narrowed to a vee before diving under that damn belt. It was by far the best-looking display she’d ever witnessed in person. She didn’t try to touch, though. Not yet. She didn’t want him to stop taking his clothes off.

  And he didn’t. He unfastened the belt buckle, and she had to admit, it was sexy to watch him do it. He took his time, drawing back the end, pulling the length of leather slowly from the loops of his pants so it hissed across the fabric. Her gaze hopped from the tease of that display to the action under his fly. His pants weren’t keeping his secrets.

  He unbuttoned them, and slid the zipper down, dropping them to the floor.

  Boxer briefs. With an impressive bulge in them. Her hand involuntarily flew out to grab, and this time, he didn’t stop her. She wrapped her hand around him and squeezed, and he jumped under her touch, warm and so, so hard. And big. Damn. Step aside, Jondalar.

  When she let go, he eased the waistband of his briefs over the slick, dark red head of his cock, and replaced her hand with his. One long, tight stroke, skin-to-skin, from base to tip, while she watched and her pussy pulsed in sympathy and need.

  “Soon,” he promised. “Almost.”

  He crossed the room—hey, now that was a nice view—and came back with a condom.

  She held out a hand. “Let me. I haven’t ever. So, it’s part of the V-card package deal, don’t you think?”

  He laughed at her negotiation, but surprised her by turning the packet over to her. She tore the foil, set the disk against the drop of moisture that had formed on his taut head, held the tip, and rolled it down. “Like a pro,” she teased, looking up at him through her lashes.

  “Indeed,” he said, his voice rough.

  She leaned back on the bed, opened her knees and pulled them up. “I’m right here,” she said.

  The look in his eyes was so raw and hot that for a split second she thought the power balance had shifted. She thought she might actually see Griff Ambrose lose control. And it was about the sexiest thing she could imagine.

  But then he crawled over her, took himself in hand, and began using the tip of his cock to tease her. First, he nudged it against her opening, which made her clench involuntarily and try to bear down on him. Then he stroked the swollen head up to her clit and drew ever-tightening circles until she was panting again like she had been a few minutes earlier. He stroked his length through her lips, gliding on her wetness, while he bent his head to suck her nipples, and her clit felt raw and huge.

  The tension in her belly drew and coiled until it was almost painful.

  “I’m going to fuck you now,” he said conversationally. “I bet the guy in your book had a more romantic way of saying it, but I don’t give a flying fuck because I’m the one between your legs, and that’s what I’m going to do to you.”

  What he did, though, didn’t feel like fucking. It felt like—

  Oh, God, it felt so good.

  Just the head. Which, even that, was such a powerful stretch. Her heart was pounding and she kept thinking, This is it! I’m not a virgin anymore!

  Her body was tightening around him, which was sending more sensation toward her clit and her ass and her nipples. He eased in a little more, and a little bit more. She kept waiting for it to hurt, but it didn’t. It just felt good.

  He bent again and took a nipple in his mouth. Sucked, flicked, licked.

  She groaned and pressed toward him, wanting more. Needing more.

  It was a stretch now, a little bit of a burn, but not bad.

  With a thrust, he was all the way in her. Okay, ow, that was a lot of burn, but as she adjusted to the feeling, it started to subside, and—wow. He was in her to the hilt, which meant his body met hers right at her pubic bone and when he edged forward to seat himself more fully, he rolled and stretched right across her clit, and she cried out.

  “You okay?”

  “Do. That. Again,” she instructed.

  “Greedy,” he said, with great satisfaction. “I knew you’d be greedy. God, that’s hot.” And he did exactly what she’d asked, with the added benefit that he propped himself over her and worked her nipple again with his tongue.

  She got lost in the sensations, the chain of electricity linking her nipple to her clit, the winding up, reeling in, tightening down—

  “I’m going to—ohhhhhh.”

  She never finished the sentence because he’d pushed her over the edge, and she was coming, coming so hard her vision went white and pleasure knotted her tight and unwound her again, in alternating waves. Vaguely, dimly, she heard him cry out, sensed him rigid above her, felt him pulsing inside her, thrusting deep and holding there, but all she could do was wrap her arms and legs around him and hold on for all she was worth.

  17

  He hadn’t meant to go over with her. He’d meant to give her two or three orgasms and come when he was good and ready.

  But she was—

  She was too much. Too hot, too tight, too eager, too grateful, too greedy. She was all around him and she’d gotten in him, too: under his skin, in his head, rattling around in his chest. It wasn’t just the slick heat that had taken him over the edge, it was how damn much she was into it.

  He separated himself from her, taking care with the condom. He went into the bathroom and came back out with a warm washcloth, because even though his strongest impulse was to get the hell out of dodge before shit got real, there was no way he was going to be that guy.
Everyone deserved to be treated like a princess and given a good cuddle afterwards.

  He caught her examining a spot of blood on the hotel bedsheets, looking chagrined.

  “Ah, no biggie,” he said. “It’s just so we can prove to the village elders that you didn’t cheat your First Rites.”

  She laughed and stretched under his caretaking, that beautiful curvy body arching back against the bed.

  “Feels nice,” she murmured.

  He dealt with the washcloth, then came back to bed and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Griff?”

  “Mmm-hmm?”

  “That was good.”

  He smiled into her hair. “Glad to hear it. It was good for me, too.”

  “You virgin fetishist, you.”

  Yeah, that part had been fun, for sure, though there was more to it. He almost told her that wasn’t why it had been good, but then he thought about how he’d been the one who hadn’t wanted things to be complicated, which was still true, so he just left it alone.

  “Do you feel different?” he asked her.

  “Well, I feel like I just came really hard.”

  He chuckled. “Aside from that.”

  “Nope. Well—” she hesitated. “I feel relieved. That there’s nothing wrong with me.”

  Shocked, he pulled away and sat up. “Wrong with you? Are you kidding?”

  She bit her lip. “When you’re twenty-four and you haven’t—I know it’s not true, but it just starts to seem like—maybe—it’s you? You know? Anyway, it’s just good to be over that hump, literally. So, at least now I know that all those times I wasn’t that into it, it was just because I wasn’t with the right guys. Now I’ll know to be pickier. And maybe a little more—I’ll have higher standards.”

  “Good,” he said, pondering that. Her going after the right guys, having higher standards. Getting what she wanted. Getting off with a long cry like she had a couple of minutes ago. With the right guys. Who weren’t him. “That’s what you deserve, Becca—for it to feel amazing. Every time.”