HOLDEN

by Ivy Carter

  Is it too much to believe that I’m nothing like him at all?

  Isn’t that part of what I’m trying to find out?

  Guilt worms under my skin. Knowing what Holden is going through, how these memories are affecting him, almost makes me second guess my mission.

  But I can’t back away now.

  I owe this to the people who died by my father’s hand.

  More than that, I owe it to myself.

  Chapter 10

  Holden is outside the bathroom door when I emerge, concern creased on his forehead. He tilts his head. “You good?”

  I nod.

  “Are you sure? Because you’re quite pale.” Heat rushes to my cheeks, and Holden gives a slight smile. “Ah, there she is.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and guides me away from the boardroom, to his office. “Let’s take a bit of a break.”

  “I suppose I could use a few minutes to regroup,” I murmur. I’m definitely light headed but I think it’s more the result of Holden’s gentle touch. I’m shocked by how good it feels.

  He guides me to the oversized leather couch in the corner of the room, and props up a pillow.

  “Here, lie down. I’ll get you a water.”

  Every cell in my body buzzes with electricity. Holden’s tenderness confuses me, but it also elicits an uncharacteristic thrill. I settle onto the couch, and follow his movements as he roots through the cupboards in what appears to be a well-stocked bar. Weird how I didn’t notice it when I was in his office before.

  Granted, I had other things on my mind.

  “How about something other than water?” he says, after withdrawing a large bottle of whiskey. “This should settle your stomach.”

  I grimace. “Or make me puke.”

  Hard liquor and I share an uncomfortable history. Back in high school, I drank vodka before succumbing to my first kiss, a messy, slobbery ordeal that resulted in a disappointing end to what would have been a three-year crush. A few months later, I took two tequila shots before allowing Tommy Gunn to stick his hands down my pants. The thought of his fat fingers groping blindly at my then-virgin pussy makes me shudder even today.

  My mother calls those my rebellious years. “Acting out” in the wake of so much tragedy. That’s the trouble with being an only child—Mom didn’t make friends after we left Maine and I never brought mine to the house, so she didn’t have a benchmark for how “normal teens” act. How ironic that my behavior since meeting Holden Quinn is more erratic, more rebellious, than those random incidents Mom seems stuck on.

  “The cleaning staff doesn’t come until tomorrow,” Holden says, with an ever-so-slight smirk. “So, let’s avoid vomit, shall we? How about coffee?”

  I shake my head. “I’m good.”

  Holden runs a dishrag under the bar sink, wrings it out, and folds it three times. How very precise. And considerate, I think, as he presses the cool compress to my clammy forehead. I flinch at first and then relax into the role of victim.

  His voice lowers. “I’ve upset you.”

  My guilt intensifies, thrumming through my blood like an adrenaline rush. “I knew what I was getting into when I requested the interview.” With respect to the incident, at least. I didn’t anticipate a more personal—sexual—connection with Holden, and it’s put me a bit off kilter.

  “I could have been less abrupt.” He brushes a strand of hair away from the side of my face. “Even now, I still get…animated…when I talk about that day. His expression darkens. “The memories are difficult.”

  Fresh emotion clogs up the back of my throat. “I can’t imagine how painful it must be.”

  I’ve been so caught up in my quest for the truth that I almost forgot that Holden is a victim too. His fingers thread through my hair, almost absentmindedly, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  He chuckles. “I charge quite a bit more than that.”

  I smile shyly. “Ah, the truth comes out. That’s really how you became a billionaire.”

  He cups my face in his palm, and slides a thumb across my cheek. “Bravo, Miss Faber. Even the most diligent reporters have not uncovered that deep, dark secret.” He leans forward and whispers, “I’ll have to ask you to keep it to yourself.”

  “Or…?” I grin mischievously, my stomach and head beginning to sort themselves.

  “I’m sure I’ll think of an appropriate consequence,” he says, with a sexy wink.

  It’s so damn easy to get caught up in the moment, to pretend that this banter is as routine as morning coffee. But in the back of my mind, I’m reminded of my mission, of Holden’s proposal, and I know I can’t procrastinate another minute.

  “I’m ready to continue our discussion,” I say, with reluctance. The nausea in my gut has long since been replaced with a different kind of flutter, and staying on this couch, with Holden gingerly nursing me back to health, isn’t going to cure me—if anything, that particular condition will get worse. “If that’s alright with you.”

  Holden’s jaw tenses. “It isn’t.”

  Confused, I struggle to sit upright. “I’m fine. Honest.” I fold my hands in my lap and smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I promise, I’m well enough to keep going. No more puking threats.” I hold up two fingers. “Scouts honor.”

  Clearly I’m babbling. I bite my lip to stop from saying more. Desperation may cause Holden to suspect my true intentions, and I’m far from ready to have that discussion. I need to keep my emotions in check—not just about the incident, but about Holden too—or I risk tipping my hand, and undoubtedly scaring him away.

  “We can’t continue the interview, because your hour is up.”

  My eyes widen. “You’re kidding, right?”

  His expression tells me he isn’t.

  A spike of anger rockets through me. “Not fair. I was in no condition to carry on our discussion.”

  “I agree,” Holden says, coolly. “Which is why I encouraged you to rest.”

  “Had I known the clock was ticking, I would have bypassed your concern.” Sarcasm oozing from between my lips, disguising my panic. How dare he? “You didn’t give me that option.”

  He stands and smooths his hands over his slacks, fastens the top button of his suit jacket, and twists his tie into place. Methodical. Robotic. Cold. “One always has a choice, Miss Faber,” he says. Too stunned by the change in his demeanor, I’m unable to offer a response. “We had a deal,” he continues. “One hour.”

  My lips curl in distaste. “No wiggle room in that iron clad agreement of yours, I see.” I keep my gaze trained on him, even though I’m fighting back tears. My bottom lip trembles. “You can’t show an ounce of mercy, not even this once?”

  “Do you know why I’m successful, Miss Faber?”

  My breath comes out in an exaggerated huff. “Because you charge a ridiculous amount for your thoughts.”

  “Because I don’t negotiate.” He walks to the bar and pours himself a finger of whiskey. My gaze lingers on his ass, even now. And to my shock, I find myself craving a shot too. Anything to take off the edge off the white anger simmering just under my skin. He slugs back the liquid and slams the glass down on the countertop. “I’ve already allowed for lenience,” he says, silently reminding me of the fact that I agreed to this stupid proposal almost two hours past his deadline. “Now, I’ve upheld my end of the deal—one question, which you asked, and one hour, which we’ve already gone over.” His eyes bore into me. “It’s your move, Miss Faber.”

  My mouth goes dry. “My move?”

  He flicks his tongue over his bottom lip and damn if my traitorous pussy doesn’t clench with immediate response. I want to ignore it, focus on his unreasonable demands, my frustration, but my body has other ideas.

  I lift my chin. “You cheated.”

  He stares at me with undisguised hunger. “I am many things, but I assure you, a cheater is not one of them.”

  I fold my arms across my chest in
a lame act of indignant denial. “And if I refuse? Claim I’m too sick? Too distraught?”

  His eyebrows slant. “You wouldn’t…”

  “I might.” Some of my confidence slips. “This isn’t fair, Mr. Quinn. On principle, I won’t honor the agreement.”

  “On principle?” Holden’s eyes flash, and his voice goes dangerously low. “The hell you won’t.”

  Chapter 11

  There’s no time to catch my breath. In one swift movement, Holden is down on one knee, one hand under my shirt, the other warm and callous between my thighs. With one subtle flick of his thumb, the buttons on my blouse pop like snaps and my panties go impossibly wet.

  “What the hell are you—?”

  My weak protest dies at the end of my tongue when his fingertips graze the lace edge of my underwear.

  Heat warms my cheeks. Holy fuck, I’m ridiculously wet.

  Soaked.

  My mind screams at me to be offended, but my brain has completely shut off. I can’t think. Can’t breathe.

  Holden’s thumb slides under the elastic band of my panties and flicks across my slit, barely grazing my throbbing clit. Instant heat floods my groin. A low moan purrs from the back of my throat. Sweet Jesus, what is wrong with me?

  Every bit of this is wrong, demoralizing, offensive…and yet so utterly exquisite.

  Holden slips his finger inside my pussy and I gasp so loud my breath goes icy. I lean my head back, close my eyes, succumb to the pleasure, inhaling and exhaling while his hands and fingers work magic on my body.

  He finishes unbuttoning my blouse, and shoves my bra up and over my breasts, freeing my fully erect nipples for his hungry mouth. His tongue flicks across them, and then circles each areola with luxurious, slow swirls. It’s so fucking hot. Incredibly hot. But not nearly enough to distract me from the magic he’s working to my clit with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Oh my God, Holden…”

  He stops sucking on my nipples and growls, “In this office, you will call me Mr. Quinn.”

  My eyes open, and in his serious expression, I realize that this too is closed to negotiation. I thread my fingers through his hair, and pull his mouth to my chest. “Don’t stop, Mr. Quinn. Please…”

  I am giving him everything that he wants, and in turn, he is stoking my innermost desires. His mouth moves down my flesh, pausing to nibble at the muscle above my belly button, then continues downward to my hips, my lower abdomen, and finally, to my pelvis. He takes his time there, alternating between light kisses, and aggressive nips, each act causing me to quake with anticipation. I imagine his tongue sliding into my pussy and then—

  It is there. Gliding up and down my panties with slow and steady strokes, his breath hot against my swollen clit. He peels my underwear to the side with his tongue, and plunges into my slit. Every nerve ending in my body explodes.

  With one hand, he spreads my thighs apart, while the other hooks around the edge of my panties to allow his mouth greater access. He pinches my clitoris between his lips and slowly begins to suck.

  A shock runs up and down my spine.

  I buck my hips, craving closeness. Needing more. I want him deeper, fuller inside me, if not with his cock, then with his expert tongue that is now circling the inside of my pussy with increasing speed.

  Unable to lift any higher, I push my hand into the sofa for balance, and with the other grab the hair at the back of his head. My fingers curl and tug, curl and push, curl and squeeze. I grind my pussy into his face, pushing up against his mouth.

  I am shocked by my brazenness, but I can’t stop.

  I’m like a damn woman possessed.

  I expect him to pull back—surely to God I must be hurting him—but he dives deeper, plunging his tongue in and out, increasing the tempo and pressure.

  I begin to pant.

  And now it’s impossible to think twice, to pull back, because Holden’s mouth is devouring me, and I can feel my climax beginning to crest. At least, that’s what I think is happening, because I have no other explanation for the intensity of my desire. It’s overwhelming, frightening…

  Utterly empowering.

  My insides are on fire. An earthquake is starting to erupt from my core, bringing with it waves of destruction. I know without question that Holden will have forever destroyed me—no other man could ever compete with this.

  The orgasm builds fast and erupts without warning. I bite down on my lip to stop from screaming aloud as waves of pleasure roll through me. Holden holds my knees in place and sucks gently on my clit until the last tremor subsides, while my hips buck beneath him.

  I cover my face with my hands. “Holy fuck.”

  My body tingles with the effects of the aftershock. It’s so intense, I worry I might actually go numb.

  Holden clears his throat. “I was right about you,” he says. I peer through my fingers, still red-faced with embarrassment. “You’re as sweet as sugar water.” He licks his lips as if to punctuate the sentiment and I want to fall through the floor to escape further humiliation.

  This is so not me.

  I’m not this girl.

  But damn it, why not? I think of Lindsay and her complete lack of shame in bedding as many men as she wishes. I’m not like her—but what’s wrong with enjoying time with one man?

  You’re not marrying the guy.

  If only it were any other man…

  The sound of Holden’s footsteps interrupts my thoughts. I sit upright, watching as he drags his office chair from behind his desk to the center of the room. With his eyes trained on mine, he unbuckles his pants, unzips his fly, and reaches into his slacks to pull out his cock. Even in his large hands, his dick is massive.

  My mouth begins to water.

  “It’s time for you to suck me off,” he says.

  Any offense I should feel in his blunt instruction turns to lust. I practically fall off the couch in my haste to get to him. My knees dig into the plush carpet as I crawl across the room and kneel at his feet, and finally wrap my hand around his erect shaft. It is warm, and thick, and so hard—and for a second, I worry I won’t be able to fit it in my mouth.

  I start slow, sliding my tongue across the tip, circling the ridge beneath the head. He smells like soap and cinnamon, a combination that seems to stoke my libido and provide much-needed courage.

  My mouth lowers and eases over his cock.

  He sucks in a sharp inhalation, and then groans with pleasure. “God damn it,” he murmurs. His hips slide closer, pushing himself further between my lips. I start to bob my head, each downward motion driving him deeper into my mouth. His fingers nestle in my hair.

  “That’s it,” he says, a slight growl to his voice. “Suck that cock, sweetness.”

  My hands cup his balls. I squeeze gently, eliciting another gasp, and adrenaline shoots through my veins. My lips curl up in a smile. I can tell that Holden is enjoying this, the way I’m touching him, and that shift in control fuels new confidence.

  I put one hand on the floor and grab his shaft with the other, really leaning forward so I can take him all in. The head of his cock tickles the back of my throat. I close my lips tight against his thickness and suck as hard as I can while moving my mouth up and down the base of his shaft.

  He reaches down to move my hair away from my shoulder. I glance up and meet his gaze. His eyes are hooded with desire. My tongue flicks back and forth over the tip of his dick and he moans deep, making known his pleasure. I lap it up.

  “Fuck,” he says, through a grunt. “That feels so good, sweetness. What do you want me to do?”

  “Come,” I whisper, and then take his entire length inside my mouth.

  “Oh yeah, sweetness.” His hips swirl, lifting ever so slightly off the chair, pushing deeper inside me.

  With one hand, I grab his cock just below my lips, and together, work my mouth and palm in a steady motion up and down. I am empowered by each grunt, every moan, and I pick up speed, drawing him closer to climax with each frenzied mo
tion. My head is dizzy with power.

  He thrusts once, and I take him all in. Slowly, I suck upward until I can feel his release building. When my mouth reaches the tip, he lets go. Hot, salty liquid floods the back of my throat.

  Holden howls like a baying wolf, and then his entire body shakes. Goosebumps pimple his flesh, rough like sandpaper.

  I slump against him, my hand still wrapped around the base of his cock, catching my breath. I am exhausted, but somehow exhilarated, glowing with ridiculous pride that I was able to satisfy him.

  But the thrill lasts only a second before reality returns.

  Holden shifts, signaling for me to get off him. I stand and tug my skirt all the way down to my knees, then adjust my blouse. Some of the buttons have popped loose, but there’s enough for me to cover myself. I’m suddenly grateful the office is empty so that no one will see me leave a wrinkled, just-fucked mess.

  Holden carefully, methodically, pulls up his briefs, his pants, tugs on his zipper and buckles his belt, all without looking me in the eye. My stomach clenches. Have I done something wrong?

  I swipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stare, blinking back the tears of what feels like rejection. Whatever tenderness Holden showed before he ripped off my clothes and brought me to orgasm is gone, replaced again with a coolness reserved for strangers.

  Aren’t we more than that?

  Why do I think that? Because he’s eaten my pussy? I shake my head with quiet humility. What a naïve assumption. If I’ve learned anything since meeting Holden, it’s that he’s unpredictable, moody, and conflicting—I should never assume anything.

  Including that he will honor the rest of our agreement.

  My heart sinks so fast it nearly drops out from my chest.

  Holden examines his appearance in the window. “I will expect you at the same time tomorrow.”