by Ivy Carter
If he doesn’t slow down—
“Holden, please, you’re going to make me come.”
Ignoring my desperate plea to ease up the pace, he inserts two fingers inside me and thrusts deep. I cry out in shock. My eyes widen as he begins to suck and finger me at once, my crescendo rising with an intensity that claws at my skin. It’s like my entire body is on fire.
My pelvis bucks under his mouth. He picks up speed and I feel the orgasm cresting on my pussy. I grab his head and shove it deeper just as my release shudders over me in a seismic tidal wave. I come hard, panting and screaming until my voice gives out. Holden sucks at the juices, cleaning every last drop. I imagine it sliding down his throat.
When he finally pulls away, I gasp. My head spins with pleasure and I am breathless, weightless, floating on Cloud 9. I pull him towards me and he crushes his mouth against mine. The muskiness of my sex lingers on his breath, his moist lips.
“My God…”
“I’m not near finished, sweetness’,” he says, and impossibly, I get wet again. It’s ridiculous how my body responds to him, over and over—it’s like I have no control. There has to be something wrong with that.
Doesn’t there?
I clench Holden’s back and grind up against him so that his hard cock nestles against my pussy. I part my lips, inviting his tongue, and our mouths tangle together. I am intoxicated and suddenly desperate to feel him inside me. Except I don’t want to rush. In this moment, here, now, maybe forever, I will do anything he wants, forget the interview altogether, just to savor this—him—for a bit longer.
My heart is a kick drum, pounding to its own beat.
He lays on top of me, hard cock pulsing between my thighs, teasing me with the anticipation of what comes next. Every inch of my body tingles.
My pelvis arches against him, and suddenly he’s nestled deep inside me. I gasp at his girth, how fully he fills me. He thrusts hard and I swear he’s going to push through to the other side, he’s so big.
“Jesus, sweetness. You’re so damn wet.”
Soaked.
It drips down the back of my thighs. Onto the sheets. If he doesn’t come soon, it’s going to be a puddle on the fucking bed.
I clench my pussy around Holden’s cock and he lets out a low groan. He pulls out, dives in, slowly picking up speed until he drives into me with deep thrusts that knock the breath from my chest. I’m panting, moaning, biting into my lip to stop from screaming out. Anything to maintain some semblance of control.
“Harder,” I say, breathing heavy.
His eyes cloud with desire and he plunges deep, fucking me with the intensity of a jackhammer. My brain goes numb. I can’t think, can’t breathe.
But there is no way in hell I want this to stop.
My nails dig into Holden’s back, biting at his skin with a fervor that startles even myself. He grits his teeth and grabs my hips, pounding harder and harder until it’s as though our bodies merge into one. His cock fills and consumes me, and I willingly give in.
“Jesus Christ, Chelsea,” he says, and the sound of my name on his lips brings another orgasm dangerously close. “Come,” he growls.
Not a comment.
Not a suggestion.
The command unleashes another climax and I buck against him as waves of intense pleasure course through my body, sending shivers up and down my spine. Holy shit. My pussy pulses around his cock like a beating heart. Holden gives one last thrust and his shimmering eyes lock on mine. Hot come surges through me.
We lay together after, exhausted, our hearts racing and breath panting, until finally, I start to relax. I tuck into his side and put my arm around him. His hand falls across my shoulder.
“God, you really are perfect, aren’t you?” he murmurs.
My throat clogs up. If only he knew how utterly wrong he was about that.
Chapter 18
Holden’s eyes shimmer in the soft candlelight of the pizza joint. True it’s not as fancy as many of the restaurants we’ve been to, but somehow, Holden has made it the most romantic place on earth.
Candles and flowers surround our table, the only one occupied in the entire place. I checked the hours on the way in, and it should be open to the public. Clearly Holden has paid for our privacy, and I can’t help but be touched.
Nor can I stop dreaming about What if?
“How is your dissertation going?”
“My wh—?” I catch myself before totally blowing my cover, annoyed I’ve allowed my thoughts to stray so far. The assignment is unfinished with a deadline looming, but I’ve got more than enough information to write the paper. I’m procrastinating. “Ha. Sorry, I got distracted by the chef flipping his pizza dough…”
Holden follows my gaze, and I wonder if my explanation sounds even half as fake to him as it does to me. Damn it. I need to come clean before I really fuck up.
“It’s definitely an art,” he says. “Now…” He reaches across the table to cover my hand with his. “How is your assignment going? I feel like I haven’t given you much to go on.”
I swallow my guilt. “You’ve been wonderful.”
In more ways than I can express.
He catches on to the double meaning and gives me a wolfish grin. The dimple on his right cheek deepens. “Would it help if I allowed two questions tonight?”
I’ve actually lost count of how many we’re at, perhaps in denial that this agreement is fast coming to an end. What will happen when the last question is posed? Will we go our separate ways, this pseudo-relationship reduced to nothing more than a memory?
Perhaps the deeper issue is that I no longer know what to ask. I’m worried about triggering a mood swing, or an emotional response that I won’t be able to handle. Or, maybe most disconcerting, tipping him off to my real motive. I’ve almost done that once already.
“What exactly are you looking for with this paper?” Holden asks.
There is no suspicion in his voice, just genuine interest. And yet, I interpret it as doubt. “It’s a bit of a roving target.”
He pauses while the server brings us our pizza. It’s a giant pie, oozing with cheese, and topped with every vegetable I can imagine, even broccoli, which seems strangely exotic.
“No sardines tonight, Mr. Quinn?” the waiter says, with a small smile. Holden shakes his head, matching the grin, and my heart feels warm at the obviously personal exchange between them. Our server nods. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Two more beers,” Holden says, and then to me, “Unless you’d prefer wine?”
I shake my head. “I can’t imagine pairing pizza with anything but beer.”
The server disappears and Holden scoops a slice off the tray and puts it on my plate. “Thank you for avoiding gross fish toppings,” I say, smiling. It’s cute how he pays attention to my food preferences, never making me feel weird or silly for having them.
“They’re an acquired taste anyway.” He stuffs a bite of pizza into his mouth and groans with approval. “Best place in New York. And believe me, I’ve tried them all.”
I swirl the straw in my water glass as I wait for the beer. “I had no idea you were such a connoisseur.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know, sweetness.” With a wink, he takes another bite. “But there’s much I don’t know about you, either.”
Touché.
Far too much. And I need to finally get on with filling him in before it’s too late.
I lift the pizza up to my nose and inhale its herbal scent. My mouth begins to water. I nibble the end, tasting at first, aware that Holden is watching me, and then take a larger chunk. It’s delicious, and I let out an embarrassing moan.
Holden nods with approval. “I had a feeling you’d enjoy it.”
Actually, I’m enjoying all of this, every last second—the flowers, the candles, the undivided attention. So much so that I don’t want to ask questions or talk about my dissertation or my father, or anything that isn’t focused on me and Holden, just the two
of us.
We eat pizza, drink beer, laugh and talk about everything and nothing, until at last, Holden suggests we leave the restaurant. My disappointment is tempered with the anticipation of us taking this date to somewhere even more private.
Holden’s car is waiting for us outside the restaurant, and I willingly climb into the back seat, already familiar with the details of this particular luxury vehicle. Soft music pulses through the speakers. I settle in and close my eyes, breathing in the scents that I’ve come to think of as his—cinnamon being the most potent.
His hand slides to my bare knee and I sigh with content. This is what I’ve been waiting for, craving. As nice as it was to sit and laugh with Holden, my body aches for his touch and in its absence I’ve been out of sorts.
When he touches me, when he’s inside me, I can forget that this is all a lie.
I can forget who I am, where I come from.
And it’s pure bliss.
I shift my leg closer, subtly uncrossing my ankles, widening the space between my thighs. Holden’s fingers inch toward my crotch, the warmth of his palm flattening the goosebumps that prickle along my skin. He pauses.
What is this sweet torture?
And then my breath hitches as his hand begins to move again, tracking inwards toward my panties. There, his fingertips brush against the flimsy, damp lace.
I’m acutely aware of our driver in the front seat, and clench my thighs in playful protest. What can the man up front see in the rearview mirror? Seemingly unfazed by the thought, Holden deftly pries my legs apart, and pulls back my underwear to reveal the soft folds of my pussy. His thumb glides along the slit.
“Holden,” I say, voice hushed, anxious.
“Shhh,” he whispers, breath hot against my throat. He pinches my clitoris between his thumb and forefinger and squeezes. “Just relax, sweetness.”
Easier said than done with his hand stuffed down my underwear.
He leans over and kisses my earlobe before taking it between his teeth. Beneath my clothing, he rolls my clit from side to side. Something about the danger of getting caught with his unabashed nonchalance stokes my desire.
An unexpected noise of approval purrs from the back of my throat. Sweat beads between my breasts.
Holden slips two fingers inside me, keeping his thumb pressed against the tight nub of my sex and stills. “That’s right, sweetness. Let me in.”
His entry is shocking and brief. He smiles as he withdraws his fingers, using them now to draw careful circles around my clit and my wet pussy lips. It takes all my willpower not to beg him to fuck me here and now, in front of his driver, the people in the cars beside us, the whole damn city for all I care.
I stop short of saying the words aloud. I’m with it enough to know how pathetic that would sound. Face hot with embarrassment, I burrow into his shoulder. “I want you, Holden,” I whisper, with a nervous laugh.
He buries his head in my hair. “Oh, I intend to fuck you again, Chelsea,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper. “But not tonight.”
Startled, I look up and realize we’re parked outside the college, and for the first time in what feels like months, Holden is not inviting me back to his apartment. I will not be sleeping next to him in his bed, waking up to his spiced coffee, or wrapping my legs around him as we gently rock ourselves to blissful pleasure.
I can’t help it. The rejection stings.
Blinking back tears, I sit straight and adjust my skirt as best I can, fumbling with the seatbelt buckle until it pops loose. I’m rooting around for my purse, my keys, my dignity when he puts a warm hand on my arm. “Hey,” he says, so soft at first I think I haven’t heard him right. “Don’t take it personal. I’ve just got…”
“A lot on your mind,” I finish.
I know things at the office haven’t been great. With Lucas doing his own thing and Mason focused on his pregnant girlfriend, Holden is taking care of business —all of it. I’ve heard some of the tense conversations between them, seen the way Holden’s jaw stiffens whenever one of them calls. There are legal bills to pay, and clients to appease, and staff to hire…
It’s a lot, and I’ve been selfish.
I swallow and blow out a breath. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been a bad week.”
Bad few weeks really, but I refuse to believe I haven’t brought some light to that darkness, haven’t given him some kind of therapy, however deceiving that may be.
“It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
I nod with sadness. “I’m sorry you feel abandoned.”
His expression unexpectedly darkens. “Why would you say it like that?”
My throat goes dry. “I didn’t mean—” Tears spring to my eyes. “I just meant that it used to be the three of you, in it. Together forever, breaking new ground. Holding on to the new day and all that…”
“People change,” he says. There’s bitterness there but also sadness, and my heart cracks with his pain. “Transitioning has been difficult.” He licks his lips. “But you’ve made it easier.”
My spirit lifts, though I know it’s fleeting. “Even with all my silly questions?”
His eyes search mine. “Your questions have been many things, but silly isn’t one of them.”
I blow out another juddering breath. I can feel the confession brewing, gathering at the base of my throat. One push and I could be free of this secret.
Possibly free from Holden altogether.
It is that realization that turns me into a coward. And damn it, I’m self-centered. Because if being free of guilt means losing Holden, I don’t know if I’ll ever find the courage to confess.
I lean across the car and kiss his cheek. “I hope you have sweet dreams tonight, Holden.”
“If they’re about you, of course,” he replies.
But as I get out of the car, and glance over my shoulder, I have a suspicion that soon he won’t feel so complimentary towards me.
And my heart sinks, wondering if this is the last time I’ll see him look at me as if I truly matter.
Chapter 19
I open my eyes, and lazily stretch out across Holden’s mattress, my limbs weak from another long night of making love. My nose twitches at the scent of fresh coffee. I’m not surprised to find the space beside me empty, the sheets crumpled and slightly damp. Holden likes to get up first, to make sure I have espresso, and a blueberry bagel toasted and buttered
I stretch again, reaching up with my legs and arms, before sitting upright to shake the cobwebs of sleep free. I listen for movement down the hall. Nothing. Holden must be on his balcony reading the Financial Times, one of several newspapers that make up the routine of his work day mornings.
Sometimes, I sit beside him with a book.
A smile crests my lips. How utterly normal.
The alarm clock reads eight in the morning, but that must be a mistake. Panic trips across my spine. I’ve got an exam at ten, and I always set an alarm. I scrounge around in the sheets for my phone. It’s not stuffed under the pillow, or pushed onto the floor, or resting on the nightstand. What the—?
I climb out of bed, and shrug into the white terry cloth robe I’ve adopted as my own. My feet sink into the carpet as I pad down the hall. I walk quickly, hoping there’s been some kind of power outage, something to explain why I’ve slept in—and why Holden allowed it. Surely he must be getting ready for the office?
He’s at the island, staring into his phone when I approach. He doesn’t look, which is my first clue that something isn’t right. There’s no toasted blueberry bagel, not even the royal blue coffee cup I use every night I stay over.
“Holden?”
His jaw tenses.
Clearly he’s had bad news from the office. Or maybe he’s arguing with Mason again? That seems to be a daily occurrence. I step closer, saying his name again. His muscles twitch.
“Hey,” I say, my hand on his shoulder.
And that’s when I see it. Not his phone—mine. A text message
from my mom as clear as a neon sign on the screen. And along with it, a picture of my mother holding her new kitten and smiling at the camera.
“I recognize that face,” he says, his voice cold as ice. “That’s your mother?”
He looks up at me and I freeze.
“Answer me, Chelsea.”
“Holden, I can—”
“When did you plan on telling me?” His voice is cold as ice. “Or did you think I’d never find out?”
My throat won’t open. It’s like my vocal cords are severed or something, because I can’t get a single word out. My whole body trembles.
“Answer me, Miss Faber.” He looks over and me and sneers. “Or shall I say, Miss Moorehouse?” I hate the way the name sounds coming from his mouth. He shoves the phone across the island and it pings against the sink. “Get out.”
My mouth opens. Closes. “I wanted to tell you…”
His eyes are so light, they’re almost translucent. I can see straight into his heart, and it’s turning black with hate. There is nothing I can say or do to stop it. I brace myself for the explosion.
“You decided to lie instead.”
I swallow my guilt. “I just wanted some answers, but then things got complicated between us. And I started to fall for you…”
“You didn’t lie to me just once,” he says, as though he maybe, if pressed, could forgive that. “But repeatedly. Everything about you is a lie.”
“Not everything,” I whisper.
Not the way I feel about him.
His eyes cloud with fresh anger. “I believed you,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “I thought you were a student, working on her dissertation. I should have known that was a crock of shit.” He bangs his fist on the counter, making me flinch.
“You couldn’t have known…”
He spins around. “Known that you’re the daughter of the man responsible for ruining my childhood? The daughter of a monster?” he says, shaking his head with disgust. “But perhaps I should have seen it. You clearly are a chip off the old block, someone capable of lies and manipulation and cruelty in order to get whatever they want.”