by Cate Ashwood
Thank Christ he had, because the way it felt to have my body pressed up against his, the heat and strength of his arms around me—it was heady. I kissed the side of his neck, rubbing against him like a cat as his fingers kneaded my ass and rocked me against him in a subtle rhythm.
I clung to him, one hand fisted in his shirt like he might change his mind at any moment and throw me backward onto the floor. But he reached up, his fingers tangling in my hair, and hauled me forward, covering my mouth with his.
He kissed me like he’d die if he didn’t, like his one true path in life was to make me insane with his mouth alone. I’d known a bunch of guys who felt lukewarm about kissing—take it or leave it, as long as they got off, that’s all that mattered.
Gage Emerson was not one of those guys.
He owned me with that kiss, my whole body vibrating with the intensity of it. Everything was centered on us, and nothing else mattered—my father, Westbridge, the blizzard outside. None of it existed when his lips were on me.
I couldn’t move. I wanted more than anything to slide to my knees in front of him, but I couldn’t. He held me against him, his grip tight in my hair as he skimmed his other hand over me. I arched into his touch, his hand dipping lower, the backs of his knuckles dragging along my belly.
He’d had his hands on me before, and afterward, I’d wanted more. It had been impersonal and clinical, and even then I hadn’t wanted him to stop.
There was nothing fucking clinical about this. I moaned as he worked my pants down, button, then zipper; then he was tugging at the waistband until my cock sprang free. Precome painted his shirt as I rubbed against him, sensitive and already perched way, way too close to the edge.
As he wrapped his fist around my cock, I groaned, the even pressure of his hand on me almost enough to send me over. I tipped my head back, giving Gage access to lick and suck at my throat while I rode the rush of lust. He moved his hand, and I hissed out a breath, my head snapping forward so I could meet his eyes with mine.
He stared at me, the intensity in his gaze simmering. I could see the hunger there, the greed that turned me on almost as much as the things Gage was doing to my body. The pleasure was overwhelming. Gage tightened his grip, and I wanted to tell him to stop. I wanted him to slow down, to draw this out, to make it last, but I couldn’t force the words from my throat. My ability to speak was completely drowned by the sensation.
He kissed me again, and I felt my body break apart the moment his lips met mine. He swallowed my ragged cries as I came, heat spilling over his hand. I was still dazed and disoriented when Gage lifted me off him, towering over me as he stood, then grabbed my hands and hauled me to my feet. “Get upstairs,” he commanded as he pushed me forward.
It took a moment for me to get my feet under me, but he was right there at my back, guiding me, his hand splayed across my chest, his erection still straining against me. I stepped up on the first tread and turned, tightening my arms around his neck and taking advantage of the change in angle. With me on the first step, we were almost the same height and I was able to take control a little, kissing him hard and pulling a rumbling moan from him.
He hadn’t come yet, and I knew he was getting desperate, but he kissed me back, fevered and intense. I chased his mouth as he broke the kiss, not wanting it to be over yet, but he shoved me forward, hard enough to get me moving.
“Get upstairs. I have plans for you.”
I resisted the urge to take the steps two at a time, knowing Gage was right behind me. I could almost feel his presence, and I could certainly hear the sound of his breaths, labored and even as he followed me up.
“There, on the left,” he said once we’d reached the landing.
I turned and cocked one eyebrow. “Guess you don’t need to lock your bedroom door after all.”
“You’re still not allowed to watch me sleep.”
He pushed me into the room, then shoved me onto the bed before stripping down. His movements were quick and efficient, and in seconds he was completely naked.
I lay there, propped up on my elbows, just staring. I couldn’t look away. I was absolutely rooted in place, frozen by the sight of his body. He rang my bell fully clothed, but naked? That bell was reverberating all over the place. Jesus Christ. He looked strong and sturdy, with just enough fur on his chest to make things extra interesting. And as my eyes traveled south, my blood pressure spiked.
Holy shit.
“You gonna stand there all night, or are you gonna fuck me?” I was feeling brazen, the dazedness of my first orgasm wearing off. He stalked forward and grabbed the lube and condoms and tossed them on the bed. There was no being coy here, no working up to the main event with gentle foreplay and languid kisses.
I flipped over and felt Gage’s hands on my hips, guiding me to where he wanted me. I shivered, the anticipation boring through my chest.
“Cold?” Even in that single word, I could hear the roughness in his voice.
I shook my head.
“Good.”
I forced the air in and out of my lungs, my body seizing up as I waited for Gage to do something. My muscles tensed, everything tightening up as I heard the familiar sound of foil tearing and a plastic lid popping. Gage’s hand against my lower back helped me to relax as two fingers pushed lube inside me.
I groaned, letting my head fall forward and pressing into the sting of penetration as he worked the slick in. It was so fucking good, so unbelievably good, that everything else faded away and my entire world focused on the way Gage made me feel.
I couldn’t help moving, rocking back against his fingers. My mind checked out and I was operating on pure instinct, chasing the sensation of him filling me up. His fingers were so good, but they weren’t enough—they weren’t what I wanted.
Gage was behind me and I wished I could see his face, but contorting like that, enough to really see him, was more than I was capable of. Instead, I closed my eyes and let the feeling of his fingertips stroking against my prostate wash over me.
“God, Holden, I could watch this all night.”
“Tell me you’re not going to,” I panted. “Please.”
With that, Gage withdrew his fingers. “Don’t move.”
Like I was capable of that. My eyes were still closed, and I couldn’t summon the control to force them open. All I could do was wait. Wait to feel Gage’s hands on me, wait to feel him filling me up. I craved him and we’d barely gotten going. Half a second later, I got what I wanted when I felt the blunt tip of his cock lined up against my entrance. I held still, every cell of my body primed with expectancy, and when Gage pushed inside I gasped.
He didn’t go slow, didn’t work me up to it, and even though I felt like he was splitting me in two, I was grateful. I wanted him so bad, wanted him to make me feel it. There was no room for gentle now, and it seemed like Gage understood that without hearing it.
He thrust all the way in, his hips hitting my ass, pushing me forward. I gripped the sheets tight in my fists and moved back against him. His hands still held me tight as he pulled out and pushed back in again. I moaned each time he drove forward, the overwhelming pleasure forcing sounds out of me I had no control over.
I was incoherent with lust, each stroke inside me making me want more. Pressure built, the first fragments of my orgasm starting to pool together as Gage thrust deeper. He leaned forward, covering my body with his. Releasing my hips, he reached around me, wrapping one hand around my cock. He stroked me with a solid grip, and I didn’t think he could push me any higher until he slid his other hand up, his fingers enclosing my throat.
Keeping his grip tight enough to make me lose my mind, he held me to him as he rocked against me, the tip of his cock grazing my prostate with each thrust.
The sounds of Gage’s ragged breathing raged in my ears. I was barreling toward the end, the sensation too overwhelming, the moment too intense for me to slow myself down. I couldn’t hold on to my control any longer.
“Gage,” I cri
ed, my voice sounding broken as my body spasmed around his and I painted his sheets with come.
He didn’t stop, just wrung every ounce of pleasure from me. I rode with him until his rhythm faltered, and he pushed deep inside me as he came. I was broken—totally boneless—absolutely destroyed. I didn’t know if I’d ever move again. Gage paused, staying close for several long minutes before he carefully pulled out.
I collapsed forward, not giving a shit that I was lying in the wet spot.
I couldn’t think.
Gage Emerson had turned my brain to pulp.
I felt the mattress shift as he stood, and then a minute later it dipped again as he climbed back in behind me. He gathered me against him and I went willingly, my body pliant and drained of energy. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I. It would be hours before the ability to speak returned. For now, I was happy to lie in his arms, basking in the afterglow of some of the best sex I’d ever experienced.
It didn’t matter how much frost painted the windows or how high the snow drifted outside. He was solid and warm, and he held me so close I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel cold again.
This was so much better than sleeping in subzero conditions in the SUV.
I closed my eyes and let the weight of the silence settle over me, but I could already feel my mind start to rush, replaying the last conversation I’d had with my father, and now, with all the new information that had come to light over the last few hours…
I’d come here hoping Gage would change his mind, and now I was glad he wouldn’t. I’d always known my father cared about the bottom line more than anyone else, but to have it demonstrating in such startling clarity was sickening.
Although I wished I’d been able to leave the company on my own terms, I was strangely glad I no longer worked there. But that didn’t solve the problem of what the hell I was going to do now. Did I go home and hope that one of my friends would put me up on their couch? Or did I stay here and live off the land like the Davy Crocket of the north?
Okay, so that was ridiculous. New York was the only real option. And going back wasn’t the end of the world. I could get another job. Somewhere. Some understaffed hospital somewhere was likely to overlook the fact that I’d been fired from the only job I’d ever had.
Right.
I’d call Frankie in the morning.
CHAPTER TEN
I woke up a little after six the next morning to an empty bed. I wondered if Holden had cleared out early, but a loud clatter from downstairs answered that question. I pulled on pants, decided not to bother with a shirt, and headed down to see what my unexpected houseguest was getting into.
“You didn’t strike me as a morning person,” I said, shuffling over to the coffee maker to find that the coffee had already been made.
“I’m not. At all. But I’m still on New York time, and you snore.”
“I do not snore.”
“Oh, yes you do,” Holden insisted.
I ignored him. “You cooking breakfast or starting a one-man pots-and-pans band? It was tough to tell from upstairs.”
He rolled his eyes at me as he pulled the pan from the oven. “I made bacon and eggs. I was starving.”
“Lasagna didn’t hold you over?”
“Not after the energy I expended last night.”
I poured a cup of coffee for him and carried it over, setting it down on the counter and resisting the urge to slide my arm around his waist and pull his body against mine. “I did most of the work.”
Giving myself some distance, I went to sit on one of the stools at the counter. This wasn’t me. In fact, this was totally out of character for me, although I’d never had a man stranded in my house before. But the easy domesticity of watching him cook me breakfast had me feeling a bit out of my depth.
I didn’t do mornings-after because I didn’t do one-night stands. I did relationships, and that wasn’t what this was. This wasn’t anything. And yet, it was somewhat difficult to sit there and watch Holden cooking in my kitchen, wearing my Columbia sweatpants—rolled at the waist so he didn’t trip over the length of them—and not feel something. I didn’t know what that something was, and to be honest, I didn’t want to look at it too closely.
What I did want to do was put my hands on him again, to stand near him, bury my face against his shoulder, and inhale the scent of him. It was like someone had drugged my coffee, except I hadn’t taken my first sip yet.
I didn’t even really like the guy—well… there were certain aspects I liked a whole fucking lot, but a part of me wished I’d never discovered those parts.
“I figured scrambled was the safest,” Holden said, holding up the spatula as he turned toward me, pulling me from thoughts of bending him over the counter and forgetting about the food altogether.
“Scrambled’s good.” I forced my mind back on track. “Is this your first time cooking?”
“It is not. I cook all the time, thank you very much.”
“I woulda pegged you for the type with a private chef.”
“Not hardly. And anyway, there’s no need when there’re so many restaurants in New York to try,” he said over his shoulder, turning back to mix the eggs. “I order in to my office most days, but I like to cook on my days off. It’s relaxing.”
Well, that was one thing we had in common, I supposed. Seeing the food was almost ready, I stood and walked to the cupboard to grab a couple of plates, then set them on the counter next to him. “Neither of your parents strike me as the type to have taught you.”
I wanted to touch him, to run my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, but I shoved my hands in the pockets of my sweats and sat back down.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of my parents walk into the kitchen, let alone cook in it.” He set out the plates and dished the food onto them. “My roommate at boarding school taught me the basics. His dad was a chef, and I spent winter break with him in junior year. The rest I’ve picked up on my own through trial and error. And there was a lot of error.” He laughed as he carried our breakfasts over and placed the dishes on the counter in front of us. Dropping himself into the stool next to me, he held up his coffee. “Cheers.”
I clinked my mug with his, though I had no idea what we were toasting, then dug into my food.
“Were you always at boarding school?” I asked, surprised to realize I actually wanted to know more about him.
“Almost. Hillcroft Academy, grades four through twelve.” He shrugged. “It was better than being at home. Most of the time I ended up crashing at a friend’s place for holidays and breaks. The few times I did come home, I spent most of it by myself. My mother was busy with her philanthropy work, and my father… well… you know Philip.”
“Yes, I do.”
The conversation fell silent then, and the room felt heavier.
“I’ve already called and left another message with Lyle, so hopefully he calls me back soon.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath on that.”
“Well, because you haven’t already done enough for me by letting me spend the night, feeding me, and not shooting me on sight yesterday afternoon, could I add a ride into town to that list? Frankie’s booked me a flight out first thing tomorrow morning, so I need to pack up my shit at the hotel and get ready to fly back to New York.”
“That was quick.” My gut tightened, but I ignored it. He was going home in less than twenty-four hours. I’d gotten exactly what I’d wanted. Before long, my life would return to normal. Holden would be on a flight out of Alaska, and I would go back to who I was before I knew he existed.
Clean break.
Except what were we even breaking from? Nothing. Nothing to break because nothing had been started. I reminded myself that a couple of rounds of—admittedly very hot—sex meant nothing.
“I’m gonna have to get my shit together back home eventually, and the sooner I get away from the snow, the better.”
“You gonna be okay?” I didn’t know why I fe
lt compelled to ask.
“Definitely. I always land on my feet. A friend said I could stay with him and his cousin until I figure things out.”
We finished our food in silence, and afterward, Holden tidied the kitchen.
“You don’t have to do that. You cooked. I can clean up.”
“Washing the egg pan is literally the least I can do to say thank you for not letting me freeze to death in the front seat of a Chevy…” He paused a beat. “And for everything else too.”
“You’re welcome.”
This wasn’t how I thought I’d be spending my morning, but now that we were here, I had to admit, it was kinda nice. If Holden had been any other guy, representing any other company, showing up on my doorstep for any other reason, I would have had him in my bed so fast he wouldn’t have known what hit him.
But his last name was Prescott, and I didn’t know what to think. It was difficult to reconcile the guy I’d gotten to know in the last twelve hours with the guy who’d shown up two days before, trying to get me to sign a contract to return to Westbridge.
Ultimately, though, it didn’t matter. Tomorrow, he’d be gone and I wouldn’t need to think about it anymore.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Well, wasn’t this just fucking depressing?
Back in my hotel room after spending one of the hottest nights ever with one of the hottest men on the planet, and now all I wanted to do was scarf down a greasy pizza and watch Suits because if I didn’t distract myself I was going to go fucking nuts. Except that would require venturing back out into the cold, and I wasn’t sure my testicles had dropped back down after the last time.
Oh, and I had no money.
Instead, I took a hot shower and listened to the sound of the pipes knocking in the walls. It didn’t give me a great sense of confidence in the quality of the construction of this place, but to be honest, I was just surprised the pipes weren’t completely frozen.
When I was done, I flopped down onto the bed with the brown bedspread and stared out the window past the brown curtains. Everything was white and beige and brown, and not for the first time since I’d arrived in Sawyer’s Ferry, I missed New York.