Hard to Hold

by K. Bromberg

  “What if I told you—”

  “Do as you’re told, Lennox.” My words are a warning, and I wait to see what she does. How she reacts.

  With a look over her shoulder and her eyes locked on mine, she takes her time walking toward the bench before taking one hand and bracing it on the paneled wall and then the other.

  “Spread your feet wider.”

  She doesn’t respond. Her lips part as I see goosebumps begin to chase over her bare skin.

  “Look forward, darling. I’ve let you play with me long enough. I’m in control now.”

  She does obey, and it’s such a damn turn-on. I study her in the dim light and debate which part of her I want to touch and taste first. Which part I want to savor, and which parts I won’t be able to because I’ll be gone beyond reason.

  Time stretches to let the anticipation build as I slide my shorts off.

  Each second feeling like a minute, each minute like an hour. Our breaths are the only sound in the room.

  “There will be no need for these,” I murmur as I pull on the ties at the sides of her bottoms, one by one, until the fabric falls to the floor. I do the same to the top.

  She gasps when I reach out and run a single finger up and down the length of her spine, before I step up behind her so my body ghosts hers in a whisper of a touch.

  She starts to turn to face me in reaction.

  “Uh-uh, Lennox. Hands back on the wall. Leave them there.” I trail a line of open-mouthed kisses from the edge of her shoulder to just below her ear. “This is killing you, isn’t it? To not be in control? To not get a say.” I scrape my teeth ever so gently there as my dick presses against the crack of her arse, a tsk in warning given when she tries to wiggle back against it.

  “If you want that, you’ll do as I say.”

  Her groan is an aphrodisiac.

  I run my hands over the length of her body before finding my way between the V of her thighs. She’s already wet, ready, as if she’s trying to beat me at my own game to lose control before we even get started.

  But I won’t let her.

  I can’t.

  She leans her head back, a moan escaping her lips as I slide my fingers into her slickness, tucking inside her so she bucks her pussy into my hands.

  “You filthy girl. You love that, don’t you?”

  Another moan in response. Another grind of her ass against my cock.

  I work her up so her moans are loud in my ear and her muscles tighten with each push in and pull back out. And when I feel her about to fall over the edge, I take my hand on her neck and push her forward. “Stay like that,” I murmur as I step back to get the most gorgeous sight of her bent over, ass and pussy on display with her own arousal glistening her inner thighs.

  My hand’s on my dick, stroking its length, as I drop to my knees, and take my first taste of Lennox Kincade. Her cry fills the small space as I slide my tongue up her slit then back down before burying it inside of her. Before owning every inch of her. Before licking her and pleasuring her with my fingers until her legs buckle and my name falls from her lips over and over as I bring her to the brink.

  I can feel her contract around me. I get lost in the feel of it as her ragged breath matches mine.

  Every part of me begs for my turn as I rise to my feet.

  “Again,” she murmurs when I’m no longer touching her, her hand off the wall for the first time as she reaches back for me.

  My chuckle reverberates, as need owns my thoughts, and greed fuels my actions.

  “Hands on the wall.”

  “Only if you fuck me,” she says in a broken voice.

  “We’re getting there.” I laugh, but then groan as she jolts when I slide the head of my cock right at her opening.

  Every part of me tenses. I try to fight the violent desperation to take her with abandon. To pound into her. To chase my own bloody pleasure now that I know she’s found hers.

  My hips thrust ever so slightly into her. Her warm, wet heat grabs my cock inch by inch, until I bottom out and see stars.

  Fuck.

  Heaven.

  Hell.

  Just fuck.

  My hands grip the sides of her hips as she flexes those muscles around me. Once. Twice.

  “Lennox,” I warn, as her chuckle fills the room.

  She’s in control now. She owns me in this moment. With her pussy. With her confidence. With how damn good she feels.

  And I snap.

  Control lost.

  My hips slam against hers. I thrust over and over in a punishing pace encouraged by her words. Oh my God. Harder. Yes. Right there. Faster. Don’t stop. I’m coming again. Rush. Rush.

  And when she tightens around me this time, I lose the battle but win the damn war. I empty myself into her, my hips jerking, my vision going black, her name a groan of bliss on my lips.

  I gather my hands around her waist and hug her against me, my cheek resting just above her shoulder blade while we wait for our hearts to decelerate. And when they do, we both shift onto the bench to let that post-orgasmic haze settle before figuring out where we go from here.

  Or at least, that’s what we should be doing, but I’m just replaying every damn minute of what happened through my mind again.

  “That was . . . incredible,” she murmurs.

  “It was. I’ll . . .” Never look at a belly chain the same way again without thinking of you.

  Without thinking of her—this—and what just happened. Without wanting it to happen again.

  But the words die on my lips, because that’s too much right now. Too much to think about. Too much to wonder about.

  “We can’t do that again,” she pants, and I give as much effort as I can to my laugh. “This was a mistake.” But she doesn’t move. Instead her fingers find mine and lace between them.

  “Is that so?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She doesn’t even have the energy left to form words.

  “Was it that bad?”

  “Horrible. Terrible,” she says with amusement in her tone.

  “So when can we do it again?” I tease.

  “Give me about thirty minutes to fortify.”

  This time my laugh is so loud that it reverberates off the walls. And then, I open my eyes and see Johnny walking toward the sauna.

  “Oh shit. Johnny. He’s coming.” I don’t give a fuck about being in the nude, but fuck if I want him seeing Lennox stark naked.

  Lennox is up scrambling for her bikini as I throw on my shorts and meet him before he can open the door.

  “Not exactly a place you want to go into right now, mate,” I say offering him a shit-eating grin.

  “No. Noooo!” he whines and postures himself like a toddler about to stomp his feet. He stares at me in disbelief. “Jesus fucking Christ. Really? C’mon, Rush. Can’t you guys use a bed?”

  “You’re just jealous we’re getting some and you have your hand tonight.”

  He makes an unintelligible noise that makes me laugh. “It’s not funny.” He jabs a finger at me. “It is not. I’m going back inside.”

  “Good choice,” I say with a nod, enjoying the scent of Lennox still on my face.

  “I’m sending you the bill to disinfect that damn sauna. Every pretty penny of it.”

  “It was money well spent.” My laughter echoes through the night especially when he raises his middle finger and disappears into the house.

  LENNOX

  HOW DOES A WOMAN RECOVER from something like that? A dominant man. Some incredible sex. Laughter to end it with.

  I snuggle deeper beneath my covers as Rush’s laugh echoes from somewhere in the house where he and Johnny are playing pool.

  But I’m here, in bed, alone.

  I needed space. Time to distance myself. Time to reiterate to myself that this is what I needed.

  Some mind-blowing sex to erase the confusing emotions I felt earlier after kissing him.

  Not Rush, and the tender kissing from earlier tonight.

  Jus
t the Rush who demanded I hold my hands against the wall as he owned my thoughts as much as my body. The man who gave me the physicality I needed to set me right.

  Because I don’t get close to men. We have fun, we have sex, I move on.

  That’s why I went to bed without a second glance Rush’s way. There was no invitation to my bed, no inkling that I want more.

  And oh, how I want more.

  Just a quiet exit so it’s clear I’m not the girl who needs to be held and coddled afterward. Sex is sex. Love is love.

  And only one of those I subscribe to.

  Then why am I staring at my ceiling, wishing Rush was warming the spot beside me?

  RUSH

  5 Weeks Earlier

  THE DOOR OPENS AND RORY’S shocked eyes meet mine. He steps back immediately, hiding behind the panel of the door in case there are paparazzi who have followed me.

  “Are you out of your mind?” he asks, all but pulling me inside and slamming the door at my back.

  I take a few steps and turn to face him. “I could ask the same of you.”

  Tension thickens the air between us, as I’m sure he wonders what he could possibly say to make this better.

  Nothing.

  There’s nothing he can say for fucking up, no, complicating my life like he just has. I think of the two decoy cars I had to deploy from my house so the press followed.

  I want to clobber him.

  I want to find the truth.

  I want to hate this fucking IOU—a complicated punch I wasn’t ready to receive. Anger. I’m so fucking angry.

  “Rush.” A shrug. A sigh. “I don’t even know what to—”

  “Do you love her?” It’s the one question I need an answer to. It’s the one thing that matters.

  “Ah, Rush McKenzie. Who knew you were a romantic at heart?”

  “Cut the crap, Ror. This isn’t funny. You’re fucking with my life. I don’t care if you or your dad think my career can handle the consequences, it’s total bullshit. Complete fucking crap. And if you think for one second you’re going to be prancing around like Prince Charming while I’m—”

  “She’s the love of my life, mate.” Rory looks at me, eyes huge, an apology written in everything about him—posture, expression—before he nods. “She made me want to live again. She—”

  “What do you mean she made you want to live again?” I laugh in disbelief. “You have all of this.” I hold my hands out to the massive house we’re standing in. “A football career—”

  “Barely.”

  “A family who loves you—”

  “Duty and love are two different things,” he says. “I assure you there is no such thing as a perfect son, as I can attest to that.”

  “Rory,” I sigh. “I’m not following you right now. I’m taking the damn fall for you, so forgive me if I want some answers.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” He gives a frustrated grunt as he paces into the next room and I follow. “My dad. Constantly living in the ‘why can’t you be more like Rush?’ shadow that my dad demands. Never living up to what he wanted of me.”

  “Bollocks.” Fuck, I could use a drink. There’s a dull pounding behind my eyes, and I don’t think it will be going away any time soon. “What does any of that have to do with Esme? How does you fucking Seth’s wife have anything to—”

  “When I tell you she made me want to live again, I fucking mean it,” he shouts.

  “You’re my oldest mate. Doing this—” And that’s when it hits me. It’s now that I really hear his words.

  “Rory?” My voice falls as I struggle to comprehend. As I look at a man, and question how I didn’t know he was so debilitated he’d want to take his own life. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “How would a guy like you understand?” he says and rubs his temples.

  “I’m not in the mood to be fucked with, okay? Don’t throw implications like that around if you don’t fucking mean it.” I’m in his face in a second, looking at the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother, and I know it’s true. I know . . . “Why?”

  He shrugs as shame worries into every line etched in his face. “You don’t know what it’s like to be me.” His voice is barely a whisper, and I grab onto the back of his neck and force his eyes to meet mine.

  “I don’t care what’s going on in that world out there,” I say and motion with my free hand. “I am and always will be here for you, brother.” I don’t move, can’t. All I can think of is what if? All I can wonder is how he could ever think he was alone.

  Because when I say he’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother, I mean it. He could have thrown me under the bus a million times when we were younger. When I was trying out for the academy, he could have told the guys I wasn’t just picking up their rubbish to be nice, but was saving the bites of protein bars left in their wrappers so I could have something to eat for dinner. He could have said I was the one who “accidentally” picked up the wrong jacket after training and took it home with me so I’d have a little warmth in that freezing cold shed only to return it the next day and apologize for grabbing the wrong one. He caught me doing both and didn’t say a word.

  He could have raged and told his parents not to include me in their lives, because why should he?

  But strangely, he let me into his family instead.

  We talked shit. A lot.

  We talked women. Even more.

  We talked football. More than anything.

  So how did he get here?

  More importantly, how did I not know he had?

  “I am always here for you,” I reiterate.

  “I know.” His voice is hoarse as I grab him and pull him into a hug. My mind reels. How have I been so selfish with my own life that I didn’t realize he was floundering? How have I been on the pitch, in the changing room, and not seen it? Sure, there were the drugs I knew he dabbled in here and there, because Archibald confessed knowing about them to me, but not this. Not suicide.

  I take a step back and clear my throat to rid it of the emotions clogging it. “Make me understand. I need to understand.”

  “I can’t make you understand, Rush. I can’t let you walk in my shoes nor understand what’s in my head. I can’t explain the daily grind I felt just to wake up, put clothes on, and pretend everything was normal when I was silently dying inside. All I can do is tell you I was a day or two away from doing it—my plans were made, my letters were written—when Esme walked into my life.”

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, I head toward his kitchen and help myself to a drink. I need something to help me process this.

  “How’d that happen?” I ask and then wince as the whiskey burns when it goes down.

  “It was after a training session about five months ago. I was sitting in my car after I’d been told the club was considering cutting me for poor performance and fuck, mate, I was in a bad state. I was just about to pop some Oxycodone to take the edge off—”

  “Bloody hell, Ror. How can you take that shit—”

  “I’m off it now. I swear I am. But I saw Seth . . . saw Seth and Esme arguing. It was dark out, but they were beneath the lights while my car was in the shadows near a tree. He fucking hit her, mate. Hauled off and clocked her, and I just watched—stunned. She’s Esme, pop princess and wife of Liverpool’s captain, and he punched her in the stomach like it was something he did every day.”

  What a fucking arsehole.

  “Ror—”

  “I’m not kidding, mate. The wanker hit her and then strolled to their car, got behind the wheel as if nothing had happened, and waited impatiently for her to get in. As they drove out of the car park, she looked my way—tears on her cheeks, and shame, so much shame in her eyes as they passed by.”

  “You didn’t get out? You didn’t say anything?”

  “No. I wish I had, but I was halfway to being high and the last thing I needed was our captain to let the club know he’d seen me using.”

  “So what
happened next?”

  “I fell down the rabbit hole. Remember that week I was sick and missed training?”

  “You weren’t sick?”

  “No. I was drunk and high and one day in the middle of it all there was a knock on the door at about eleven o’clock at night and there she was, Esme. She had a black eye and had been roughed up. She told me I was the only one who knew anything about it, that she’d seen me that night so she knew I knew, and she needed a place to stay until Seth calmed down some. And that’s how it all started.”

  “Fucking hell, mate.”

  “I know it sounds like bullshit, but it’s true. She helped me get counseling and pulled me from the depths, and I was there for her because she didn’t want the press to know and somehow . . . we fell in love. She helped me turn my life around, Rush. I’m fitter than I have been in years, my head is clear, and I’m going to therapy regularly to learn strategies to live with the depression. I have my bad days, but how can I not love my life now?”

  “Why didn’t you go to the police? Your dad? Why—”

  “She begged me not to.”

  “You could have at least gone to your mum. Helen would have helped you. You’re her everything.”

  “I’ve fucked up so many times, Rush, I couldn’t stand to tell her I was using again. I couldn’t crush her like that when she’s been the only one who has ever had faith in me. When she’s helped me too many times before.” Tears well in his eyes and between the sight of them and his words, I feel like I’ve been hit with a knife in the chest. “I couldn’t disappoint her when I feel like that’s all she’s been when it comes to me as of late.”

  “That’s crap. She loves you.”

  “Yes, but love doesn’t fix the hurt you’ve caused. It just makes it ache a little less.”

  His words are so very true.

  “And now? Now what are you going to do?”

  He sighs as he stares at me. “She keeps telling me she’s going to leave him but the timing has to be right. She’s busy getting her legal matters in order so that when they split, she doesn’t get screwed.”

  “And if she doesn’t leave him? How are you going to handle that?”