“Come,” he breathed between deep, long sucks. “Come for me, baby.”
Baby…fuck.
My body obeyed. The cresting wave crashed, and I gritted my teeth, spilling myself into his mouth. He took it all, slowing his sucking strokes, dragging his tongue up and down my length.
“Jesus Christ…” I fell back on the bed, drained and yet alive in a way I’d never felt before.
Holden climbed up and flopped on his back beside me.
“River Whitmore,” he murmured to the ceiling. “There was nothing fucking casual about that.”
Thirteen
Holden
We lay for long minutes in the dark, listening to the rain and our own slowing breaths. My body hummed, and I could feel River everywhere he’d touched me. Still taste him on my mouth and on my body that felt warm and safe for the first time.
Too good. It won’t last. It’s too good.
River was first to move, reaching for me, but I quickly went to the bathroom to clean myself up. I washed my hands and studied my reflection. My hair stood on end where River’s hand had grasped and pulled. Redness stained my mouth from his stubble—heated kisses that were fading under an onslaught of icy whispers.
This isn’t real life. It’s only a time-out. It’s not real.
I came back out and slipped on my underwear while River wordlessly took his turn in the bathroom. I sat against the pillows, feeling the cold creep in and wishing I’d stashed a flask or a fifth in the nightstand drawer.
River returned, and I forced myself to uncross my arms and take the grimace off my face. But he felt the sudden tension; he was too damn sensitive. And kind. And considerate…
He drew on his underwear and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me. “You good?”
“Never better. You?”
“Yeah. I mean… I am if you are.”
God, River…
My heart had been shattered a long time ago, but now River was seeping in through the cracks. Alarm bells clanged at the intrusion, and my thoughts began to race, one after the other, like whizzing cars, crushing River’s warmth right out of me.
“You can’t stay,” I blurted.
“I wasn’t going to,” he said, the hurt evident in his voice.
He drew on his jeans and shirt while I fought against my own brain, the fight-or-flight mechanism that was triggered when anyone showed me the slightest bit of kindness or care. The silence was unbearable.
“I told you,” I said, pathetic and desperate. “It has to be casual.”
“I remember,” he said, his voice low.
More silence. I wished he’d yell at me. Scream. Tell me I was being an asshole and fucking up this perfect night. But River dressed and then stood for a minute, jaw set, his gaze on the ground.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said finally.
He was calm and still, while I was the storm. I wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep tangled up in him, but the cold had found me. I crossed my arms tighter to keep the trembling from showing.
“What am I doing?” I asked. “I’m not doing anything. It’s late—”
“Holden.”
My mouth fell shut.
