He smirks devilishly, and fire sparks within me at the sight of his lustful eyes, his searing hands resting on my hips. “Oh yeah? How?”
“Um, it doesn’t matter.”
He brings his mouth to my neck, kissing my collarbone, my shoulder, dragging my earlobe into his mouth before he whispers, “It does matter. I want to make you feel good in the ways you want me to.” He drags a finger across my other shoulder, to my chest and over my thin top, drawing a circle over my nipple. “Just tell me how.”
My nipples pebble in response, and I close my legs, seeking friction at the promise of him doing exactly what I want. “I want you to fuck me.”
There, I said it.
His jaw drops in surprise but quickly transforms into determination. “I don’t have a condom,” he mentions.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” I shrug.
“Nat.”
“I want you bare.” Dang, Natalie, who are you?
“Fuck,” he groans, pinching my nipple between his thumb and index finger. I arch against his touch, seeking more of that pleasure-pain line so easily crossed—a line his expert touch knows I like to be on. I move his other hand from my hip to my thigh, sliding it under my skirt until his fingertips touch the edge of my underwear.
He sucks in a breath, but I don’t dare drop his hand or his gaze. I continue exploring my body with my hand over his, our chests rising and falling now in anticipation, but when I guide his finger under the edge of my underwear to that spot where I want nothing more than to be touched, we both moan.
“Is this all for me?” His fingers spread wetness all over my sex.
“Yes,” I whisper, urging him to continue.
Which he does.
He touches me with dexterity, as if my body was second nature to him and he could anticipate my wants and needs. Until all I want to do is climb him like a tree.
“Just fuck me. Please.” I roll my hips again, seeking more. More friction, more fingers, more I don’t even know. More.
He bites my jaw with those perfect teeth and kisses it with his expert lips. “But getting you worked up is so much fun,” he teases.
I tremble at those words and the press of two more fingers against the most intimate part of me. His hand lets go of my nipple, giving it some relief, instead tracing every curve he can find. “Your body is so sexy,” he whispers against my ear. “So desirable, beyond my wildest dreams.”
“Holden,” I say in a needy gasp, rolling my hips again. He snakes his giant hand to my back, grabbing my ass tight.
“I forgot to tell you the other day how perfect your ass is.” He finally slides those skillful fingers in.
“Yes.” The word is loud and desperate, and I’m so, so close. Every single push of his fingers, the words he speaks, the way he looks at me, with those brown, green, golden eyes blazing with fire inside—all of him with the single purpose of making me not only feel good, but come undone at his hands.
“Come on, Beauty. Come all over my fingers.”
“Oh.” His fingers slide in and out, pumping and curving, driving me to the brink. His other hand climbs up my back as I hold tight to the table behind me, balancing on my now-weak knees, careful not to collapse. Not that he would let me.
His hand gets a hold of my hair, tugging gently, testing if I want it, but a breathy moan leaves my lips, answering his silent question. “Even your hair is perfect.” The contrast is astounding—he’s forming coherent thoughts as I’m unraveling, and oh my God, he’s going to make me come. “You are what I was waiting for and a little more.”
“Holden!” I scream, not able to hold it in for longer. His fingers don’t relent, my head tilted back as he tugs at my hair, my mouth wide open on a gasp. Not even a scream leaves my lips, completely gone on the feel of him everywhere. He lets go, searching for my lips with his, swallowing my gasps with his mouth.
I let go of the table, my fingertips almost numb, welcoming circulation back to them after I just held on for dear life. I find his belt, unbuckling it with ease and letting his pants fall to the floor. He picks me up, not letting go of my mouth, frantically kissing me, finally losing control, and setting me on the table. I swat at the clutter on the desk, trying to make room for us when he breaks the kiss with a smile, and with one slick motion, he knocks everything to the floor. “I’ll clean it up later.”
A giggle escapes me, followed by his as he glides me backwards. His knuckles graze my thighs as he carefully slides my panties down my legs. He peppers kisses up my calf, pryingmy legs open. Each one draws a smile or a soft giggle that he mirrors, making me feel at ease in his hands. At this moment, I realize I not only like him a lot, but I trust him with everything. I can get lost in this moment and know he’ll take care of me.
I think I might be falling in love with Holden Clay.
“What is this little scar from?” he asks, kissing a small raised scar on the inside of my thigh, peering up at me. This man, between my legs, worshiping my body, will be my undoing.
“I went fishing once and got hooked there. It gave me that gnarly scar.”
