Page 14 of Holden

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he says, grunting, panting.

And I realize he’s jerking off.

I fend off disappointment and tell him I want to feel his thick cock in my pussy, pulsating in and out until I scream out his name. “I want to make you come,” I say, my voice growing hoarse.

He continues to grunt, and moan, and pant.

I can hear the climax building in his voice, and so I keep talking, imagining how it would feel to truly have him inside me, our orgasms colliding in an erotic crescendo. He jerks, pushes his pelvis into my buttocks, and warm liquid squirts onto my back.

“Fuck,” he grunts, with a final push.

He rests his forehead between my shoulder blades and grips my hips. I don’t move, not one single muscle, until his breathing slows to a steady rhythm. My heart pounds like a jack rabbit.

What happens now?

Before I can voice the question, I hear the teeth of his zipper clutch together, the buttoning of his jeans. I’m too red faced to turn around. Without looking at him, I go to the couch, and slip into my T-shirt. Come smears across my skin, cool and thick.

“I’ll have my car take you home now,” he says.

He’s so cold and unemotional, I actually get a chill. My skin ripples with goosebumps, and I wrap my arms around myself to ward off an impending shiver. I had no idea what to expect when I came to Holden’s apartment, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Less than twenty-four hours after meeting, I’ve already masturbated myself to climax twice—double the number of times I’ve touched myself in a fucking year. Not the kind of statistic I’m proud to admit.

I’m sure my inexperience pulses like a neon sign, and if Holden wasn’t dubious of this arrangement before, he sure as hell will be now.

“I’m fine to Uber,” I say, feigning nonchalance.

I refuse to allow myself to cry. Not here.

He half snorts. “It’s not safe. My driver will be downstairs in five minutes.”

“Okay, thank you.”

I have no idea why I’m thanking him, because in this moment, I feel exactly as I thought I would—no different than a damn prostitute. And I haven’t even asked my first question, so I’m just giving out freebies.

Correction: Proving myself.

“You may go now,” he says.

His dismissal borders on cruelty, but I won’t—can’t—complain. Holden made it clear that tonight was all about building trust, and if making myself come and then having him jack off on my back doesn’t do the trick…

Well, then I give up.

I gather my purse, my dignity, and my courage. Then I leave without so much as a backward glance.

There’s a lot I don’t know about what happened tonight, but one thing’s for sure: there is no way in hell I’m telling Lindsay about any of this.

Chapter 8

I’m tempted to ignore my cell when it chimes the next morning. Instead, I lift one eyelid and peek at the clock. 8 a.m. I have been home for exactly four hours, and have slept a total of—

Fuck!

I bolt upright. I’m going to be late for my exam.

Ignoring the phone a second time, I wrap myself in a robe, and hurry down the hall to the bathroom. The door is closed, a thin ray of light shining through the bottom, clearly occupied. I bang on it with enough force to rattle the handle. “Lindsay!” There’s a muffled screech, followed by a deep throated chuckle. Jesus.

There’s a guy in there with her.