“I’m still processing,” she replies what seems like eons later. Processing the reason she’s here? It’s a good attempt at a cover because looking at her now, I can see she wants me every bit as much as I want her.
Even if I can’t help but push her a little bit further.
“It’ll be just like old times.” I cast my eyes to the bed. “Though some parts might be a little more novel.”
If I don’t have her soon, I will explode.
My heart pounds as she takes a step away from the door. One step, then another, the only sound of her travels the swish of silk against her legs. And the pounding of my heart, which I’m certain must be audible to us both.
“What are you going to tell Griffin?”
My guts twist at the mere mention of his name. “I don’t want to hear his name in this room,” I murmur dangerously.
This wasn’t what I had in mind when I thought of pushing her. Goading. I’m almost tempted to tell her she can give up the act, that I know the truth, but where would the fun be in that? “I like that you kept your dress on.”
“Yeah, well, Griffin wasn’t in the room to undo the zipper.”
Anger flares inside me immediately, and before I register anything else, I’m across the room, falling on her like a lion does a gazelle. My fingers gripping her forearms, I press my mouth to her neck as I begin to devour the silky skin there. I want to touch her, hold her, allow myself the joy of her, but I’m afraid to let go. Then somewhere from outside of my frenzy, I realise she’s evading my lips even as her chest heaves with hot, hungered sounds.
“Kiss me, Holland.”
“I can’t,” she replies, the sound a bare rasp of want.
“You did earlier.” In the garden where this madness began. Where I took. Where she gave. Where I lost my mind for a few minutes. Though, in truth, I’m not sure it has at all been regained.
“You know why.” But there’s no reprimand or rancour in her reply.
“What difference does it make? Now? Then? Give me your mouth for no other reason than you want to.”
She gasps as I pull her to my chest, shock and desire as I cup her sweet arse, fitting her softness against where I’m hard. So fucking hard. “Then let me kiss you. Let me taste.” My words are breath over sandpaper, my teeth sharp on the shell of her ear. She gasps, her knees weakening and allowing me to fit her body tighter against me.
“Don’t be frightened, Holland.” Frightened to want me. Full of pride? Pride I understand more than most. Fear I understand, too. Not fear of what comes after tonight but fear of never getting my fill of her.
“I’m not frightened. You can force me to be here, but I don’t have to give all of myself to you.”
The stubborn little minx. Who knew she had such acting skills?
I should be laughing. I shouldn’t care, but like fuel to the fire, it doesn’t seem to matter that she’s fooling neither of us. I certainly shouldn’t be pushing her away.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Rage blurs at the edges of my consciousness as I almost anticipate what she’ll say next.
“That I’m not yours, your grace,” she snipes, her eyes glittering angrily. “And I never can be.”
An interesting distinction—can over will.
“Is that so.” My tone is low and dangerous, and she begins to back away, conveniently for me, in the direction of the bed. “Don’t worry, Holland,” I purr as her thighs hit the mattress. “You can tell my shit of a brother that you weren’t at fault. That you gave nothing freely away. That I took.”
She gasps, not fear, not pride, but excitement as I press her down onto the bed, my body following hers.
HOLLY
The noise he makes as his body meets mine is the sound I’ve been hearing in my dreams. Part groan, part growl as he presses himself against me, hard meeting soft as his mouth finds my neck again. I push my palms against the hardness of his chest, though not to push him away, I don’t think. Yet the feeling of his rapid heartbeat is a comfort. I’m not the only one feeling like this.
Why wouldn’t I kiss him? Why did I make such a fuss? Was it in case he discovered the truth? In case he discovered how much I want him? Or maybe it’s because I’m supposed to be playing the martyr, not the blessed.
Oh, God, I’d willingly sacrifice myself on the thing he presses between my legs.
Hard. Hot. Wanting. I’m not sure if those words refer to him or to me. As he rocks against me, a clawing desperation springs to life inside me, and I curl my fingers into the soft cotton of his shirt.
“Tell me you want this.” His gaze meets mine, shining with challenge and as dark as any storm. “If you don’t, now is your only chance to say so.”
Speak now or forever hold your peace.
Hold his piece.
An absurd giggle bubbles up inside me because that’s something to aspire to, right?
But I don’t laugh as his expression changes, the look of determination slipping from his face, replaced by something a little more bittersweet. I swallow thickly. I don’t want to hurt him, but his kisses earlier were enough to unravel me. Enough to melt my resolve. Enough to make me give in. I close my eyes, opening my mouth to deny him when the tender press of his lips at the base of my throat startles me into a sob.
I expected punishment through fucking. A reprimand delivered by the rough touch of his hands. I didn’t expect to feel like one press of his lips could make me feel treasured. Loved.
His mouth travels higher, heated breath and bare brushes of his lips igniting my skin. Making my heart beat a tango between us. My back arches from the bed, my dress already perfect now up around my waist as I welcome the press of him between my legs. Alexander presses up onto his arms, and for a moment, he stares down at me. Watches me. Sees the truth of me. My stupidity? His expression is barely discernible in the light, though his eyes shine quite suddenly like dark stars.
“Give yourself to me, Holland.” Wrapping his arm under me, he surges between my legs, his body and voice as taut as a bowstring. “Give yourself to me because you want to. Not because of anything else.”
I give him the only answer I can as I pull him down to me. Air leaves his chest, the warm scent of relief feathering across my lips. Lips that meet in a kiss. Mouth against mouth, our bodies flush, my hands grasping and maybe a little too enthusiastic for someone who’s supposed to be here under duress.
We kiss as though starved, as though this kiss is the very thing to bring us breath. My fingers are still twisted in his shirt as his hand reaches down to grasp my calf. To trail up my leg. Higher. Higher. I am pure sensation, every inch of my skin aware of each place our bodies meet. The brush of his pants against my naked thighs, his chest as it grazes mine, the press of his lips. It’s all so heavenly, though not nearly enough. I begin to pull the shirt from his pants, my fingers seeking the heat of his skin, desperate for more of him. He groans a velvety sound as my fingertips reach their objective, his abdominal muscles rippling in response to my touch.
“Holland.” He shapes my name against my skin as my fingers dip and begin to grapple with the buckle of his belt as my body aches emptily for his.
Inside me. Hot. Hard. Unyielding. Punishing me.