Page 60 of Hold Me Tight

And me.

Along with the attraction that pulls us together with a force I don’t fully understand.

“No matter how many times I tried to pretend with other women,” he says quietly, “they just weren’t her. Not even close.”

My fingers still as the words hit hard.

They’re too much.

Too honest.

Too real.

And some stubborn instinct tells me to turn away, to shield myself before I get pulled in any deeper.

No matter how much I try to deny it, a piece of me still aches to believe him. To trust that this is different. That what’s happening between us isn’t another mistake I’ll regret down the road.

The hardest thing is how real it feels. Like a truth that burrows deep and settles into my bones.

Still, I know better than to fall for pretty promises that never come to fruition.

Instead of pulling away, I move slowly, watching the way his body reacts to my touch. The tension in his jaw. The way his chest rises faster, breath quickening, hips twitching beneath my hand, as if he’s fighting every instinct not to lose control.

His head falls back against the pillow as his eyes squeeze shut. “Callie…” My name comes out sounding more like a rough warning. “I won’t last long if you keep that up.”

There’s no way I can stop.

Not when I’m the one in control and making him come undone.

The significance of what’s about to happen pools low in my stomach. This isn’t just about giving back what he gave me last night. It’s about the knowledge that I can affect him so easily. That I can be the one to pull him apart when he’s always so composed. The realization is intoxicating. It makes me feel powerful, wanted, and achingly alive in a way I’ve never experienced.

His fist tightens in the sheets, knuckles turning bone-white, while his other hand wraps around my wrist. The hold isn’t rough or meant to stop me. It’s steady. Like he needs that point of contact to keep himself tethered to the earth.

“I mean it,” he grits out. “I’m gonna come. And that’s not something I was planning on.”

The warning sends my pulse racing as my thighs press together in sharp anticipation. My steady grip tightens around him. “Good. I want to watch you fall apart.”

The low sound he makes is like a groan of surrender, and it rips straight through me. His hips jerk once, twice, before finding a desperate rhythm, thrusting into my hand like he can’t help himself anymore. The muscles in his stomach flex under my gaze, each hard line shifting.

He’s completely at my mercy now.

Every rough, erratic thrust pushes him closer, the tension winding tight through his body until it finally snaps. With his head tipped back, a hoarse curse rips from his mouth as heat spills, hot and thick, into my palm, soaking through the thin cotton of his briefs.

Even when the waves of his release ebb, his chest continues to rise and fall in jagged pulls as sweat beads his temples. My fingers stay wrapped around him, easing the pressure as my strokes turn slow and coaxing. My thumb traces lazy, feather-light sweeps over the damp fabric, feeling every twitch and aftershock. His lashes flutter and his mouth relaxes as I continue touching him.

In the quiet that follows, with his body loose under my hand and his control stripped away, I realize this moment isn’t just about his surrender.

It’s about mine too.

When his eyes finally open, they’re darker than before, and yet, somehow softer. “Holy shit. That was intense.”

The air between us shifts. Not just from what we did but how it felt. Something deeper settles in, something I’m not sure I’m ready for.

He catches my wrist before I can pull away, his fingers wrapping gently around it. Then he slowly lifts my hand and presses a kiss to the inside, right over my pulse. It’s unbearably tender. And, somehow, it unravels me more than anything else.

“I hope you realize that wasn’t just about getting off,” he says, gaze fastened to mine. “It meant something.”

The crazy part is that I feel it too.