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29

Holland

T he door to Bridger’s room closes softly behind me, the quiet click somehow louder than my heartbeat pounding in my ears. His space is an odd mix of disarray and organization. There’s a stack of books and papers on his desk, hockey gear tossed haphazardly in the corner, his bed neatly made. It smells like him, clean and woodsy with a hint of something darker, and it settles over me like a weighted blanket.

“Well, the good news is that we both made it out alive,” he says, pulling his hoodie over his head and tossing it onto the chair. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge of something else buried beneath.

Nerves, maybe?

It’s oddly comforting to know I’m not the only one experiencing them.

“Kind of feels like it was by the skin of our teeth.” I settle on the edge of his bed, the soft mattress sinking beneath me. My fingers toy with the hem of my shirt as he grabs two bottles of water from the mini fridge tucked beside his desk.

“Here,” he says, passing one over before dropping into the chair across from me. His legs sprawl out, brushing against mine, and he looks so at ease, it makes me want to fidget.

“Thanks,” I mumble, twisting off the cap.

Silence stretches between us. It’s heavy but not uncomfortable, like we’re both waiting for the other one to speak first.

Finally, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, your mom and Jigsaw…”

I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Please, can we not?”

“What? I’m just saying, he’s… interesting.” His lips twitch, and I know he’s trying not to laugh.

“He’s not her usual type,” I admit, peeking through my fingers. “But she seems to really like him, so what can I do?”

“Try to talk her out of it?” he suggests, his smile widening.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well. She’s not exactly the listening type.”

He leans back, studying me with those piercing gray eyes that seem to see more than I want them to. “Seems like you’ve been looking out for her a long time.”

The comment catches me off guard, and I blink. “Someone has to.”

His jaw tightens, and he nods in understanding, which somehow makes it worse. The last thing I need is his pity.

Even though it’s not a conscious decision, my muscles tense and I brace for the worst.

Instead, he surprises me.

“It’s a lot to carry,” he murmurs. “I hate that you’ve had to do it alone all these years.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

The sincerity filling his voice is almost too much for me to take.

I look down at my water bottle, twisting the cap back and forth. “It’s not like I had a choice in the matter.”

“You always have a choice,” he says, his voice firm. “Let someone help you for once.”

“There’s never been anyone else to lean on. I wouldn’t even know how.”

“Well,” he says, a teasing note creeping back into his tone, “maybe we should practice. I promise that it’s not as difficult as you think it is.”

My throat tightens, and I shake my head. “The last time I trusted someone to help, they walked away. It’s easier to handle everything by myself.”

“Life doesn’t have to be a battle you fight alone, Holland.” He searches my eyes. “Sometimes letting someone else take control can be a relief.”

“Sure, I’ll just give it all over to you.”

He grins. “Hmmm. I like the sound of that.”

I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth quirks up despite myself.

The room feels lighter now, the tension of the previous few hours easing. He gets up and moves to the bed before sitting beside me. His shoulder brushes against mine and his warmth seeps through the fabric of my shirt.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, his voice quieter now.

“Sure.”

“What’s it like?” He tilts his head. “Dancing.”

The sudden change in topic surprises me. “You mean at the club?”

He nods, his gaze steady. “Yeah. You seem so in control up there. Like nothing can touch you.”

I let out a short laugh and shake my head. “It’s all an act. A really good one.”

“That’s funny, because it doesn’t look like an act. It looks like you’re owning it. Like you’re unattainable.”

I chew my lower lip as my fingers twist in my lap. “Maybe that’s part of the reason why I do it. For those few minutes, I feel powerful. More in control than at any other time.” There’s a pause as I think about it. “But it’s not real.”

“It feels real,” he says, his tone steady. “At least, it looks real from the outside.”

I glance at him, and my defenses slip. “It’s all part of the illusion.”

He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch is so gentle, so intimate, it makes my heart stutter.

“I like watching you up there. Everything around me fades away and it feels like you’re dancing just for me.”

My breath catches, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. I find myself leaning into him instead, resting my head on his shoulder. His arm wraps around me, pulling me closer, and for the first time in a while, I feel like I don’t have to carry everything on my own.

“It’s the same for me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I forget about everyone else.”

“Would you…” His voice trails off.

“What?”

“Would you dance for me?”

My pulse stutters, a wild, unsteady beat as I meet his gaze. “Here? Now?”

His eyes darken. “Yeah. For me.”

The room feels smaller suddenly, charged with electricity. This is different from the club. There aren’t any lights or a stage. There’s no way to put distance between us. It’s just his bedroom, the soft glow of a lamp, and two years of unfinished business hanging in the air.

It feels dangerous.

“I don’t have music.” But I’m already rising to my feet.

He reaches for his phone. “What do you want?”

“Something slow.” My voice comes out huskier than intended. “Something you can feel.”

He takes a moment to pick a song. It’s something with a deep bass line that vibrates through the floor. I close my eyes and let the rhythm sink into my bones. When I open them again, his gaze is locked on me. The intensity in it is enough to burn the house down.

I start moving, but not like I do at the club. It’s slower, more intimate. My hips sway to the beat as I run my fingers through my hair. There’s no costume to shed, just my T-shirt and leggings. The strangest part is that I feel more exposed than when I’m nearly naked on stage.

“Holland,” he breathes.

The way he says my name makes my skin tingle.

I turn slowly, looking over my shoulder. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, hands gripping his thighs as if he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out.

Longing floods through every inch of me.

“You can touch me,” I whisper, moving closer. “If you want.”

His hands find my hips, pulling me between his legs. I roll my body to the music, and his fingers glide over my skin, holding me in place.

“Pretty sure there’s a no touching rule in place at the club,” he says roughly.

“You’re right,” I agree, reaching back to tangle my fingers in his hair. “There is.”

His forehead rests against my back as the heat of his breath seeps through my shirt. “I’d fucking kill anyone who laid their hands on you.”

The possessiveness of his words stirs something deep in my core, making my stomach flip.

“Good thing Rocco’s there to take care of any problems.” I turn in his arms, still moving to the music. “I don’t really want to visit you in prison.”

His hands slide up my sides as I straddle his lap, still dancing, still keeping that last bit of distance between us. His eyes darken with desire, but there’s something else there too. Something that makes my blood boil in a way it never has before.

I reach down, gripping the hem of my shirt and dragging it over my head before tossing it to the floor. His attention remains riveted to me as I continue to sway and move my body just like Randi taught me. The bra is the next article of clothing to be shed.

He squeezes his eyes tightly closed.

“Look at me,” I whisper. Our mouths are inches apart as I cradle his face in my hands. “Right now, I’m dancing just for you.”

“You’re so damn sexy.”

I grind my hips against him, coaxing a rough groan that resonates from deep within. His hands rise to my chest and his callused fingers trace patterns on my skin before cupping the softness.

“Holland…” My name comes out sounding like a tortured prayer.

I barely notice when the music fades into another song. All I can focus on is the way he’s staring at me. Almost like I’m something precious and dangerous all at once. Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he blinks.

“I’m here,” I whisper, though I’m not sure which one of us I’m trying to convince.

His hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer until our foreheads touch. We stay fused together, breathing the same air, my body moving slowly against his.

This isn’t like the club at all.

It’s not an act or a performance.

It’s real.

The press of his thick erection against me has heat exploding in my core. His breathing picks up tempo, turning heavy every time I shift against him.

He rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until both stiffen up. Only then does he slip his hands beneath my breasts, lifting them until he can suck one bud between his lips. The heat of his mouth envelops me, and I arch, wanting more of the delicious sensations that are rushing through me. He licks the tip before giving the same attention to the other side. My fingers tunnel through his hair, only wanting to pull him closer.

Once he releases me, he lifts his head until his mouth can find mine. His tongue sweeps across my lips. As soon as I open, he plunges inside. There’s nothing gentle about the caress, and I don’t want there to be. Our relationship has always been explosive.

I’m starting to understand that our combativeness over the years has been a kind of foreplay that was always going to end here.

His hands slide around my rib cage to my back before dipping lower until he’s able to cup each ass cheek before squeezing. I love the feel of his hands on me, palming me, making me come alive in ways I never imagined.

Before I realize what’s happening, his grip tightens as he rises to his feet and swings around before lowering me to the mattress. Our mouths remain fused as his tongue lashes mine. It’s all too easy to lose myself in the feel and taste of him.

He eases away, straightening so he can look down at me. His gaze roves over my face and then down to my chest before he reaches out, his knuckles grazing the outsides of my breasts.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. I’ve never been able to get you out of my head. I’ve never been able to forget.”

Men have watched me dance on stage for more than a year, but none have ever made me feel more beautiful than the way Bridger stares at me now. His eyes are full of adoration. Something I never thought I’d see in them.

One hand wanders along my ribs and across my abdomen before arriving at the waistband of my leggings. His fingertips slip beneath the elastic band, strumming from one hip bone to the other. The way his fingers tease my skin but never dip lower to the part of me that throbs with need only heightens the tension building within me.

When he remains silent, I force myself to say, “Take them off.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to. That’s not what I had in mind when I asked you to dance for me.”

“I want to.”

I’ve wanted to for years.

Only now am I able to fully admit that to myself.

His fingers lock around the black leggings before dragging the stretchy material down my hips and thighs. It’s a surprise when he leaves the panties in place.

He must see the question in my eyes because one side of his mouth hitches even as more heat gathers in his gray depths. “You’re like unwrapping a Christmas present. I’m going to take my time and savor the anticipation.”

His hands drift from my ankles along the delicate skin hidden behind my knee

before meandering upward to the V between my thighs. I inhale a sharp breath when he drags his knuckles across my slit. I can’t help but shift beneath his touch, needing more.

It’s heady and addictive.

His gaze stays fastened to my core, and there’s something so sexy about the expression on his face. The longing that floods his eyes. The way his breath catches.

“You’re already wet for me.”

“I want you,” I say simply. The way he touched me at the library has been playing on repeat in my head for days. Instead of doing something about it, I’ve let it slowly build until it’s become more of a clawing need beneath my skin.

“How much do you want me, baby?”

My gaze dips to the thick erection pressing against the fly of his jeans as I turn the question on him instead. “How much do you want me ?”

There’s a beat of silence, and my heart clenches.

“I never stopped wanting you, Holland.”

My muscles loosen as he drops down between my legs so that he’s eye level with my center. His attention stays locked there as his fingers glide over me. Up and down until I can’t stand another moment. Just when I think I’ll scream, he hooks one finger in the band of my panties before tugging down the material until the top of my slit is revealed. He leans close enough for his warm breath to stir across my flesh before pressing his lips against me.

A whimper works its way up my throat. “Don’t stop.”

He draws the material down my legs until I’m totally bare. Music from his phone still hums in the background, but the only thing I’m aware of is Bridger and the way he eats me up with his eyes.

He presses my thighs farther apart. Flexibility has never come naturally to me. It’s something I’ve had to train my body for, pushing myself to move with fluidity and grace while dancing.

He forces my knees to the mattress until I’m spread wide.

Totally vulnerable.

Air gets trapped in my lungs as my heart pounds a steady beat.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful as your pussy spread so that every pink inch is on display for me.” He squeezes my thighs before his hands slide to my core. His fingers drift across my lips before massaging them, spreading them apart with his thumbs.

I can almost feel the heat of his stare scorching me alive. My skin hums with warmth as tiny sparks of sensation dance along my nerves.

“Bridger.”

His gaze flicks to mine. “Yeah, baby?”

“I want your mouth on me.”

His eyes darken as heat sparks within them. “You need your pussy eaten?”

“Yes.”

He lowers his face to my core and takes a long lap of my flesh. A wave of pleasure crashes over me as my muscles loosen and I sink deeper into the mattress.

He raises his head just enough to ask, “Like that?”

My fingers tunnel through his hair, locking him in place. “Exactly like that.”

He swipes at me again before stabbing his tongue deep inside my center. I press my pelvis forward, craving more of what only he can give me. He nibbles at my clit, and more sensation crashes over me until it becomes dizzying. My muscles tighten as arousal gathers in my core. It doesn’t take long before I’m falling to pieces. The warmth of his mouth disappears as he slaps my clit with the tips of his fingers.

I didn’t think it was possible for more pleasure to crash over me.

I was wrong.

A scream tears from my throat as my orgasm intensifies, shattering everything inside me. And then his mouth is back, feasting on me, prolonging the pleasure until every last drop has been wrung from my body.

I stare at the ceiling, still riding a euphoric high. “That was…” My voice trails off, trying to find an adequate description of what just transpired.

“Amazing? Fantastic? Incredible?”

A gurgle of laughter escapes from me. “How about D. All of the above.”

He nods. “I’ll take it.”

“Know what I need now?”

“Tell me.”

“Your cock.”

His fingers wrap around the hem of his T-shirt before dragging it over his head. “You don’t have to ask twice.”

I lift myself up on my forearms and allow my thighs to fall open as I watch him shed his clothing in record speed. All those rippling muscles are sexy as fuck. I never thought I’d be a girl who was into chiseled athletes.

It’s just another thing I was wrong about.

I could stare at his hard body for hours.

With a flick of the button on his jeans, he shoves the material down his legs until it puddles at his feet and he’s standing before me in black boxer briefs. His cock presses against the material as his gaze roves over me before settling at my core.

He groans before yanking down his underwear until his thick erection can spring free.

Just like the rest of him, his dick is perfection.

A shiver slides through me, and even though I just came, I’m desperate to be filled by him. One knee settles on the mattress before he pauses.

“I need a condom.”

Thank fuck he thought about it because I sure didn’t.

And that’s saying a lot, considering I’ve always been a safety girl.

He yanks open the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed and pulls out a square packet before tearing it open with his teeth and sliding the latex over his hard length.

Then he’s back, crawling onto the bed. Midway up my body, he presses a kiss against my pussy before slowly making his way upward until he can stare into my eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” He searches them carefully. “I don’t want anything else to happen between us that you’ll regret.”

“I’m sure. I want this.”

He nods before shifting until the head of his cock nudges my entrance. I widen my legs and angle my hips, only wanting him to sink deep inside me. Instead, he remains still.

When I can’t stand another second of the torture, I shift. “Bridger!”

“You’re so damn greedy, aren’t you?”

“More like horny.”

His mouth lifts into a smile. “Maybe I want to torment you just a bit.”

As if to emphasize his words, he slides an inch inside before retreating again.

A groan works its way free from me. “Tease.”

“You don’t have to worry, baby. I’m a sure thing.”

My eyelids feather shut.

“Uh-uh. I want those pretty green depths locked on me the entire time we fuck so you see exactly who’s cock you’re getting off on.”

As soon as my eyelashes flutter open, he eases in another inch. I squirm, trying to draw him deeper into my body.

He seems to understand exactly what I’m up to and flashes a tight smile. “I’m the one in control now. Understand?”

My teeth sink into my lower lip as I force my muscles to relax. It’s almost a shock when I hear myself say, “Okay.”

Heat leaps to life in his gray depths as he retreats before sliding back inside my body, deeper than before. Slowly, he rocks against me. With every tilt of his hips, I meet the movement until our bodies move as one. Almost as if we’ve been doing this for years.

Our gazes stay locked as he rouses my body all over again. Pleasure mounts, gradually building as he maintains a steady rhythm. It’s the tight hold on his self-control that allows me to surrender and give myself over to him.

“You feel so fucking good. So soft and wet. I just want to stay buried in you forever.”

I arch as sensation continues to mount and my muscles coil tight with anticipation.

“Are you ready to come for me?” he asks, his pace quickening. The orgasm I’m chasing feels like a wave being pulled out to sea only so it can regroup and crash on shore with a vengeance.

“Please.” It’s the only thing I can focus on.

“Mmmm. I love that word on your lips. Holland Tate begging for my cock. Is there anything better than that?”

Before I can come back with a response, he bottoms out, hitting that spot deep within. The one that makes my eyes nearly cross. His pelvis grinds against mine, hitting my clit at the perfect angle to set off a chain reaction.

And just like that, I fall apart.

Bridger groans, and the deep scrape of his voice only amplifies my own pleasure. My pussy clenches around him, milking the last of his release before he collapses on top of me, burying his face against my neck, his warm breath feathering across my skin.

In this moment, a strange sense of completion settles over me.

It’s not something I’ve ever experienced before, and it doesn’t take much to realize just how easy it would be to sink into the sensation.

To get used to it.

To crave it.

And if that’s not frightening, I’m not sure what is.