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Bridger

F uck.

I shouldn’t be here.

The rational part of me knows this is a terrible idea, but my vehicle still ends up in the Envy Room parking lot. I sit behind the wheel for what feels like forever, my fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly they ache. The sign overhead casts a soft glow over the lot.

I tell myself I just need to see her.

That’s all.

Just to...

Confirm what I already know?

Prove myself wrong?

I have no idea.

The fact that I can’t answer my own question pisses me off even more.

With a frustrated exhale, I climb out of the car and head for the door.

The music hits me first. It’s a deep bass that reverberates through my body as soon as I step inside. I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact, and stick to the shadows along the back wall. The place is packed, and the thought of any of these guys looking at her the way I do makes my stomach burn with jealousy.

Because I can’t lie to myself anymore.

I don’t just look at Holland.

I feel her.

In my chest.

Under my skin.

In the spaces of my life that used to be empty but are now charged whenever she’s near.

And that terrifies the hell out of me.

The lights dim and the crowd quiets for a beat before erupting as the next dancer takes the stage. My heart slams against my rib cage because I know before I even see her who it’ll be.

The air in the room shifts and the low hum of conversation dulls to a hush as all eyes turn to her. She’s wearing something black and strappy, the fabric hugging her curves in a way that’s both artful and provocative. The spotlight cuts through the dark, framing her body.

She looks like a goddess.

My throat goes dry. I try to swallow, but it’s useless as my pulse kicks into overdrive. She moves to the rhythm of the music, her body a perfect blend of grace and seduction. Each sway of her hips, every languid roll of her shoulders, pulls me under like a riptide.

Her gaze scans the room, and for a second, I think I’m safe. Just another face blending in the crowd.

But then it locks on mine.

That moment of connection is like a punch to the gut.

My vision tunnels, locking on her as everything else fades away. She looks at me like she knew I was here the moment she stepped onto that stage. Like she could feel my stare before she ever saw me.

Her lips curve into a small, knowing smile, and something inside me unravels. That smile isn’t for the crowd.

It’s for me.

The music swells, low and throbbing, as she moves in time with it, her body fluid and hypnotic. Her hands slide up her sides, grazing over her bare shoulders before trailing back down to her thighs. She dips low, her hair cascading forward as her fingers trace the curve of her legs. The soft, warm light of the spotlight catches on her skin, making her glow.

My breath hitches, frozen in my lungs.

She rises slowly, her back arching as she spins, her movements seamless and deliberate. It’s not just a dance. It’s a performance. And every move feels like it’s meant for me. The way her gaze flicks back to mine, the way her lips part as she undulates her body. It’s like she’s daring me to break as she continues to dance.

When her hands reach for the ties of her top, my fists clench at my sides. Part of me wants to storm the stage and drag her away, out of the spotlight, away from every leering set of eyes.

But the other part?

The one that’s captivated and helpless to do anything but watch?

That part knows she’s doing this for me.

Her top falls to the stage, and the crowd roars, but her focus stays locked on me. Jealousy and desire tangle into something darker, something primal.

The song builds to its climax, and she twirls once more before dropping low again, her hands skimming the stage as she tosses her hair back. When the music fades, she straightens, retrieving her top from the floor, her gaze never leaving mine.

The applause is deafening, but she barely acknowledges it. She holds my stare for one more beat, her lips curling into a smirk that sets my skin on fire, and then she slips behind the curtain, leaving the crowd in a frenzy.

I don’t remember moving.

One second, I’m rooted to the spot, and the next, I’m weaving through the crowd, pushing past patrons and dodging bouncers. My heart races, each beat echoing louder as I slip backstage.

The air is cooler, quieter, but it’s charged with her presence. The faint scent of rosemary and mint lingers, and I know it’s hers. My feet move of their own accord, leading me down the narrow hallway toward the dressing rooms.

I find Holland leaning against the wall near one of the doors, her top hanging from her fingers. She doesn’t look surprised to see me.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” she says, her voice low and teasing.

“No,” I admit. “I couldn’t.”

Her smile softens, but there’s something guarded in her eyes. “What are you doing here, Bridger?”

I step closer, eating up the space between us. “I don’t know. I just needed to see you.”

Her head tilts to the side, and there’s a flicker of something in her eyes. Something I don’t want to inspect too closely.

“Are you all right?”

I shake my head.

I have no idea how to voice all the questions and doubts that continue to circle through my mind. Anything I say will only send us tumbling backward, and that’s the last thing I want to do.

Tonight, I just want her .

I want to forget everything that happened today.

I want to erase the image of her and Garret from my mind.

She pushes away from the wall, closing the distance between us. With her gaze pinned to mine, her palms drift to my cheeks. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t.” Unable to help myself, my hands rise until I can cup the heavy weight of her breasts. My fingers tighten, and a soft moan slides from her lips. That’s all it takes for her eyes to darken and arousal to crash over me.

I roll the stiff little peaks, playing with them, tugging and teasing them. Her lips part as she presses against me.

How the fuck am I ever going to get enough of this girl?

“Mmmm. I love the way you touch me,” she whispers.

The heavy beat of the music vibrates through my bones as it wraps around us, insulating us in a world of our own.

“I need you.” The admission slips out before I can stop it.

Her eyes soften as she leans up and brushes her lips across mine. Before I’m able to sink into the caress, she pulls away and glances around the dressing room. For the first time, I realize that we’re alone, but it won’t stay that way for long. The couple times I’ve slipped back here, there’s been a bevy of girls getting dressed for a performance or stripping off their makeup.

The lull of activity feels odd.

Holland grabs my hand. “Come on.”

I don’t question where she’s taking me. I just follow. That’s the moment I realize I’d follow her anywhere. I just want to be close to her. Near her. Soak in her presence. She’s the one person who anchors me in reality even when it feels like it’s being blown apart.

With our hands clasped, we head to the back of the dressing room before escaping through a door that leads to a small office. The lock clicks shut behind us so that we’re alone.

The air between us feels thick, charged with unspoken words and feelings.

Before I can say anything, she fists the sweatshirt I’m wearing and draws me closer. Her lips slam into mine. The kiss is fierce, all fire and frustration. My hands move to her waist, gripping her as if she’ll slip through my fingers if I’m not careful. She tastes like vanilla and something I can’t name but never want to forget. When she pulls away, her forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling together in the small space.

“You drive me insane,” she whispers.

“Good,” I say, my voice low. “Because you’ve been doing the same thing to me for years.”

She laughs softly, and the sound is enough to unravel me. But there’s something else buried beneath it.

Something vulnerable and fragile.

Our tongues tangle and our teeth scrape. Her fingers settle on the waistband of my jeans before popping open the button and lowering the zipper. Seconds later, her hand delves into the cotton of my boxers and wraps around my cock. A groan works its way up from my chest as she slides her palm along my hard length.

“As much as I love that, you’re going to make me come.”

“Isn’t that the name of the game?”

“I’d like to enjoy this for more than two minutes, if you don’t mind.”

With that, I gently pull her hand out of my jeans. Before she can make her next move, I grip her shoulders and force her backward until her ass hits the desk. Desire blazes in her eyes as her breathing quickens.

Unable to resist, I nip at her pouty lips. It’s so tempting to press her onto the flat surface, but that’s not how I want to take her.

Not this time.

I twist her around until her backside is turned to me. My gaze slides down the length of her spine to her nipped-in waist and flare of her hips before arriving at the lushness of her ass.

Holland is all curves.

I slip my hands around her rib cage, the fingertips trailing along her naked flesh until I can cup her breasts, massaging them as I draw closer. What can’t be denied is that we fit together perfectly. Her head falls back until it can rest against my chest, and a sigh of contentment slips free as I press my lips against the slender column of her neck.

“Ready to get fucked?”

Instead of answering, she fires off a question of her own. “Are you ready to fuck me?”

“More than ready.”

“Good. My pussy is so achy for you.”

Fuck.

“And wet?”

“Maybe you should find out for yourself.”

The need to do that thrums through me as one hand stays wrapped possessively around her breast while the other skims along her bare skin until it reaches the scrap of material that barely covers her ass.

My fingers delve beneath the black fabric before dipping lower to her smooth mound. As soon as I brush the sensitive flesh, she widens her stance, giving me room to maneuver. Moisture gathers on my fingertips as they stroke the seam of her lips. Another whimper works its way free from her as she presses her hips into my touch.

“Always so needy.”

“Do you blame me?”

“Not at all. But I do love it.”

With that, I slide two fingers inside her until they’re buried deep within her heat. From this angle, I’m able to rub soft circles against her clit with my thumb as I tweak her nipple with the other hand. It’s only when she shifts that I pump my fingers in and out of her body.

“Looks like the tables have turned. If you’re not careful, you’ll make me come.”

“No way,” I whisper against her ear. “I’m just getting you ready for me.”

“Mission accomplished. I’m ready.”

I withdraw from her pussy and tap her clit with my fingertips. “I’ll tell you when you’re ready to be fucked. Not the other way around.”

When she squirms, I tweak her nipple before one hand settles on the area between her shoulder blades. “Now, bend over, baby. Show me that pretty little ass.”

With a groan, she drapes herself across the desk. Her arms stretch above her head as her palms flatten against the hard surface.

My hungry gaze roves over her as another wave of need crashes over me.

A tiny scrap of thin material is the only thing that bars her naked body from me. The bottom piece of her costume is more of a glorified thong. The ribbon sits prettily in the cleft between her rounded cheeks. All I have to do is rip it away and I’d get an eyeful.

As desperate as I am to fuck her, I want to draw out this moment until we’re both tap dancing on the edge. I reach out and trail my finger along the silky fabric from the top where it meets the elastic band that encircles her waist before grazing her rosebud until finally making my way to her soaked pussy. The place where the ribbon meets the cloth is nestled between her plump lips.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen a sight as stunning as Holland bent over.

I drop down until I’m eye level with her backside.

My hands settle on her ass cheeks before gently spreading them.

She’s so fucking drenched.

Is this what I do to her?

As tempted as I am to yank the thong to the side and fuck her with it on, I want her totally bare.

I want Holland Tate at her most vulnerable.

For me.

And only me.

My fingers slip beneath the band at her waist before sliding it over the generous curve of her hips and thighs before it puddles on the floor at her feet. I lift one foot and then the other before picking up the thong and straightening. Her palms are still flattened against the desk. As much as I like them there, I want her completely at my mercy.

I shackle one wrist with my fingers, careful to bend her arm in a sweeping motion until I can fold it against the small of her back. It’s a surprise when she remains silent, not questioning what I’m doing. That little bit of trust she’s handing over means everything, and it makes me want to be even more gentle with her.

It’s the balm I didn’t realize I needed, and manages to soothe everything that had been raging inside me.

I repeat the process with her other arm, until one wrist is crossed over the other, before using the thong to bind them together. Her breathing hitches as she stares at the far wall in silence.

I take a step back and admire the way she looks draped across the desk, her gorgeous ass on display. In the stilettos that lengthen her legs even more, she’s a fucking sight to behold.

I don’t even want to fuck her.

I just want to stand here and eat her up with my eyes.

All right, that’s a lie.

I want to fuck this girl hard.

I want to fuck all the doubts I have regarding Holland Tate out of my head until we’re both satisfied.

When a punch of arousal hits me, I blink out of those thoughts and step closer. I press her thighs farther apart before laying my hands on her smooth flesh, squeezing the taut muscles of her ass. She makes a humming noise deep in her throat, and I take that as the green light to proceed before dropping down for a second time, needing her sweet honey on my tongue. The taste I had the other night wasn’t nearly enough and has only whet my appetite for more. I nibble at her, making sure to lap up all her cream.

“Bridger, please.”

I press my lips against the rounded curve of her ass. “Please what?”

“I need you.”

“How much, baby?”

“I want you to fuck me. Now.”

The sound that rips from my throat is low and raw.

I slowly slide one finger deep inside her body. “Is that what you needed?”

With a whimper, she shifts, attempting to wiggle closer. “No.”

I pump it a few times. “How about that? Is that better?”

“Stop teasing.” The words come out sounding more like a groan. “We both know I need something thicker.”

With my other hand, I give her ass a little smack. “I know you do. Something meatier. Something that will fill you up and satisfy you.”

“Yes.”

Unable to wait a second longer, I yank down my boxers and free my cock. I’m so damn hard. Seeing Holland like this has me teetering on the edge.

I’ve never craved anyone the way I do her. The bitch of it is that I have no idea if I’ll ever feel this way about anyone else. I want to fuck the all-consuming need right out of me, but I have the sneaking suspicion it’s not possible.

Unwilling to dwell on the prospect, I shove that thought from my head and focus on the way she’s stretched out before me with her ass in the air.

She’s fucking perfection.

I pump my dick a few times until pre-cum leaks from the tip. Only then do I step close enough to smack the bulbous head against her crevice. A shiver slides through her as I do it for a second time in a different spot. Clear fluid trails across her skin. And I fucking love it.

I want to mark this girl as my own.

Even though I have no idea if that will ever be the case.

But for this sliver of a moment, that’s exactly what she is.

Mine.

“Stop playing around and fuck me hard.” She arches, tipping her backside so I can see even more of her glistening pussy. “I think it’s what we both need.”

She’s right about that.

It’s exactly what we need.

I pull a condom from my back pocket before sliding the rubber over my hard length. As soon as I’m covered, I press the head of my cock into her entrance and lock my fingers around her bound wrists, holding them tight as I slide deep inside her, filling her to the brim. We both groan as I hold myself perfectly still.

She’s so damn wet.

And warm.

The way her inner muscles clench around my shaft makes it difficult to maintain control.

I withdraw before thrusting back inside. Over and over, I grind against her, feeling the slap of my balls against her pussy.

“God, that feels so good. Please don’t stop.”

I pick up my pace, giving her more of what she asked for. Wanting to give her every damn thing she needs.

When my balls draw up against my body, I know it won’t be long before I find my release. What I won’t do is get there before her. One hand skims from her hip around to her clit, where my fingers begin rubbing circles over the sensitive nub. A few soft caresses are all it takes for her to come undone and me to follow her right over the edge and into oblivion.

I come so hard that stars dance behind my eyelids, and I nearly black out.

The last spasm racks my body as my muscles turn slack and I collapse on top of Holland. My teeth scrape across her shoulder blade. The last thing I want to do is leave the comforting warmth of her pussy, but as I glance around, I realize we’re in someone’s office. And who knows if that person will make an unexpected appearance.

I press my lips to the delicate skin at the nape of her neck before straightening. As soon as I slip free, I remove the condom and toss it in the trash can. After tucking myself back inside my boxers, I pull up my jeans and zip the fly. Holland doesn’t move a muscle. I unwind the thong from her wrists before massaging the fragile flesh and checking for marks. Her skin is a little red from the fabric sliding against it but nothing more. After helping her to straighten up, I grab a few tissues to wipe up the mess.

As I stare at her naked body, I can’t help but take in her disheveled appearance. Her auburn hair is a tumbled mess around her face and her makeup is a little smudged. It’s almost as if the mask she normally wears has fallen away, leaving her completely exposed. The vulnerable picture she makes tugs at my heart in a way I couldn’t have imagined months ago.

I don’t want her to be the one behind the messages.

The one out to ruin me.

“What are you thinking about?” The question is tentative, as if she’s able to read me. Or has a sixth sense about the direction my thoughts have turned.

I close the distance between us before wrapping my fingers around her chin and lifting it so I can stare into her eyes. “Did you see the message today?”

Emotion flickers across her face. It’s there and gone before I can fully decipher what it means. “I did. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? You’re not the one behind it, right?”

Her posture stiffens, but she doesn’t move. “You still don’t believe me?”

I press my lips together before jerking my shoulders. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” When she tries to pull away, I blurt, “It would fucking kill me to find out you were behind this. Or involved in any way. No one has ever made me feel the way you do.”

Her palm settles on my chest before fisting the material. “Like what?”

The last thing I should do is drop my guard and allow her to peek inside. But that knowledge doesn’t stop the words from tumbling out of me. “Like I’m seconds away from unraveling. Like you’re the only one who calms the chaos raging inside me.”

Her gaze drops to the floor, and for a moment, I think she’s going to shut me out. But then she looks up, and there’s something raw in her expression. “I don’t have all the answers. And even if I did, I’m not sure you’d want to hear them.”

“That’s the thing.” I lower my mouth until it can ghost over hers. “I don’t know if I can trust you. Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, something happens that makes me question everything.”

Her jaw clenches as guilt clouds her features. “I see the way you watch me,” she says, voice breaking. “Like you’re just waiting for me to confess. But I won’t admit to something I haven’t done.”

“The problem is, I think you know more than what you’re telling me.”

Her shoulders slump, and for the first time, she looks… almost fragile. It’s so un-Holland-like that I want to gather her into my arms and press her close. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” I argue, my frustration mounting. “You should trust me enough to just say whatever it is.”

She shakes her head, her hair tumbling around her face. “This has nothing to do with trust. It’s about—” She stops herself, pressing her lips together like she’s afraid to let the truth out. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter, back under control. “It’s about trying to protect people. And that includes you.”

“That’s bullshit,” I snap. “You’re not protecting me. You’re keeping me in the dark. And it’s driving me insane because I can’t stop wanting you, even when I’m not sure if I can trust you.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, the tension shifts. There’s a trace of something softer in her gaze, something that makes my chest ache.

“Do you think this is any easier for me?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m afraid you might not forgive me once you find out the truth.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, and I take a step back, trying to process what she’s saying. “Then why not just tell me now? Let’s get everything out in the open.”

“Because sometimes the truth does more damage than the lies,” she says quietly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “And I don’t want to hurt you.”

I shake my head, the frustration and helplessness bubbling over. “You’re already hurting me. Every time I see you, every time I feel whatever this thing is between us, it hurts. Because I want to trust you. I want to believe in whatever this is. But you’re not giving me a choice in the matter.”

For a moment, she looks like she might crumble before she sucks in a deep breath and straightens. Her expression hardens into something almost defiant. “You’re right,” she says softly. “You don’t have a choice.”

“That’s not good enough,” I fire back, my voice cracking. “Not for me.”

Her eyes fill with something I’m unable to name as she takes a step in retreat. Her palm falls away from my chest, drifting back to her side. “You want the truth?” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Here it is. I care about you. More than I ever thought I would. And that scares the shit out of me because I don’t know how to make this better without breaking both of us in the process.”

The honesty in her words hits me like a freight train, and for a moment, I can’t speak. My hands itch to reach for her, to pull her close and erase the space between us, but I hold back. “I don’t know how to do this,” I admit. “But I know I don’t want to walk away from you.”

“Then don’t.” There’s a pause as she pleads with me. “Just... don’t.”

Her words linger in the air between us, tenuous and full of unspoken promises. I reach out, my hand brushing against hers, and for the first time, she doesn’t pull away.

It’s in no way a resolution.

But it’s something.

And for now, it has to be enough.