Page 41

MERIT

I grab another ornament from the tree and gently place it in the storage container. The tree is the last Christmas decoration I need to put away. Side glancing at Holt, frustration builds in my chest. It’s bubbling beneath the surface, building pressure so tight it makes my sternum hurt.

Sitting on the damn couch.

That damn fucking couch.

I hate it.

It’s become his tomb.

“Wanna help me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutrally happy.

He stares out the glass doors, once again watching the water from the stone waterfall drop into the swimming pool. A cold front has come through, and the backyard grass is coated with frost. When he doesn’t answer, I ask him again. But instead of answering me, he peppers me with his own question.

“Did you hear the latest one?” he asks.

“Huh? The latest one of what?”

“A former White House aide is accusing me of groping her. Said it happened when the team visited the White House after the National Championship win my junior year.” He scoffs, shaking his head with a cynical laugh. “I wasn’t even there. I was in the hospital having my appendix out.”

Sighing, I put down another ornament and fold my arms across my chest. “So, we’ll fight it. Just like all the others.”

He doesn’t answer. He just shrugs.

A sliver of bitterness slices through my heart. “Do you plan on doing anything today?”

He bounces his leg, watching the small movement of his ankle monitor. “Sure. I was thinking of going to work today. You know at the high school around teenagers. Then, I thought I would go out to eat. Maybe catch a flick at the theater.” He lifts an eyebrow. Dropping the sarcasm, his voice lowers. “C’mon, Mer, really? What do you think I’m doing today?”

“Not a damn thing from what I can see.” I walk closer to him. My bare feet slap against the marble floor. “Do you even remember that the lawyer’s coming tomorrow.” I can’t hide my indignation.

He licks his lips and his jaw tics. “Of course, I remember the lawyer’s coming tomorrow. You think I don’t know? I’m paying an ass-load of money to rent him and his team two houses. Fucking houses, Merit. Giant ones. And that’s on top of all the legal fees.”

I dramatically flop my arms in the air. “They’re trying to prove your innocence, Holt. I don’t care if you have to rent them the fucking Taj Mahal and buy them ponies. Do it.”

“I am doing it! I’m doing everything everybody wants!” He points at the window. “Right now, there’s five strangers—in houses I’ve paid for—looking at every aspect of my life. I’m under a microscope. Things that I thought were private will never be private again.” He drags his hand across his face, tugging his facial hair. “And it’s not just them! It’s the police. They’re reading our messages, Merit. Mine and yours. And if you remember, sometimes, we didn’t exactly keep our text messages in the PG realm. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Yes, it does. “Not if it helps get you out of this. If it helps you, I’d rent a sky banner and fly our dirtiest text all over the southern U.S.”

Lacing his fingers on top of his head, he closes his eyes and sighs.

I bite my lip. “You’re not fighting hard enough. Every single day and night, you sit on that couch, drowning in your thoughts. You’re in prison already.”

His eyes dart open. Slowly lowering his hands, he stares at me.

“You don’t talk to me. You don’t share your feelings with me.” I nudge the edge of the rug with my toe. “And you won’t even touch me.”

His whisper is barely audible. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, turning his beautiful blue eyes black. “You want me to touch you?” He holds up his hands. The hands I love. Rough-hewn and calloused from constantly throwing footballs and lifting weights. “With these hands?” He can’t hide the disgust in his voice. “These hands are accused of touching a child. And you want them on you?”

I can’t take it anymore. He’s drowning in guilt over something that he’s not even guilty of.

I need to scream.

I need to fight.

I need to break something.

Seeing as how I’m not a particularly violent person, I grab a throw pillow and heave it across the room. I’m mortified when it bounces off a bookshelf and sends a blue vase crashing to the ground. Glass shards scatter across the floor, making me jump.

My mouth drops open. “Uhhh… was that expensive?”

His eyebrow cocks, and a small little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It was a gift from my coach’s wife after my first touchdown run in the NFL. It was tradition. She gave a gift to every player after their first major play.”

Nodding, I consider apologizing.

Normally, I would apologize.

But these aren’t exactly normal circumstances.

“Well, good.” I plant my hands on my hips. “I mean, this is the liveliest I’ve seen you in days. Maybe I should head to that trophy room and see what I can bust next.” I turn and start to walk away, carefully checking my path for pieces of broken glass. “I wonder what happens when you flush a Super Bowl ring down the toilet.”

A pounding noise stops me in my tracks. Holt’s stomping across the top of the coffee table. He didn’t even take time to walk around it. He just decided to walk over it. Jumping down, he stalks across the room. With powerful and purposeful intent. Like a lion stalking a zebra. He grabs my arms, clutching them tightly.

His shining and vibrant blue eyes are back. They study my face, searching for my wants, searching for my needs. His hair is longer than normal, and the blond waves curl around his neck, drawing attention to the tensed muscles of his shoulders. They’ve been knotted since the second the police stormed in the house. I wish I could take some of his pain, some of his stress, and carry it for him. Give him some relief.

I take a deep breath, inhaling his scent.

My mouth dries. My heart thunders. My stomach clenches. I find it hard to breathe. My brain drowns in a fog. When he licks his lips, I nearly faint because my desire is so intense.

“You want my hands on you?” he growls.

“Yes. I want your hands on me. I want your mouth on mine.” My throat makes a weird tingly noise when I swallow. “I want you inside of me.”

Before I can even finish my sentence, his mouth crashes down on mine. Pushing his tongue into my mouth, he tastes me and steals the breath from my lungs. Pulling from his grasp, my fingers claw at him, desperate to trace the firm lines of his back and tangle in his hair.

His kiss is fierce and feverish. Eventually, he tugs my sweatshirt off and curses under his breath when he sees he still has a tank top and sports bra to contend with. I help him, quickly stripping my torso naked. When his own T-shirt hits the ground, I dip my body, tracing my tongue across his perfectly sculpted chest. He moans, and my body immediately responds. I’m in the crosshairs of that fine line between pleasure and pain. My hardened nipples turn to stone and my clit throbs.

Holt grabs the waistband of my leggings. Stepping away, I push my pants to the floor, nodding for him to do the same to his sweat pants. Unwilling to be disconnected for even a second, Holt pulls me back into his arms before I’m finished. I stumble around with my toes trapped in my leggings. Flopping my left foot back and forth, my pants eventually fly through the air.

Holt grabs my ass and lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist. The heat from his groin feels like a fire against my damp panties. He walks over to a tall side table and sets me down. The wood is cold against my sensitive skin. Leaning me back, he removes my panties. Slowly. Painfully slowly. It’s a complete contradiction to our actions so far.

He drags a finger through my folds, spreading my wetness, down my ass and up to my clit. He doesn’t linger—it’s one swift, fluid movement. And it makes my body contort and buck, leaving me longing for more. I watch in awe as he slides his underwear lower, freeing his massive erection. Long and hard. Swollen purple and red with pumping blood. Begging for release.

Anticipation consumes me, making my vision blur.

With one hand, he strokes his cock, readying himself. With the other, he grabs me, pulling me closer. When my legs balance on his shoulders, he kisses my right ankle.

And then…

He slams into me.

Not softly.

Not slowly.

Not gently.

His hands grip my hips, and he thrusts into my depths, immediately hitting my wall, finding the sweet spot that makes my back arch and my eyes close.

We moan. We scream.

He hammers into me with wild abandon, freeing his anger and frustration and bitterness. Tension builds in my body. I can feel every part of him. He fucks me like the world is ending. Like it may be the last time we ever feel anything this good.

More. More. More.

His hands drift up to my shoulders, and he uses the new traction to drive me to the brink of insanity. I yell—a screeching mumble of incoherent words— relishing in my orgasm, and I’m vaguely aware of him doing the same, finding relief in his own release.

It’s takes several minutes for my euphoria to settle. Several minutes for me to even have the strength to open my eyes.

And then?

Then, it all ends.

It ends in a way it’s never ended before.

I watch the joy leak from his eyes, like air from a balloon. He backs away from me, leaving me empty and cold. Immediately pulling his boxer briefs over his still-erect dick, he turns and walks away. Balancing against the glass door to the outside, he leans his forehead against it, trying to absorb the cold winter air. Sighing, he closes his eyes.

I watch his reflection.

Watching him feels wrong.

Like I’m a stranger invading his space.

Like I don’t belong here.

Like he regrets what we just did.

Like… he regrets me.

“I…” He trips over what he wants to say. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I study his back. The seductive curve of his spine. The alluring roundness of his ass. The strong contours of his shoulders. The powerful lines of his legs. “Wh-what?” My voice is groggy.

“I shouldn’t have done that. Not with these allegations looming over us.”

I blink back tears. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

A deep sadness sucks every piece of happiness from my soul. And then, a slithering snake of rage curls around my heart.

Jumping down from the table, I rush around gathering my clothes. I don’t even bother to put them on. I just hug them in my arms, listening to my bare feet as they slap against the floor.

I refuse to look at him.

I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing my emotions.

And just when I think he can’t be a bigger asshole, he proves me wrong. “I forgot to wear a condom,” he says.

Snorting, I fling my leggings over my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, shithead. I’ll stop by the drug store on my way to work and get the morning-after pill.”

I’m already walking down the hallway when I hear his parting words. “I love you, Mer.”

I don’t respond.

Because what’s left to say?