Page 33 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Lando

H oliday’s eyes are puffy when she answers the door. She’s been crying .

“Did you fall down the stairs again?” I ask, immediately regretting it when her tears start up again.

Now is not the time for stupid jokes, but I’ve never been great with women crying, and there’s a box of precious gems in the pub that’s testament to that.

But for the first time, I’m determined to see it through and fix it—with more than money.

She shakes her head, and I want to kiss her better. Kiss everything better.

Kiss her until we need to come up for air, and everything’s forgotten.

I start by brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Hey.”

“Sorry.” She sniffs, swiping her hand under her nose.

I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I ask anyway. “Why are you crying?”

A fresh set of tears starts up, but through them, she laughs. “I don’t know. ”

“Is it because of me? Have I made you cry? Because if I have?—”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No . . . you haven’t. No. Of course not.”

She’s so adamant with her response that I know I’m onto something. The tears definitely have to do with me, and I’m wracked with guilt.

“Holiday, you can tell me. Please tell me.”

She lets loose a big, long sigh. “It’s so dumb.”

“If it upset you, it’s not dumb.”

“Okay, but bear in mind I drank a bottle of champagne with Clemmie earlier,” she mumbles, teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

“Got it.”

Holiday’s face screws up tight before she drops it into her hands. “I thought you punched him because you’re still mad at him because you’re still in love with your ex.”

She says it so quickly, and her mouth is partially covered with her hands so it comes out a little garbled, but once I realize what she said—or rather the implications of what she’s said—my anxiety vanishes.

She’s not looking at me, so she can’t see my struggle to hold on to the grin tugging at my mouth. I’m tempted to wait a little longer before putting her out of her misery because honestly, this feeling —that this incredible girl standing in front of me might be jealous—is intoxicating.

“That’s not why I punched him,” I say eventually.

“No?”

“No.” I shake my head, easing apart her hands until her beautiful, tear-stained face comes into view, and I tuck a finger under her chin. “I punched him because he was talking to you.”

“What?” The tears have turned her eyes even bluer than normal, and a whole story of questions and emotions plays out in them before she settles on, “Really? ”

“Yes. Really. I don’t care about him, and I’m definitely not still in love with Caroline.

I’m beginning to wonder if I ever was. But seeing him next to you, looking at you, breathing the same air as you , made me insane with rage.

So I punched him.” I add a casual shrug, like it’s no big deal, because the way she’s looking at me makes my heart race enough that I need to take the edge off.

I catch the faint remains of pink shimmer on her lips as her mouth drops into a perfect oval.

“I’ve spent my entire life doing what’s expected of me. For once, I’m going to do what I want.”

She blinks. I see her breath catch, and the shift between us is seismic. I hold her gaze, blue on blue. The intensity between us builds as quickly and thickly as the air before a thunderstorm.

The delicate curve of her throat works as she swallows. “What do you want to do?”

“This.”

My mouth falls onto hers, sealing us together. Flinging her arms around my neck, she holds on tight as I scoop her up and kick the door shut behind us.

I carry her down the hallway, past the ghosts of old memories, and deposit her on the big round hall table. I’m already hard when I step back.

For the millionth time, I marvel at how fucking beautiful she is. That I’m the one who gets to see her this way—sitting on the polished mahogany table, dress bunched around her thighs, chest heaving, cheeks flushed with desire.

When her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, my gaze finds a new target. The pink shimmer has disappeared, kissed off by me, leaving behind a mouth I plan to do wicked things with.

Her eyes, no longer puffy or red from crying, drop down slowly and back up, stopping at my mouth .

The ache in my chest returns. My dick throbs with wanting her.

Her dress strap has slipped off onto her shoulder, and I gently replace it. One last act of propriety before I drop to my knees.

Her skin squeaks along the wood as I tug her into me, yank down her underwear, and throw her creamy thighs over my shoulders.

Doing exactly what I wanted to do the last time she was spread out in front of me, I drag my tongue through her soaked slit and suction onto her clit.

“Oh god, Lando. Fuuck .”

It comes out as a hiss, followed by a thud as her elbows fall onto the table. It’s a poor attempt to hold herself up. Peering out from under her dress, I catch her arm flung over her face, teeth sinking into her lip, back arched.

“Say my name again,” I demand.

My lips run along her thighs, nipping at them while I use my thumbs to spread her open and lap up her wetness dripping on the wood.

She groans so loudly I feel the vibrations across her body. Her hips push into my face, and fingers spear through my hair, gripping the ends to tug herself closer. If I have a bald spot by the end of it, it’ll be worth it.

“ Say my name.” I take another long swipe, my tongue cleaning up every drop of her.

“ Lando .”

“Good girl. By the time I finish with you, Hollywood, your throat will be raw from screaming it.”

I want to watch her come. I want to taste her as she does. I want to devour her.

Because while this is for Holiday, it’s also for me. To make her feel as good as I do and build on this connection we have as proof that there’s something between us .

It’s not a figment of my imagination.

She’s so slick that sliding two fingers inside her and twisting them up rewards me with another garbled moan and a round of unsuccessful thrashing. My arm clamps down across her pelvis, holding her tight as she slips on the table.

She’s dripping wet, melting under my touch. The sight of it makes my dick weep. She’s entirely at my mercy, whimpering my name.

I’ve never seen anything like it.

“Easy, Hol, you’re making quite the mess.” Taking my tongue to her again, she squirms and arches deeper. Swathes of silk cluster around her navel. “You don’t want to ruin your pretty dress.”

She lets out another loud groan and balls her fists.

There’s no traction on the table, nothing to grip onto as her thighs begin to shake, and when I add a third finger, her pussy clamps down hard.

Every inch of visible skin tints pink. Full-body convulsions take hold, her eyes flicker closed, and she explodes in front of me. My dick’s straining so tightly in my jeans that I almost follow.

Unbuckling enough to release myself, I roll on a condom, gently pull her off the table, and straddle her across me while she’s still drunk on the glow of her orgasm. She teeters on top of me, her knees hitting the hard floor while I wait for her to catch her breath.

The strap has slipped again, and instead of replacing it, I ease it lower, exposing a peaked pink nipple and a rounded golden breast that fits perfectly into my palm. Her eyes lock onto my thumb as I slowly trace along the hint of a tan line.

“Where did I find you?” I ask. It comes out as a whisper, but I couldn’t honestly say whether I meant to keep it in my head.

Her response is light and amused, a symphony to my ears. “I believe it was under a waterfall. ”

She’s not laughing a second later after I line myself up and drive into her. I’m not laughing either. All I can think about is how incredible she feels stretched around my cock, the warmth of her pussy as comforting and welcome as brandy on a cold winter’s evening.

How perfectly we fit together.

Steadying herself, she pushes her hands under my shirt too quickly and rips. Buttons fly in every direction.

The feel of her fingers running across my chest has me thrusting again, and the sensation of her clenching steals the air from my lungs. I can’t even manage a groan.

My hands disappear under her dress, digging into supple flesh while I let her adjust. My thumb finds her clit, slowly circling, and I watch her glazed eyes darken until they’re no longer focused.

Her wetness seeps onto my thighs.

“Tell me the truth, Hollywood. That first day you saw me, did you think my cock would feel as good as this?” My words rasp like I’ve been dragged over hot coals.

She shakes her head.

“Because I never dreamed your pussy to be like this.”

Lashes bat at me. “Good?”

“No. Not good. Fucking incredible .”

Challenge flashes in her eyes. “Yeah? How ’bout when I do this?”

A roll of her hips sends bolts of pressure shooting up my spine. “Ah, fuuck. Yes.”

Blunt nails rake over my skin as she starts up a slow, steady rocking that almost strangles my cock.

“So tight,” I grit out.

“And this?” She leans down, hands splayed across my chest, and her mouth finds mine.

Our tongues tangle. Her kiss is hungry and needy.

I spin us around, and my forearms act as a bracket to protect her from the hardwood floor. Her legs wrap around me, and that’s all it takes for me to fuck her hard, driving inside her while my name drops from her lips over and over.

It’s what I need. What she needs.

And when her eyes lock on mine and her body spasms, I’m done for. I spill into her, my cock jerking with every clench of her pussy until I collapse.

We stay silent, staring up at the ceiling. I lived in this house for years, and I don’t think I’ve ever looked up before. I grin into the twilight evening. I’ve never had sex on the hall floor either.

A profound sense of peace washes over me. Perhaps my ghosts have been “laid” to rest in more ways than one.

Next to me, Holiday lets out a deep, relaxing sigh. When I pull her into me, she fits so perfectly against my side that I’m immediately hit with the realization that this is all temporary. And I’m not sure how I feel about it.

There’s saltiness to her skin when my lips press against her damp temple. “What are we going to do when you leave?”

She stays silent, and all I hear is the soft rise and fall of our breathing as we watch the wall where shadows of our fingers entwine.

“I’m not leaving today. Or tomorrow. And when the time comes, we’ll figure it out.”

“How long have we got?”

“Four months.”

“Better make the most of it then,” I reply, tugging her under me again.

My mouth finds hers.

I’m not prepared to lose a second.