Page 53 of Holly Ever After

A lump forms in my throat, but I quickly swallow it down.

“Don't say it,” I say, leaning away from him. “Don't say anything.”

What the hell am I doing?

My heart is pounding. My mind is racing. I can't believe we just did that.

I can't believe how right it felt, and I hate it.

I try to shimmy away, but he doesn't let me. Instead, he cups my face and presses his forehead against mine. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, closing my eyes.

He traces circles over my cheek with his thumb. He's so gentle with me. I keep my eyes closed, swallowing hard as I feel him move my dress back down, covering me.

“Holly?” he asks, pulling me off the counter. My legs are unsteady underneath me, and I stumble into him, but he catches me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “What is it?”

“I don't know,” I say. “I just…”

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, stepping away and looking me in the eyes.

I shake my head. “No, no, it's not that. It's just…”

“Just what?”

“Sean, look what we just did. Me and you.” My voice is getting louder, panic finally catching me after I ran from it earlier. “You're my brother’s best friend. I hate you, remember? And you hate me.”

He has the nerve to cock that stupid smirk at me. “You don't hate me, Winters.”

“Oh, I do, Colson,” I say, but my voice is a little husky from the heat still purring in my veins.

He takes a step toward me, the smell of us clinging to our skin. I tip my chin back, defiant, but then he stares down at me, pulling my lower lip with his teeth, and my legs lose function.

“It's okay.” He smiles against my mouth. “I never hated you either.”

He leans down and kisses me.

I don't fight. I hardly move because my brain is still adjusting to the fact that Sean is even this close to me. My mind might be struggling, but muscle memory works quick, as if his touch has branded me. Instinctively, I lean into him, deepening the kiss.

His lips are soft, his tongue tastes like me, and my body remembers exactly what to do. I'm so completely overwhelmed it's a wonder I can even remain standing.

My hands slide into his hair, holding him in place. I can't help it; the need to be even closer is too much. I feel like I should be angry at him. But I can't find it in myself to fight. I'm exhausted. I'm spent. It's been a long week.

He skims the pads of his fingers up my spine, and I shiver. “You sure you still hate me?” he asks against my mouth.

“Yes,” I gasp. “I still hate you.”

He kisses me again, deeper this time. I moan into his mouth and wrap my arms around him, pulling myself against his chest. My nipples pebble under my dress before I squeeze my legs together in an attempt to ease the ache between my thighs.

I'm still mad at him. I know I shouldn't be doing this. But, damn, it feels so good.

“Stop,” I say, pulling away and holding him at arm's length. “I really do hate you.”

“I know,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “That's why I'm going to fuck you again.”

My mouth falls open. “How? So soon?... Never mind. That's not the point. I'm being serious.” This is wrong on so many levels.

He leans back but his hands don't leave my body as his eyes meet mine. “Do you want me to go?”

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