Page 95 of Holly Ever After

I close my eyes, afraid if I open them then this won’t be real, but when I do, he’s still there. Still undressing me with just a look.

The intensity in his gaze, the huskiness in his voice, they all make me ache for him, make me want to give in to what we both know we want.

I lean into his touch, my breath quivering as his thumb brushes over my pulse point.

“I don't know what to do,” I whisper, feeling like a dam is about to burst.

He pulls back slightly, his jaw clenched. “Then don't do anything. Just let me have you. Let me show you how much I need you.”

Before I know it, he's pressing me back against the wall, his hands sliding down my sides to grab my hips. I gasp as his lips crash into mine, hungry and urgent. There's no holding back now, no pretending that we can resist what's been building between us for so long.

He lifts me up effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me back to the bed. I'm lost in the sensation of his touch, the taste of his lips, the feel of his hard body against mine. It's like we're both drowning, and the only way to survive is to cling to each other.

He lays me down on the bed, his hands roaming my body, igniting a fire that's been smoldering for too long. I tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He pulls away long enough to take it off, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the taut muscles of his abs.

“God, I need you,” he groans, his lips finding mine once again.

His hands slide under the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head. I feel exposed, but empowered, like I'm shedding a layer of myself that's been holding me back. He takes in the sight of me, his eyes dark, before trailing kisses down my neck and over my collarbone. I arch into him, wanting nothing more than to be consumed by this moment, to forget everything that's happened before and just be here, with him.

He moves down my body, his lips tracing patterns over my skin as he goes. I gasp as he reaches the waistband of my panties, his fingers trailing over the fabric.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my hip.

He flicks his tongue over the sensitive skin just above the band, and I moan, my body already wound tight with need. I want him, need him, and it's like he knows exactly how to touch me, how to make me feel alive.

He slides my panties down my legs.

I’m exposed in the best way possible. I'm completely vulnerable to him, and he knows it.

“Mine,” he whispers close to my ear, before sinking into me with a deep, guttural moan.

His?

I am. I’m his. He branded me and made sure I wouldn’t belong to another.

We move together, my body adjusting to the stretch while lost in a haze of pleasure, our bodies striving for release. It's like nothing else exists in the world but the two of us, the electricity between us sparking and crackling with every touch.

When we finally come together, it's with a raw intensity that leaves us both gasping for breath. Sean collapses on top of me, his breath hot against my neck.

“Still hate me?” he asks, his voice heated.

My lips twitch. “So much.”

He presses his lips to mine before whispering against my skin. “I hate you more.”

Thirty-Eight

The first sensation that breaks through the haze of sleep is warmth. It's not just the warmth of blankets or the dappled morning sun filtering through the curtains. It's the heat of a body, the rhythmic thud of a heartbeat against my back, the rise and fall of a chest syncing with my own breathing.

I blink my eyes open and am immediately aware of Sean's arms wrapped securely around me, holding me close. Memories of last night flood back—the passion, the words, the vulnerability laid bare. A tingling mix of contentment and anxiety washes over me. As much as I yearn to sink back into the embrace, the weight of my pending deadline gnaws at me.

Quietly, carefully, I extricate myself from the cocoon of his arms, stealing glances at his sleeping face. The tension that often marks his features is absent now, replaced by the serene expression of deep sleep. But I can't stay. Not now. I need to finish that book.

After dressing and managing to slip out unnoticed, I'm back at my cottage, lost in the flurry of final edits, tweaks, and last-minute touches. The story comes alive under my fingertips, flowing effortlessly onto the page. Just when I'm about to exhale in relief, having sent off the final draft, a thunderous knock disrupts my peace.

Sean stands on the other side, looking like a storm about to break. A storm made of anger, concern, and a hint of betrayal. “You left,” he declares, voice gruff, devoid of any question.

The guilt, combined with the newfound shyness after last night, pulls my gaze downwards. “I had a deadline. I didn't think you'd want me hanging around after...after last night.”

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