Page 41 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
Good God in heaven, this is really happening.
A hot, ragged breath pours from his lips, warming my core and commanding every nerve ending in my body to stand alert. When I finally dare to look down at him, he’s looking up at me, eager to solve the puzzle in my eyes again. Only this time, there’s nothing to solve.
I want him. I need him. And if he doesn’t touch me right this second, I’m going to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.
“We can stop if you want,” he whispers, pressing a kiss into my inner thigh, the scruff of his jaw scratching gently against my sensitive skin.
But he’s wrong. You can’t stop a storm once the clouds start gathering. You can’t stop a wave from breaking once it’s crashing toward the shore. And I can’t—I refuse to—keep us apart tonight. Not when he’s so painfully close to the neediest part of me. Not when I want him this much.
“Like hell we can.” Panting, I grip the back of his head and guide him right to where I want him.
His warm lips find my clit, and I release the strangled moan I’ve barely been holding back. Ho. Ly. Fuck.
My head falls back against the couch as his expert mouth works me over, sucking and licking in ways that make my whole body quiver. My hands grapple for a solid grip on the couch cushions but eventually land on his shoulders.
“God, Holt,” I say on a ragged breath. “I’m so close.”
No sooner have the words left my lips than my orgasm rips through me in hot, pulsating waves. It takes me a long while to come down from my high, almost a full minute before I can manage a single word.
“Shit.”
He snickers softly, joining me back on the couch and running his big hand along my thigh. I instantly spot the stiffness in his joggers, which he doesn’t bother trying to hide.
Looping a thumb into his waistband, I press a kiss to his lips. “Mind if I return the favor?”
“Only if you want,” he says, tipping my chin up so his gentle eyes can meet mine, and I can see just how much he means every word. “We don’t have to do anything more than you’re comfortable with. Just like last time.”
“And just like last time, I want you.” I sweep a finger beneath his waistband, and a low hum of pleasure escapes my lips at the knowledge he skipped the boxers tonight.
“Didn’t have time to put underwear on when you texted me,” he says sheepishly.
“Just less to take off,” I purr. “So, can I?”
“Fuck yeah.”
I help him out of his joggers, centering myself on the floor between his big, parted thighs. He grips his base, giving himself a few precursory strokes, and good God, Holt has gotten bigger over the years in more ways than one.
Slowly, I replace his hand with mine, moving it just the way he taught me so many years ago. A tight grip on his base, a slow drag of my hand up his shaft up and over the tip. My memory doesn’t fail me, and neither does my form, based on the way Holt groans my name.
“Jesus, Eden,” he chokes out. “That’s so fucking good.”
When I bring my mouth to his wide shaft, words fail him, and my only warning that he’s close is a series of short, needy grunts. Over and over, I guide my lips to meet my hand, feeling him grow tenser and tighter until he lets out one exasperated moan, finishing in wet, hot spurts in the back of my throat.
“F-fuck,” he stutters, pushing one hand through his hair as he blinks up at the ceiling.
His broad chest rises and falls quickly at first, then slower with time as he regains composure. When he finally smiles down at me, there’s a stormy glint in his night-sky eyes.
“Get up here, you.”
I scramble up onto the couch next to him, and he tugs his pants back up while I tie my robe again, then nestle into the crook of his shoulder. Just for a moment. Long enough to remember how well we fit together, how perfect and familiar this is. And then I force myself to say the words I so desperately don’t want to say.
“You should probably go back to your room.”
He dips his chin in a nod, giving my arm a quick squeeze. “Sure. We don’t need anyone seeing me come out of here this late or anything.”
“Exactly,” I say, but there’s a sadness in my voice that can’t be denied.
Still, I walk him to the door, pressing onto my tiptoes to place one last kiss on his jaw before he goes.
“Thanks for the book,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs.
14
* * *
HOLT
When the team loses their game in Detroit, the only person I feel for is Eden. I couldn’t give two shits about the grumpy cluster of hockey players sitting glumly in the visiting team’s dressing room inside the Detroit arena.
