Page 72 of Whispers of You
I released it all. The what-ifs. The pain. The grief. And I let Holt soothe every wound that had been festering for a decade.
It wasn’t just one action or whispered prayer. It was all of it, coming together from the boy he had been to the man he was now.
I gave myself over to it. As the tears subsided and the trembling ceased, I still couldn’t get close enough. I was a woman starved. Cut off from the most beautiful thing I’d ever experienced and finally feeling it again for the first time.
“Holt.” His name was a hoarse whisper—a rough plea.
His hands brushed my wet hair out of my face. “Tell me what you need, Cricket. Anything.”
“I need you.” They were the hardest three words I’d ever said. Terrifying and painful, yet full of hope.
His body went rigid. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
I was already pulling away, the sting of rejection too strong. But Holt caught me, bringing me back to him. “Look at me, Cricket. See me. I’ve thought about you every damn day. Wanted you with every breath. Nothing will change that. Ever. But I won’t be able to live with myself if we go there, and you regret it tomorrow. You’ve been through hell today—”
I pressed my fingers to his lips, stopping the trail of words. “Trust me, Holt. Trust me to know my mind. To know what I need.”
Right now, that was to remember that I was alive. Breathing. That even if I didn’t have Holt forever, I could have him for this moment. Maybe we could live our forever in this room. In the moments that passed from one breath to the next.
He stared at me. Searching.
Slowly, I pulled my hand away from his mouth and leaned in. My lips hovered a breath away from his. I waited for one beat. Two. Then I closed the distance.
I sank into the familiar heat that was Holt. I’d kissed those lips a thousand times. Felt their coaxing warmth and gentle pressure.
This kiss was different. It was a mix of deepest want and coming home. There was a desperation in it that had never been there before. His fingers tangled in my hair as I sank into the melding of our mouths. I wanted to disappear in the taste of him.
Holt’s hand dipped under the blanket, the towel, and then his fingers were on my skin. They danced over my waist, moved to my hip, pulling me flush against him.
I’d always loved the feel of his roughened fingertips against my more delicate flesh. The way they sent waves of pleasant shivers flying through me. That wave was back. Only this was more.
Holt broke away from the kiss, but his mouth still hovered over mine. “Tell me you’re sure.”
I brought my eyes to his, letting him see the truth burning there. “I’m sure.”
“Wren.”
I felt my name on his lips, and the vibrations carried through the air and landed on my skin, burrowing deep.
Holt peeled the blanket away from me and then the towel. The blue in his eyes sparked and swirled as he stared down at me. His fingers skated over my skin as if he were imprinting the image in his mind forever.
Then he leaned over me. Holt pressed his lips to the scar over my heart. That heart seized in a stuttering beat. His lips traced the long line over my sternum, trailing down.
“Holt,” I breathed, starting to squirm. I wasn’t ashamed of the scars or even embarrassed. But here? Like this? I felt exposed. Like one raw nerve ending.
“Your strength only makes you more beautiful,” he said hoarsely, his lips still skimming. They followed my rib cage down and then rose to my breast.
I arched into Holt, searching for more. More contact. Morehim.
His tongue flicked out, tracing my nipple. “Your skin is like heaven—silk and you.”
My fingers tightened on his shoulders and then moved to the buttons on his flannel. I trembled, struggling to pull the fabric free. The need to feel him against me, all of him, was so strong that I couldn’t seem to get my hands to cooperate.
“Wren,” Holt whispered, his hands framing my face. “We’ve got time.”
But I wasn’t sure we did. None of us was promised forever, and I couldn’t expect Holt to stay in a place that held so much pain for him. I didn’t tell him any of that. Instead, I gave him another truth. “I need your skin against mine.”
His eyes searched mine as if he sensed there was something more. But then he sat up, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons. As he stood, he shrugged off the flannel and pulled his white tee over his head.
