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She laughs—the exact reaction I wanted. “What iswrongwith you?”
“So many things,” I reply. And before I know what’s happening, Jamie’s removing her top, and I’m dragging her underwear down her legs. She lies back down, completely bare, laid out just for me.
“Holden,” she whispers, and I can see the sudden insecurity flicker in her eyes. She starts to reach up, to cover the parts of her she’s blessed me with.
“Stop.” I grasp her wrists. “You’re just… so much more than I expected.” It doesn’t even make sense. Not to me. And definitely not to her, because she’s fisting the blankets now, trying to cover herself. “Stop,” I say again. “You’re beautiful, Jameson.” And there’s that fucking word again. “Your body’s insane. Knock that shit off.” Shoving my hand down my shorts, I try to ease the throbbing building in my cock. “I just need a minute, or I’ll be giving you a pearl necklace to suit all your clothes.”
Her eyebrows bunch. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means I’m going to blow my fucking load all over those perfect tits.”
“Oh,” she says, and then I’m parting her slit with a single finger. “Oooh.” She’s already so wet. So warm. So ready for me. I lick my lips, reaching up to flick my thumb across her nipple. Her thighs jerk in response, her head thrashing to the side. And I can’t fucking wait any longer. I flick my tongue along the entire length of her, just like I’d fantasized.
It’s just one lick.
A tease.
A taste.
“Jesus, Holden,” she moans, and she’s everything I thought she’d be and nothing at all like I’d imagined.
Just like her art.
Jameson Taylor is a masterpiece, and I’m in way, way over my head.
I lick her again and again, the room filling with her moans with each flick of my tongue. Then I slide a finger inside her, smile against her clit when she curses under her breath, her fingers digging into my scalp. I settle in, ready to watch her come undone beneath me, but then light shines upon us at the same time tires squeal, and then voices. Lots of them. All male. All familiar to my ears. “Fuck.” I reluctantly pull away, my jaw tight as I sit up. “Don’t fucking move,” I tell her.
Her hands shift to cover her most intimate parts while I stand, move to the bedroom window where she’s already looking. More voices—laughter—then some dickhead yelling, “Let’s fucking goooo!”
“Holden?” Jamie asks, and I glance at her just in time to see her drag the covers over her. “What’s going on?”
I already know what I’ll be seeing when I part the blinds. I can sense it. I do it anyway. On my front lawn, illuminated by the taillights of Billy Butler’s truck, is the absolute last fucking thing Jamie and I need right now. Shoulders slumped, I press my thumb and forefinger to the bridge of my nose and turn toward the naked girl waiting in my bed. “It’s Dean.”
23
Jamie
“I loved her,man. And I fucked up.” Dean’s words are slurred as he moves toward Holden’s bedroom. Or, more accurately, is dragged toward it. The only reason he’s upright is because Holden’s keeping him that way, carrying his dumb ass the way athletes heave injured players off the court or field or whatever they’re on.
According to Holden, his so-called friends from the football team rolled Dean off the back of one of the guy’s trucks and then sped off. Holden saw the tail end of it—Dean’s landing—and the worst part? It wasn’t the first time this has happened. When I questioned why… justwhy… he simply said, “You’ve met his dad, right?” And I understood.
Kind of.
He told me all this in the few seconds it took for him to slip his t-shirt back on, adjust his hard-on in his shorts, and leave to make his second rescue for the night, mumbling something about blue balls and cock blocks.
Dean’s still talking about Bethany, and I don’t know why I care, why I feel the need to witness this sudden shitshow. Standing in the doorway of Holden’s room, I lean against the frame, ignoring the sinking in my gut at Dean’s drunken words. Holden catches my stare and throws me a smirk, right before he brings two fingers to his mouth, separates them, and starts flicking his tongue between them.
I snort-laugh. I can’t help it. And Dean—he looks up at the sound, his bleary eyes narrowed. “Jamie,” he whispers. “What are you…” He’s at the doorway now, trailing his gaze from me, dressed in the same way he’s often seen me, to the unmade bed behind me, where Holden and I were about to— “I’m going to be sick,” he groans. And then he does just that. Right where he stands, he pukes directly onto the carpeted hallway.
“Motherfucker,” Holden spits, releasing Dean.
Dean falls forward, and because I’m built on shitty life choices and self-sabotage, I grab Dean around the waist, keep him steady, and lead him toward the bathroom.
“How the fuck am I supposed to clean this shit up?” Holden yells.
In front of the toilet, I help Dean onto his knees and squat down beside him. And then I just look at him. Look at the big brown eyes that held my happiness for weeks. Months. They’re glossy now, stained with red. Face pale, every inch coated in sweat. “I’m so sorry, Jamie,” he croaks, his voice cracking with emotion. “I never meant to hurt you.”
My hands twitch, momentarily wanting nothing more than to reach up, brush his hair away from his eyes the way I’d done after he’d whispered words of forever right into my neck. Instead, I cross my arms, keep them safe. Keepmesafe. “You’ll feel better once it’s all out.”
