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Tucking my bookmark firmly into place to save my spot, I closed my book, set it on the side table beside the arm of the sofa, and headed for the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine.
I’d just recorked the bottle when I heard the bedroom door open and the sound of Holton’s bare feet padding down the hallway. He rounded the corner, dressed in a plain tee and those gray sweats that did delicious things for his body, and jerked to a stop when he saw me standing there, his expression like thunder.
He blew a huff out before moving past me and yanking the door to one of the cabinets open. Right there at the front was a mostly full bottle of Lagavulin. I knew he had it, because he’d poured me a glass my first night here. But it didn’t look like it had been touched since then.
“Why do you have that?”
He turned to look at me over his shoulder, his brow creased in confusion. “What?”
I pointed at the bottle in question. “Do you drink scotch regularly?”
I watched his face closely, seeing the moment he realized what I was talking about. “No. I prefer vodka.”
Deva’s words from earlier played on a loop in my head, over and over until they began to sound garbled. “Then why do you have it?”
His nostrils flared on a sharp inhale, and for a moment, I thought he might not answer. Then he closed the cabinet and turned to face me fully, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because it’s your favorite.”
Oh god.
A wrecking ball slammed into that protective wall of mine, forming a massive hole.
“When did you buy it?”
His throat worked on a swallow, that gorgeous pale green in his eyes turning dark as we stood there staring at each other while the rest of the world faded away. “Don’t ask me that,” he said quietly, giving away more than he wanted.
But it wasn’t enough. Not for me. I was done with these games. Sick and tired of feeling like one wrong step would rock the boat we were precariously teetering on, and we’d fall into the drink. I was done with the secrets and half truths.
“When, Holton,” I demanded.
“The day after I walked away from you.”
That confession was like a punch to the stomach, rocking me back a step and knocking the wind right out of me. I pulled in a much-needed breath, my voice barely there as I asked, “Why?”
He scrubbed at his face, the sound of the scruff coating his jaw abrading his palms like sandpaper. “Because I fucked up that morning,” he clipped out. “I knew I did, and I wantedsomethingthat made me feel like I was close to you. I knew that was your favorite, so I bought a bottle and kept it in the cupboard.” He reached back to rub at the nape of his neck. “I’ve been trying so goddamn hard to make things right, but I don’t know what the fuck to do, Lyric. Tell me what to do to make you stop hating me. Just say it and I swear to God, I’ll do it.”
My throat suddenly felt thick, emotion forming a lump there that made it hard to speak. I did my best to clear it so I could whisper. “I—I don’t hate you.”
“Then when are you going to stop punishing me, huh?” His voice cracked through the space like a shotgun blast. “When the fuck are you going to forgive me? Because being this close to you and not being able to touch you is a kind of torture I’m not going to be able to survive much longer.”
I said the only thing I possibly could. “Holton. I already forgave you.”
And with that admission, the tenuous hold he had on himself snapped, and with a feral growl, he lunged at me, crashing his mouth down on mine.
ChapterTwenty
HOLTON
It wasas if my brain shut down completely. All rational thought fled the instant Lyric told me she forgave me. I was no longer a civilized man. I was something primal, a predator that had tracked its prey far too long and was finally ready to make its move.
Taking Lyric’s face in my hands, I slammed my lips against hers in a kiss filled with every ounce of desperation and need she’d brought out in me.
The sound of surprise she let out quickly morphed into a greedy moan as I forced my way past the seam of her lips with my tongue. She opened on a gasp, and that first taste of her sweet mouth had my dick swelling in my sweats. She was even better than I remembered.
My hands roamed lower, eager to touch every single inch of her. I couldn’t get enough. When my palms skated over her ribs, brushing against the sides of those perfect tits, she let out a whimper that fed the side of me that had only come out with her, the side that was rising to the forefront once again.
I grabbed her ass, squeezing the round, lush globes hard. Dragging my lips away from hers, I trailed them down her neck, sucking on that delicate spot where her pulse quivered beneath the thin flesh. “Fuck, I need you,” I grunted, feeling drunk on my desire for her. My cock was so hard the damn thing had a heartbeat, the swollen shaft pressing at the layers of clothes between us like it couldn’t wait to get to that paradise between her thighs.
Her head fell back, giving me better access. “Then have me,” she panted, and my dick twitched at her permission. But not yet. I wouldn’t give in yet. I’d wanted this for so long, my mind had played out a million different scenarios, and I was struggling to choose which one I wanted first.
