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His moss-colored gaze burrowed into me. “Too much?” he asked, loosening his hold and preparing to unwrap his fingers.
I moved fast, latching onto his wrist and holding it firmly into place. “No,” I husked. “It’s not too much. Don’t stop.”
He reapplied the pressure, not too much, just enough to make me fight a little harder to pull in a full breath. It was... exhilarating. And it ratcheted the pleasure up from a hundred to a thousand. That coil deep in my belly grew even tighter, close to snapping.
“You’re so fucking incredible,” he grunted as he continued to snap his hips and plow into me with the force of a jackhammer. When my eyes started to drift shut again, he squeezed tighter for just a moment to get my attention. “Nuh-uh, Little Dove. I want those eyes on me when you flood my cock,” he ordered as his thumb caressed my jawline.
That intense pounding in my core reached its peak, and all at once I detonated. Every single muscle in my body clenched tight, my back and neck arched off the bed as Holton’s name was ripped from my throat. The release crashed through me. Just as one wave crested, another was right there to pull me beneath the surface.
My internal walls clamped down around Holton’s driving length, dragging a groan from the deepest recesses of his chest. “Fuck, yes, Lyric. Milk my cock just like that. Christ, you’re so goddamn tight.”
He followed right after me, and the twitches of his shaft as he came inside me prolonged my own orgasm until I was totally spent once it finally left me.
With my body completely and utterly exhausted in the very best way and Holton’s solid frame pressing down on me like the world’s best weighted blanket, I fell into a dreamless, peaceful sleep, without the misery of the day burying me.
ChapterThree
LYRIC
Usually,I woke up the day after my brother’s birthday emotionally drained, but as I slowly drifted into consciousness, stretching my limbs and feeling an ache in my muscles and between my thighs, I couldn’t stop the smile stretching across my face. I inhaled deeply, pulling in the woodsy scent of cedar and fresh, clean cotton. It was masculine and intoxicating.
A small chuffing snore caught my attention, and I carefully turned on my side to face a sleeping Holton. God, he looked sexy even in his sleep. It wasn’t fair. Whereas I woke up every morning a rumpled mess with a pillow-creased face, dried drool in the corner of my mouth, and severe bedhead, he looked like an Adonis. Trapping my bottom lip between my teeth, I braced one hand under my cheek and clenched the other into a fist to keep from reaching out and brushing away the lock of golden wheat hair that had flopped across his forehead.
I didn’t want to disturb his sleep and risk missing out on the opportunity to ogle him while he was unaware. He lay on his stomach, his head turned toward me, one arm cocked under the pillow his head rested on, the other bent with his palm flat on the mattress.
His strong brow was smooth; that square jaw, covered in a day’s worth of golden stubble, was slightly slack. His expression was completely at peace as he snoozed. The sheets were a tangled mess from our late-night acrobatics, and were resting low on Holton’s back, just above the swell of his ass, revealing planes of sun-kissed skin stretched over defined muscles.
Hereallylooks good in my bed, I thought to myself with a ridiculously large, goofy grin.
I could have lain there staring at him all day long, but I didn’t want to be a creeper, so I carefully slid my way out of the bed. I moved around the room on my tiptoes to be as quiet as possible while I pulled a pair of cotton shorts and one of the million ratty, faded, seen-better-days T-shirts I wore at home for optimum comfort from the dresser. Those tees weren’t the sexiest clothing I owned, but I hadn’t gotten around to doing laundry in... several weeks, so I had limited options. Plus, there was just something freeing about coming home, ripping off your bra, and changing into something slouchy and baggy and soft from being washed a gazillion times.
I took care of business in the bathroom then tried to manage the mess that was my hair. Since controlling it was out of the question, I wrangled it into a sloppy bun on top of my head then padded silently out of the room and headed for the kitchen. I grabbed a coffee cup from the cabinet and put it under the single-cup coffee maker beside the fridge, jabbing down the button to make it extra strong. I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, so I was going to need it.
While that brewed, I moved to the fridge and stood in the open door, letting out all the cool air while I tried to come up with something for breakfast. I wasn’t the best cook in the world, or even all that domesticated, but I’d learned enough to get by growing up. With the parents we’d been cursed with, it had fallen on me more times than not to take care of Cal, which meant making sure he ate, so I’d had no choice but to become at least marginally decent in the kitchen.
I couldn’t pull off a quiche or soufflé or anything like that, but I could scramble some eggs and throw a couple pieces of bread into the toaster. Pancakes were in my wheelhouse, but I didn’t have all the ingredients, so I grabbed a package of bacon instead and got started on breakfast.
There hadn’t been much to look forward to in our home, so I’d had to find my escapes where I could. One of them had been cooking. I’d never win any awards when it came to my skills in the kitchen, but during those collections of minutes, I could forget about Cal’s and my shitty lives.
When Cal was little, he used to sit and watch me while I made dinner, and no matter what I made or how it tasted, he always acted like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten. It was one of countless memories of my brother I held close. Those cherished memories were my favorites. My brother had always been my biggest supporter and fan. When he was little, he truly believed there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do. If only that had been true. The one thing I’d failed at, the most important thing, was saving him.
After the accident, when I didn’t have him to take care of and cook for any longer, I’d kind of given up on it. There wasn’t really any point when it was just me. I always ended up cooking too much, and it inevitably went to waste. Not to mention, most of the time, it just made me sad.
But as I scooped fluffy scrambled eggs onto a plate and moved back to the stove to flip the sizzling bacon, that sadness was nowhere to be found. In fact, my mood was so good, I was humming along to the music coming softly through the speakers of my cellphone as I moved around the kitchen.
“What’s going on?”
I let out a shrill screech, whipping around in fright so fast the coffee in the mug I’d just picked up sloshed over the sides and spilled onto the floor.
“Shit. Are you okay?” Holton moved fast, rounding the short counter that separated my small kitchen from the living room. “Did you burn yourself?” he asked, stopping only inches from me. He grabbed the mug from my hand and set it aside before taking hold of my elbow and leading me to the sink. He turned on the water and shoved my hand beneath the chilly stream. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you couldn’t hear me.”
I let out a little giggle and pulled my hand free, shaking the water off before grabbing a dish towel to dry it off. “No harm done. I’m fine.” I lifted my hand to show him all was good. “See? No red marks or burns. The coffee had gone lukewarm already.”
He took two large steps away from me, bracing a palm on the counter and scrubbing at the back of his neck with the other as he deflated on a heavy sigh. “Still. Sorry about that.”
I smiled so wide me cheeks ached as I skipped toward him and popped up on the tips of my toes to place a smacking kiss against his lips. “It’s all good. Have a seat; breakfast is almost ready.” I shut off the burner beneath the skillet and placed the bacon on a paper-towel covered plate to soak up the excess grease. “Hope you like scrambled eggs and bacon. I was thinking pancakes, but I haven’t been grocery shopping in an embarrassingly long time. I toasted some bread—”
“Lyric.”
