Page 19 of Holding Holly
Holly nods, her breath ragged and halting as her spine arches, pushing her forward. My thumb flutters faster as I clasp the back of her shoulders, holding her against me, our foreheads pressed together.
“That’s it, baby…”
She gives me the sweetest, breathless smile that sears itself into my memory forever. Then I can’t stop. Barely holding back a growl, I fuck her deeper, harder, pounding into her twitching pussy until she’s babbling and crying out, coming even harder.
I don’t climax. I fuckingexplode.
Stroking deep into her sweetness, a wave of emotion pours through me as I come so hard my jaw clenches and my calves lock up. Somehow my hips keep moving, thrusting deeper as the rush of heat overtakes me.
I don’t even realize at first that I’m kissing her hard enough to bruise her perfect lips.
We collapse against each other, still twitching, grasping at each other’s skin.
“Holly,” I growl softly. “You are…”
The love of my life. The woman I’ve dreamed of. So perfect for me that I don’t know what to do about it.
No. Any of that could frighten her away.
“You’re so sexy,” I murmur, kissing along her jawline, her temple.
She hums for a moment, then blinks up at me. “I feel like my entire body has turned into butterscotch pudding,” she whispers.
“Well…you know… I love pudding.”
She laughs and we slowly pull apart, but my arm never leaves its spot around her back.
My body stretches around hers as my heart rate slowly returns to normal. No, not normal. Not the way it was before. It already feels like Holly has altered my heart. Every beat is now stronger, because it’s for her.
Holy wow, do I ever sound like a sap. Maybe I’m high on endorphins.
But… Every time my arms are around this beautiful woman, a feeling of utter completeness washes over me. I already know in my heart, my soul, my everything, that I want to hold Holly every single night for the rest of my life.
10
HOLLY
Ishake my head, realizing I’ve been staring at the clock on the wall I use as a timer without really seeing it.
Crap.
Sliding the cinnamon buns out of the oven, they’re overbaked. Only by maybe thirty seconds, but still. I hate when things could have been perfect but aren’t.
Like…sigh…me and James.
I wait for a minute, then begin moving the buns gently to the cooling rack so they’ll be ready for the icing drizzle. The repetitive motion lulls me back into a reverie.
James and I are pretty close to perfect. If only I were a bit older, and not a…well,drifteris a bit harsh. So isshiftless. A sometimes baker, sometimes crafter, with no home and no direction… I’m not sure what the word for that is, but it’s not the sort of woman James needs.
He’s the ultimate upstanding citizen. The old-fashioned police officer who rescues kittens from trees and helps sweet little old ladies with their groceries. To be honest, I’m genuinely glad that he ended up in a town with almost no crime. Or is it that there is no crime because he’s always around?
Either way, I’ll bet these cinnamon buns that the entire town has an idea about what sort of woman he should end up with, and it’s not a weird little outsider who just wants to bake and make candles.
It’s actually no wonder I crave a wholesome home life, since Mom and I moved around so much. She was always chasing a better guy, even if she used the excuse of changing jobs. Or craving better weather. Or needing to “start fresh”…again, and again.
Now that I’m starting to settle into the vibe of Old Hemlock Valley, I’m pretty sure I’d be happy here forever. Okay, everyone says that January is pretty brutal, weather wise. Still, I don’t think I’d mind, especially if I could snuggle up with James in front of that cozy fireplace with a mug of?—
My hand shakes and a cinnamon bun hits the floor.Dammit. I flip it into the trash, then take a slow breath, trying to focus.