When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,44
He turned his head to look at me, pain swimming in the depths of his green eyes. “Instead, they killed any love we had for ourselves. Shame. Guilt… They beat us with it as surely as they beat us with fists and clubs. They drowned us in it with every trip to the water’s edge.”
I clenched my jaw. Beatings. Submersions. Hundreds of miles away from home.
I couldn’t fathom it.
I hated that he’d endured it.
Holden witnessed my reaction and faced the sky again. “I’m ruining your swim.”
“You’re not.”
“And you’re a good person, River Whitmore.” He rolled over onto his stomach, seemingly unconcerned that his expensive clothes were getting dirty and wet. His fingers skimmed the water. “It’s too bad, really. Feels nice.”
Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. I submerged myself to wash them away and resurfaced in front of Holden, our faces inches apart. My heart clanged madly in my chest, but the alcohol broke my thoughts apart, so they couldn’t talk their usual bullshit. Nothing guided me but instinct.
Our gazes locked, my hand came up slowly, like an out-of-body experience, to cup Holden’s jaw. Tentative at first, then my hand slipped further to palm his cheek, leaving a glaze of water on his smooth skin.
“I hate they did that to you,” I said gruffly, my throat thick. “I’d kill them…anyone who tried to do it again…”
The words tumbled out of my drunken mouth. Holden’s eyes widened, that shocked expression coming over him again. As if no one had defended him before, wanting to protect him instead of hurt him.
With my blood thrashing in my ears, my thumb moved over his chin, feeling the curve and cleft, then brushed over his lips wetly. They were soft where his jaw was hard and unyielding, and I wondered what he would taste like.
Holden released a small gasp. It gusted hotly over my thumb that I was now slowly moving back and forth over his full lips. He kissed it and then those lips parted, his tongue venturing out with a soft lick.
I sucked in a breath, and he did it again—a flick of his tongue that sent shards of white heat coursing down my arm, my back, to an intense ache between my legs, and my stiffening cock. Holden’s relentless gaze trapped me as he swirled his tongue around my thumb—wet and soft and warm—before taking it into his mouth with a long, slow suck.
My eyes fell shut and a groan rumbled out of my chest. Touch if you will, my stomach, Prince sang, and beneath the water, my erection was hard as steel and begging for release.
I let go of my white-knuckled grip on the edge of the pool and slipped my hand into my underwear, stroking myself in conjunction with the sucking pull of Holden’s perfect mouth.
He watched my arm’s motion and ground his own hips into the cement once, slowly, his eyes hooded and dark. His teeth grazed my thumb then bit it hard enough that I felt it in my cock that wanted his touch instead of mine. I fought the urge to haul him into the water, to get at his skin under all that clothing and…
Do what?
My eyes flared open and reality slammed into me. I was jacking myself in a pool with my thumb in a guy’s mouth. No caution. No control. Years of discipline falling apart in an instant.
Holden watched the conflict sweep across my face and released me a split second before I pushed back from the wall, surging backward in the water.
“I…shit. I’m drunk. I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t…I can’t do this.”
His eyes fell shut in a pained grimace, and then he rolled onto his back, letting his arms and legs go limp. “It’s my fault,” he said softly to the sky. “I shouldn’t have taken it so far. Too far.”
Regret and pain seeped into the cracks between his words, but I was swimming to the other end of the pool. I climbed out in a deluge of water and gathered my tuxedo. A small pool house stood off the right side of the yard. I hurried toward it, holding the bundle of clothes over my erection. Inside, I struggled to get dressed, the clothes sticking to my wet skin.
“Fucking pathetic.”
My dick softened with humiliation as the feeling of freedom fled, revealing the stark, suffocating responsibilities I’d been trying to escape.
I emerged from the pool house to find Holden sitting on the lounger, smoking a clove cigarette.