Authors: Leisa Rayven
She nods. “Better.”
I laugh, because even though they’re being snarky and immature, underneath it all there’s affection, and it makes me realize how much I’ve missed out by not having a brother or sister.
We chat for a while, and discuss plans for the next day and which parts of New York they’d each like to show me. Holt wasn’t joking when he said he didn’t want to share me. Every time Elissa suggests taking me somewhere, he tenses up. Part of me finds his jealousy incredibly hot.
At one point, Elissa catches me staring at him as he unpacks his bag, and she smiles. I feel my face heat up.
When Ethan leaves to take his toiletries to the bathroom, Elissa shakes her head. “Man, you have it so bad for my brother, don’t you?”
My face flames again. “Shut up.”
She laughs. “I’m not making fun of you. I think it’s awesome, but he’s not exactly low maintenance. I was beginning to wonder if he’d find a girl to take on all his baggage.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“That’s because you have a knack for handling him.”
“You think so? Sometimes I have no idea.”
She glances at the door before she whispers, “If you want to understand him more, ask him to show you what’s in the bottom drawer.” She nods in the direction of the tall chest of drawers on the far wall.
“Why? Is he keeping human body parts in there?”
She laughs and stands as Ethan comes back. “In a way. I figure he’s seen yours, so you should get to see his.”
Holt eyes his sister suspiciously. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” She kisses him on the cheek, then disappears down the hallway.
He gives me a dark look. “What did my sister just say to you?”
“She told me I should ask to see what’s in your bottom drawer.” I lean forward and lower my voice. “Is it porn? Because that’s something I’d really enjoy looking at with you.”
Rather than laughing it off as I expect, his face turns red and stormy. “Fucking Elissa.”
“What? What’s in there?” I didn’t really believe it was human body parts, but now I’m not so sure.
“What’s in there is no one’s business but mine,” he says, as he grabs the remaining clothes out of his bag and slams them into drawers.
“Ethan…”
“Just drop it, okay?”
“You’re really not going to tell me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s private, all right? Just because we’re going out doesn’t mean you get to know everything about me.”
“Uh, actually, I kind of thought that was the point.” I walk over and lay my hands on his chest. “Aren’t we supposed to show each other all our ugly parts and see if we like each other anyway?” He tenses when I push under his shirt to touch his warm skin.
“Taylor…” His eyes get heavy when I explore his muscles.
“I mean, apart from you murdering someone and burying them in your backyard, there’s nothing you could tell me that would make me not like you. You’re aware of that, right?”
He breathes heavily. I move my hands around to his sides, then run my palms over his ribs and up to his shoulder blades. He closes his eyes and drops his head. “What are you doing?”
“Convincing you.” I run my fingernails down his back, and it makes him groan. “Ethan, please tell me what’s in the drawer.”
He exhales, and I can tell he’s wavering.
“If you tell me, I’ll kiss you. A lot.”
“Low blow.”
“I’ll do that, too.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to give me shit.”
“When do I ever—?” I stop myself and sigh.
Yeah, can’t even pretend to deny it.
“Okay. I promise.”
“And you have to make good on your promise to kiss me. A lot.”
“Definitely. And the low blow?”
The look he gives me makes me shiver. “Don’t tempt me. My mother is downstairs.”
“Okay, fine. It’s a deal.”
He sighs then walks over to the chest of drawers. “Remember, no mocking.”
I draw a cross on my chest.
He pulls his key ring out of his pocket and uses a small brass key to unlock the bottom drawer.
“I don’t fucking believe I’m doing this,” he mutters as he pulls the drawer open.
I step forward and peer inside. It’s full of plain, fabric-covered books.
“Um … okay.”
He’s waiting for a reaction. The only one I can give him is confusion. “I’m sorry, Holt, I don’t understand.”
He sighs. “Remember when I read your diary? I was a total asshole and yelled at you for writing all that shit down where people could find it? Well, this is why. I was scared someone might find these. That
you
might find these one day, and…”
What he’s saying becomes clear. “Oh my God.”
He bends down and picks up one of the books.
“These are all…?”
“Yeah.”
He flips open the front cover and holds it up for me to see:
The Journal of Ethan Holt. Keep the fuck out.
“You keep diaries!”
He drops the book back into the drawer and shoves it closed with his foot. “Journals, Taylor, not diaries. There’s a difference.”
“Oh, please. How is a journal different from a diary?”
“It just is, okay? Men don’t keep diaries.”
“Well, obviously they do.”
“Goddammit, you said you wouldn’t mock.”
I hold up my hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” We’re silent for a moment, then I ask, “So what do you write in there?”
“The same sort of stuff you write in yours, I suppose.”
“Really? So you’re also a sexually frustrated virgin who’s obsessed with a handsome actor’s penis?”
He sighs and drops his head.
“I’m sorry,” I say, laughing. “But you gave me such a hard time after you read my diary. Aren’t I allowed to have a little fun?”
“A little,” he says grudgingly.
“So, do I feature in your diary?”
His ears pink, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Maybe. Not these, but the one back at my apartment.”
“Are you ever going to let me read something? Quid pro quo, and all that.”
“Not in this lifetime. Or the next, for that matter.” He looks at the floor, and I feel bad for poking fun. Revealing this to me is a huge step for him, and I shouldn’t make light of it.
I walk over and touch his face, then rise on my toes to kiss him lightly. “Thank you. For showing me. It means a lot.”
He looks away. “Yeah. Sure.”
I kiss him again, longer this time, and after a moment’s hesitation, he responds. Strong arms wind around me as he kisses me more passionately, and just as I register his giant hands are cupping my butt, I hear a throat clear behind us.
We both turn to see Maggie in the doorway, trying not to smile. “Sorry to interrupt, but dinner’s ready.”
Without another word, she disappears.
Holt exhales and drops his head to my shoulder. I notice his hands remain on my ass.
“Well, I guess now we don’t have to tell Mom we’re dating.”
“Nope. Guess not.”
When we get downstairs, Elissa and Maggie are already seated. Tribble guards a chair I guess to be Ethan’s. I swear she sneers at me.
“Sit, please,” Maggie says and gestures to the remaining place settings. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m starving.”
Tribble growls as I sit next to Holt, and he chastises her under his breath.
When his mom passes him a plate of pasta, he clears his throat and says, “Mom, I … uh … I wanted to tell you earlier about Cassie and me, but … well…”
“It’s fine, sweetheart,” Maggie says and offers me a bowl of salad. “I already knew.”
Holt shoots an accusing glare at his sister.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” she says and holds up her hands defensively. “I haven’t said a thing.”
“Then how did she know?”
“Sweetheart,” Maggie says, “when you’re a mother, it’s easy to read the emotions of your children. It’s been obvious to me you have feelings for Cassie, and I’m glad you finally acted upon them. I’m very happy for you.”
Holt looks dubious, as she hands him the salad.
“Oh, all right,” she says. “Jack Avery called earlier to say that my bet last week had paid off.”
Holt’s face drops, along with his fork. “What?!”
Maggie wrings her hands in embarrassment. “Well, darling, Elissa told me the odds Jack was offering, and after I saw you two in
Romeo and Juliet
, I figured it was a sure thing.”
“Mom! Jesus!”
“Darling, don’t be mad. Momma needed a new pair of shoes.”
He rubs his eyes and groans.
My nervous energy manifests as too-shrill laughter, and as I snort indelicately, three surprised faces turn to me. Four, if you count the dog.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I try unsuccessfully to stop. “But that’s kind of awesome.”
Maggie laughs along with me, and Elissa joins in.
Ethan shakes his head. “Why are all the women in my life determined to torture me?”
I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. I’m rewarded with a hint of a smile.
The rest of the meal passes quickly, and I’m blown away by the amazing feast Maggie has whipped up. By the time I’m finished, I can barely move. My poor, distended stomach is in both heaven and hell, and I curse the years of eating my mom’s sad excuse for cuisine, in which the chickpea was held sacred and anything that tasted good, like butter or salt, was treated like a deadly poison to be avoided at all costs.
As she serves dessert, Maggie questions me about myself and my family, and even though I’m usually nervous about being scrutinized so openly, it doesn’t seem like she’s being nosy. She just wants to get to know her son’s girlfriend.
A couple of times I catch her watching when Holt and I talk to each other, and she has that same optimistic look in her eye my mother used to get whenever she tried to convert me to veganism. I’m hoping Holt and I work out better than my short-lived relationship with Tofurkey and rice milk.
As for Holt, I like to watch him interact with his mother and sister. He and Elissa fight incessantly, but it’s good natured, despite his efforts to seem like a badass. And the way he is with his mom? It makes me all kinds of swoony.
They say you can tell a lot about how a man will treat you by the way he treats his mother. If that’s true, I expect to be treated like a queen.
TWENTY
DESPERATION
Four days later, Thanksgiving is over and we’re back in Westchester. Holt’s barely gotten my apartment door open before I’m on him, kissing him with everything I have.
He drops my bag in surprise, and we almost trip over it.
“Cassie, slow down…”
“Don’t tell me to slow down,” I say, and push him the short distance to the couch. “Four days, Ethan. Four days of interminable fondling, interrupted orgasms, and family drama. The time for being slow has passed. Now, please, shut up and kiss me.”
Whatever he’s going to say next is smothered by my mouth, and I straddle him as I bury my fingers in his hair.
He feels amazing. Tastes amazing. How one man can taste so good is completely beyond me.
I know I’m out of control, but he’s made me this way. Our weekend with his family ended up being pretty enjoyable, despite some tension when his dad was around. But being in close quarters with him for twenty-four hours a day was sexual torture. Between sightseeing with his sister and family meals, we rarely got time alone. And when we were, he’d always stop before we got to the good stuff. The whole weekend turned out to be one giant round of excruciating foreplay, and if he doesn’t stop stalling and give me some relief pretty damn pronto, there’s going to be a girl-parts rebellion the likes of which he’s never seen. I’m wound tighter than Jane Fonda’s latest facelift, goddammit.
“Take off your shirt.” I kiss all over his face, then move down his neck while I add in some nibbling, because I know it makes him crazy.
“Wait … just— Oh, fuck…”
I bite down at the point where his neck meets his shoulder and suck hard. He pushes his pelvis up so suddenly, he nearly bucks me off his lap.
“Jesus, Cassie!”
“Shirt! Off!”
I tug and yank it over his head. His hair looks like I’ve electrocuted him. With the way my neurons are firing right now, I probably could.
When I throw his shirt away, it smacks into the lamp beside us and knocks it to the floor in an explosion of porcelain.
He drags his mouth away from me long enough to assess the damage. “You murdered the lamp.”
I circle my hips. “Stop talking. Lamp’s not important. Getting naked is.”
I fumble as I unbutton my shirt. He says something in protest, but I tear it off anyway. It lands on the floor next to the lamp corpse and leaves me just in my bra. I press my chest to his and exhale in relief. I want to lick him all over. I start on his neck and revel in the salty and sweet of his skin, as I move my hips to rub against him.
Ohhh, he’s hard and perfect. All of his other parts taste good, and I wonder if that would, too.
Just thinking about it makes me even more desperate, and something’s seriously gotta give before I burst into flames.
“Pants,” I say, and it’s barely even a word. More like a hoarse bark.
“What?” He’s doing something amazing to my boobs.
I can barely form words, but I try. “Holt, for the love of all that’s holy, take off your damn pants!”
My yelling shocks him into stillness, so I take matters into my own hands. He makes vague protests as I fumble with his belt, but at this point, all of his arguments are invalid.
His belt is the stupid type that just has a solid metal plate held together with pins or something. I tug at it, frustrated.
“Crap…”
“Cassie—”
“How the frack does this thing work?!” I grab it with both hands and pull and push in an attempt to make it come apart with brute force, but it won’t budge. “Dammit, Ethan, help me!”
I feel like I’m in a disaster movie, and that belt is the iceberg that’s going to sink the good ship Orgasm. It must be destroyed.
At last, the buckle gives way, and I make a small victory noise before I frantically unbutton his jeans.
“I want you,” I say as I push my hand into his boxers.