Megan Hart - Hold Me Close

“Ah, shit, Effie. Don’t be like that.” Bill got up, too, and came around the bed to grip her by the upper arms, though loosely enough she’d have no trouble getting free if she wanted to.

“It’s late,” she said. “I’m sure you have to work in the morning. And I have things I need to do, too.”

She had a commission to work on. Laundry. Her tires needed to be rotated, she’d almost forgotten about that appointment, and then she had to get over to her mom’s house to pick up Polly.

“Sure. Fine.” Bill let her go. Stepped back. Naked, his belly and chest still glistening with sweat, he bent to grab his T-shirt and cleaned himself off before tossing the shirt in the direction of a pile of laundry on the floor.

“God forbid you should put it in a basket,” she murmured.

Bill snorted soft laughter. “The hell do you care? I don’t see you offering to do my wash for me.”

“Does that mean you have to live like a pig?” Effie buttoned the shirtdress to her throat and smoothed the skirt over her bare ass. It was going to be cold outside without her nylons, but they’d been shredded within a few minutes of her arrival here.

Bill frowned again, harder this time. “You have a mouth on you. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Effie shrugged and turned away. Bill caught her arm again, a little harder this time. Surprised, she faced him. “Hey.”

His grip loosened, but he didn’t let her go. He pulled her closer. Shit. Was he going to kiss her?

“No?” he said when she turned her face at the last second so that his lips brushed her cheek.

Effie said nothing. It was such a fucking cliché. She usually didn’t even care about kissing in that way, except right now when he wanted it from her, and she didn’t want to give it.

“You come over here and fuck around with me,” Bill said into her ear. “You won’t sleep over. You won’t let me kiss you. You don’t let me get anywhere fucking close to you, do you?”

Effie shrugged out of his grasp. “Don’t.”

Bill sighed and scrubbed at his short, pale hair. “Go, then. I guess I’ll see you the next time you have an itch that needs to be scratched.”

He slammed the door to his apartment behind her, which made her want to thump her fist on it until he opened it again. He wasn’t being fair. This was the way it worked with them. He should’ve been used to it by now. She’d needed and wanted him to get her off, but he hadn’t. She’d wasted her time and his. She’d hurt his feelings and hadn’t meant to.

Shit. Effie sighed and didn’t knock on the door. In her car, she watched Bill’s silhouette in the window. He would stand there until she drove away, so he could be sure she left instead of, what, being murdered in her car in the parking lot? Effie laughed without humor, hating the bitter taste.

Backing up, she pulled out into the street. In her rearview mirror, she watched the golden square of light from his window turn into darkness. Then she drove home.

chapter seven

“How was he?”

She wasn’t startled. Didn’t scream. She’d known Heath was waiting for her the second she came into the kitchen and saw the back door was slightly open. You’d think she’d be smarter about it, take a baseball bat or something to protect herself in case it was a serial killer who’d happened to pick her house out of all the ones lined up along this suburban street. You’d think she’d have been more careful about locking her doors, the way her mother had urged her over and over again to be.

When the worst had already happened to you, everything else seemed a lot less dangerous.

“None of your business.” Effie went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, listening for the sound of the crack as she broke the sealed lid before she drank greedily.

Her stomach rumbled. Mitchell had taken her to a Chinese place for dinner, and there’d been no way for her to eat any of that jumbled-together sort of food. Nor any good way to explain to him why she couldn’t have anything touching each other on the plate. Not without sounding like a lunatic. She’d gone to Bill with a different sort of appetite and he’d left her hungry, too. She pulled out a block of sliced cheese and took a piece. She offered one to Heath. He refused.

“Dammit, Effie.”

She turned and leaned against the counter. Heath wore all black. Ancient jeans, ragged at the hems. A black hoodie over a black T-shirt. He’d left his shoes by the door, and he wore no socks. She had to look away from his bare, long toes—his feet killed her with their perfection. His arms stuck out a few inches below the sleeves. Heath had a hard time finding clothes that fit him. Legs and arms and torso too long. At six-five he was gangly, even now as a man when he’d filled out with muscle.

Thinking of his body, Effie swallowed hard and drank more water. Her thighs rubbed together, slick from her earlier, unsated arousal. Her lower abdomen still felt crampy.

“Where did he take you?”

“Jade Garden.” She chewed slowly. Swallowed. Washed down the rest of the cheese with a swig of water, then another.

Heath let out a short, sharp bark of mocking laughter. “No wonder you’re hungry now.”

“He was a nice guy,” Effie said mildly. “He’s a software engineer. He makes good money. He smelled nice. He wears glasses.”

Heath moved closer. He’d been working in the cafeteria at a local private college for the past couple years. He did most of their catered events. He stank of grease and fried foods with an undertone of grass and smoke. He would taste like honey. Effie didn’t move away, but she didn’t lean into him, either. Didn’t soften or bend, didn’t open her mouth for him to kiss her.

Heath leaned in to sniff her neck. His lips moved against her skin. “You fucked him.”

“No.”

“You fucked someone,” he said and slid a hand under her dress and between her legs. His fingers cupped her hard enough to force a gasp out of her. In the next second he’d pushed his fingers inside her. “He’s still dripping out of you.”

In, out, his fingers slid against her slick heat, but he was wrong. She wasn’t wet inside from Bill, but from this. Oh, fuck yes, for Heath, always for him. He could look at her from across the room, no words. None needed. A glance, and she was weak-kneed and trembling at the thought of his touch. Of his mouth, that tongue. His teeth.

The water bottle fell to the floor, splashing her legs with chilly liquid. She put both her hands up flat on his chest. His T-shirt bunched under her fingers. She pushed at him, but Heath had put his other hand at the small of her back, holding her still.

He slid his fingers deeper until his thumb pressed her clit. His teeth took the place of his whisper, fierce on the tender skin of her throat. Effie’s head tipped back; now her fingers clutched at his T-shirt not to push him away but to keep herself from falling. Not that Heath ever would have let her.

He would never let her fall.

“So fucking wet,” Heath breathed into her ear. His hand moved faster. He added another finger, stretching her. His thumb stroked. Had it only been this morning that they’d been doing this?

He backed away from her so suddenly that Effie took a couple stumbling steps forward in order to keep her balance. She cried out, low, as she lost her grip on his shirt. Her head spun.

“I waited for you,” he said. “I was worried.”

What else could she do then, but draw him close to her and hold him? What else but to kiss him, first gently and then as though they each were the only meal the other would ever need? Here in the dark and in the morning’s ugliest hour, it was surely all right to take him by the hand and lead him into her bedroom, where he stood in front of her as she undressed slowly, piece by piece until she was naked in front of him.