The Darkest Part (22 page)

I still need time, so I grab the toothpaste, and with a breathy curse, realize I didn’t bring my toothbrush in with me. I turn on the faucet. Wetting my finger, then squirting a line of toothpaste onto it, I decide it will have to do.

When I’ve talked myself down enough, and know that Tyler isn’t going to make an appearance, I turn off the light and the vent, and then walk out. The white-blue flicker of the TV illuminates my quick path to the bed. I keep my gaze on the carpeted floor. Then I crawl under the covers. They’re cool and crisp, dousing some of the heat still clinging to my skin.

And with a groan, I realize that I
still
forgot to put on my bottoms. Hell. What is wrong with my brain? The answer comes with Holden’s hurried movements, adjusting his position in the bed next to mine. Just the sound of him rearranging his pillows and rustling his covers sends my nerves careening against my arteries.

I force my eyes closed. Will myself to fall asleep. My traitorous hormones have no control over me. Holden is an asshole. He’s my boyfriend’s brother. He broke my heart—but his words at the oak begin to pulse through me, hitting me hard. What if I was wrong about him?

With his past, I can’t imagine how messed up he must have been during that time. I don’t know anything, really, about the man lying in the bed next to me. And suddenly, I want to.

My mental assault breaks off as I hear Holden’s deep exhale. “Are you still not wearing pants?”

Shit. And what’s my excuse? “No. It’s pretty stuffy in he—” No time to finish that sentence as Holden bounds from his bed and stands over me, the evidence of his torture apparent in his boxers.

He rips the covers back, and I yelp. “What are you—?” But obviously words mean nothing to him. His eyes are blazing blue, even in the dim light, and he forcefully moves between my legs to hover above me.

“Holden,” I say, trying like hell to put conviction in my tone. “We can’t. You know this is wrong . . . on like . . . so many levels.”

He nods. “I know. And I’m going to answer for every one of my sins. But right now, I don’t give a fuck.” He grasps my ankles and pulls, flattening my back against the bed. My tee rides up, exposing my black boy shorts and stomach.

My skin tingles as Holden slowly raises my leg, resting my ankle on his shoulder. He’s kneeling, using his other hand to angle himself above me. His eyes only release me when he turns his head to press a soft kiss to my calf.

My breath catches in my throat.

His hand skims my leg, his mouth trailing its path, the cool metal of his lip ring sending so many, too many shivers dancing across my skin.

I’ve never felt so helpless, so immobile, and so hopeful that he doesn’t stop—if I don’t move, if I let him continue, can I pretend I’m not a willing participant? No. I can’t lie to myself. If I’m going to stop this, I have to now. Because as his mouth moves to my thigh, and his tongue just grazes my skin, I know I won’t be able to soon.

“Holden—”

“Say anything but stop,” he says, low, his voice husky with need.

I swallow. “Please,” I get out.

“Oh, I’m going to please you. You can bet your sweet ass.” And he sinks his teeth into the flesh just below my center, eliciting a soft moan from my throat.

Against my will, my hands go to his hair and my fingers curl. His groan rumbles through me as he tugs my underwear down. My eyes open.

“Stop.” It comes out soft and desperate, but it’s enough.

He looks up at me from between my thighs. Leaning on his elbows, he grasps my hips with both hands. “You don’t have to do anything, Sam. Just let me make you come. That’s enough for me.” His eyes seek approval, and they reach right into my soul. His words and heated breath against my skin making this the most difficult thing. Ever.

When I don’t deny him, Holden kisses the soft, sensitive skin along my pelvic area, right above my slit, and I gasp. The ache blooms, building into a pulsing pain. As his tongue flicks my skin, and his lip ring grazes me, the ache deepens. All I want is for him to enter me. Make the ache stop.

I turn my head to the side, fist my hands in his hair, as he slips a finger inside while he takes me into his mouth. His tongue strokes, and then swirls. Holy fuck.

“I knew you’d taste just as sweet,” he says. And I can’t help but smile. I haven’t felt desired in so long . . .

He reaches the throbbing ache and pushes his finger in deeper. I arch my hips, wanting, needing more of him. My thighs tighten, pressing against his warm, hard shoulders, as his teeth graze my clit, and when he sucks me into his mouth, I nearly tumble over the edge.

My eyes open and I glimpse the picture box. My heart freezes in my chest.

“Holden, no.” I push against his head. “Please. We have to stop. I’m sorry. Stop.”

With a forced, strained exhale, he removes himself from me and pushes away. The sudden cool air hitting my body sobers me even further.

I pull myself into a ball, wrapping my arms around my legs. “I just can’t . . . Tyler—”

Holden sits back on his heels, his chest heaving. “I know.” Then he’s off the bed, his erection straining against his boxers. I can’t help but look, notice the size . . . and a whole new wave of need seizes me.
Stop
.

He steps into his jeans and yanks them up, then reaches over and grabs a pillow from his bed.

I swallow hard. “Where are you going?”

“To sleep in the truck.”

“What—why?”

His eyes flay me. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m getting any sleep here.”

Guilt stabs my chest. “So this is my fault?”

His hand pauses as he’s buttoning his jeans. Then he walks toward me and kneels, becoming level with me. “I’m not angry. Nothing is your fault.” He places his hands on either side of my face. “I just can’t be in the same room as you and
not
be with you. I need to calm down.”

His voice is so earnest, and his eyes are so convincing, I nod. “All right.”

He rests his lips against my forehead, brushing a light kiss, before he backs away and steps into his boots. After the door shuts behind him, the silence blankets me in humiliation.

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

Holden

Stretched out on the bench seat of my truck, willing my thoughts on anything other than Sam, I pound the back of my head into the lumpy pillow. It’s pointless. I can still taste her. Still feel her. Her sweet scent followed me into the cab and it’s swimming in the air. Tormenting me.

I haven’t calmed down at all. My dick presses against my jeans painfully, and I push back, adjusting my rock hard erection against my stomach. That was a fun walk across the lobby. Hell.

If I thought jerking off would help, I’d beat the fuck out of it right now. But that won’t satisfy my need for her. If I thought marching up there and taking an ice-cold shower would douse the fire searing beneath my skin, I’d dive head first into the Mississippi. Okay. That’s extreme. Maybe. But a shower’s out of the question.

I can’t be anywhere near her right now.

I fucked up.

And when she said Tyler’s name . . . shit. Did she see him? Right then? When I was going down on her? How messed up is that. It’s so messed up that I just can’t. My guilt meter tipped over somewhere around the time I started dancing with her at the club. I’m taxed out on guilt at the moment.

My self-loathing for trying to be with a mentally unstable girl puts me on the all-time top douchebag list. I just cleared the first spot, I’m sure. But it’s Sam. Fucking
Sam
. Sometimes I look at her and just see her. The girl I wanted more than anything. And other times . . . like just ten minutes ago . . . I’m reminded why I should’ve never gone on this trip.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she bought a plane ticket home tomorrow. And maybe that’s for the best. If she’s expecting an apology, I can’t give her one. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I knew exactly what I wanted.

But hell, she sure as shit wanted it, too. I close my eyes, remembering the feel of her as I slid my fingers inside. The warmth, tightness. Her smooth, soft lips . . .

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I loose a guttural roar into my palms.

I
am
a masochist.

Rolling onto my side, I give up the fight, letting my thoughts drift back to her. Wondering if she’s beating herself up as much as I’m kicking my own ass right now.

A tapping noise pulls me out of sleep. For a second, I think Sam and I must have gotten too tired to drive and pulled over, until last night comes back in a rush of hot and painful memories.

Shit.

The noise grows louder, and I look up. Sam’s on the other side of the driver’s side window. A cup of coffee in her hand.

My savior.

Pulling myself up by the steering wheel, I slide toward the door and roll down the window. She’s freshly showered, her wet hair falling over her shoulders, and a rosy blush tinges her makeup-free cheeks.

“I thought you might need this,” she says, passing the Starbucks cup through the window. “I’m sure sleeping in your truck makes for a crappy morning.”

Now that most of the blood has returned to my head—well, except the bit that’s sporting my morning wood—I can rationalize last night clearly. I don’t want her to punish herself. To think that she did anything wrong.

“Thanks,” I say, and take a sip. It’s hot and black and perfect. I stare into her eyes. “About last night—”

“Can we not?” The pleading in her voice throws me, and I open and close my mouth a couple of times. Stunned. “I mean. We’re both grownups. Shit happens. We had drinks, the club atmosphere was hot . . . and”—she shrugs—“I’d rather just keep going.”

My brow furrows. “You want to keep going?” I have to ask. For clarity. “On the trip?”

She nods, her lips pinched tightly together.

Fuck. Me.

I rake a hand through my hair and expel a heavy breath through my nose. Look through the windshield at the concrete wall. Think about running my head into it. “Okay.” She wants to keep going on the trip. Not keep going with what happened between
us
. Understood.

“All right,” she says. “You can shower up and pack your stuff, and I’ll go grab some food for the drive.”

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. And instead, I watch her walk away. From me. It’s like . . . did we both experience the same thing last night? Did I have any effect on her at all? Not that I’m not grateful she isn’t upset, or angry, or worse than anything, hurt. But, it’s kind of a blow to my ego.

I don’t want her to feel like she betrayed my brother and beat herself up. I’m doing that enough for the both of us. But hell.

All those years ago, everything I felt for her—what I thought she felt for
me
—was that all in my head? She was young, sure. And I know she truly loved my brother. But last night, I thought I felt something. A connection. The way she was looking at me. And dancing. Shit. I don’t know.

And I won’t even let my mind go where it’s trying to go right now. Nope. Not going to happen. Thinking of Sam comparing me to Tyler in bed is sick on a whole new level. I curse my fucked up brain for even wandering there.

Maybe there’s really nothing between us, on her part—and like she said, she just wants to finish the trip. I’m torturing myself for nothing.

Still, I’m crazy about her. And I don’t know if
my
sanity will hold out.

However, it’s not worth trying to figure out at eight in the morning in a parking garage in Memphis. So I suck up my wounded pride and hop out of the truck.

After I’m showered, shaved, dressed, and have taken care of business—figured I’d better release some of the stress, or else I’d be in for a long, painful drive—I grab my bag and meet Sam in the lobby. I did note that she didn’t return to the room. At all. So maybe I affected her some. If only slightly.

Either way, I’m ready to leave this city and its new, painful memories behind.

As we’re headed to the garage, Sam says, “We need to find a place for Tyler’s ashes. But I’m not sure where.”

Hell. I actually forgot that part. Now I feel like an even bigger douche. This trip is supposed to be all about Tyler. Not scoring with the girl I lost to my brother back in high school. I need to get my shit together.