Chapter 3: Going to Fuck Me to Death 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

She couldn't fucking believe him.

Seven years. Seven years and Holden was still the same: smug, contrary, the kind of man who would back you against a stall door and then make you do all the work yourself. A black-hearted bastard in a custom-made suit.

He nudged his hips up against her impatiently when she didn't move, the head of him grazing the wet slit of her like a question he already knew the answer to. He raised one brow.

She lifted her chin. Her teeth caught the inside of her bottom lip. She held his eyes and refused to move.

"Funny," he said, voice low and gravel-rough. "You weren't this shy back then. As I recall, you were pretty fucking wild."

He flexed his hips downward. The slick head of his cock dragged once across her opening — just dragged, didn't push — and a small, strangled sound came out of her she was furious with herself for.

He kissed her cheek. Soft. Mocking.

She glared at him. Then she slowly, deliberately, slid her hand down between them.

The second her fingers closed around him she froze.

What in God's name had he been doing for the past seven years.

He was bigger. Bigger than she remembered. Thicker. Hot and heavy and pulsing in her fist. He let out a low huff of laughter against her temple as her hand stalled — then a quiet, ragged inhale as she experimentally slid her grip up and back down.

"Put it in," he said. His voice had gone smoke-rough. "Sloane."

She lined the head of him up — slow, shaking — and let her hips drop.

The first inch of him split her open and the air went out of her lungs all at once.

"Mmm — "

Her body clenched around the head of him reflexively, every muscle drawing tight. Her insides hugged the crown of his cock like something feral and starved, dragging him in deeper than she'd meant to take. The fullness shot straight up her spine into her skull and her vision sparkled.

She didn't move. She couldn't. He was too much.

The grip of her body on him made his jaw clench. He sucked a slow breath through his teeth, hands tight on her hips, and pressed her down another inch. Then another. Tearing pain scored across the base of her — she'd been celibate for years, and the first thing she'd taken was him — and her nails punched through the suit fabric at his shoulders.

"Fuck — fuck — slow down — Holden, are you on goddamn steroids — slow — "

He gritted, "Almost," and worked the rest of the way home.

When he was finally fully sheathed she could feel the head of him pressed up against the deepest part of her. The whole world narrowed to that single point of pressure.

For one long moment, neither of them moved.

Then Holden lost his control.

He pulled almost all the way out of her and slammed back in to the hilt. The metal of the stall door rattled against her shoulder blades. She gasped — and he did it again — and again — and again. The pace ramped up too fast for her to brace for it. He was fucking her like he had seven years of starvation behind every thrust.

"Mm — mm — Holden — too fast — too hot — you're going to fuck me to death — "

She had her arms hooked around his neck, hanging on for her life. Her body felt like a paper boat in his current. He was hot, he was iron-hard, he was rearranging the inside of her with every snap of his hips. The slick of her was running down between them, wet sounds clapping back from every stroke. Her thighs were trembling violently around his waist.

"Slower, slower, Holden — "

He didn't hear her. Couldn't. He was lost in it.

He drove her into the door and went after her like he was punishing it. Like he had to remake the memory of every other man who had ever touched her.

"Do you know how fucking wet you got just now," he panted into her throat. He licked the shell of her ear, sucked her earlobe between his teeth, talked through it. "Keep your voice down, baby. We're in a bathroom."

She'd forgotten where they were. The reminder hit her body before it hit her brain — her cunt clenched down hard around him, suddenly, instinctively, and Holden hissed a curse against her neck.

His palm came down on her ass, cracking. "Loosen up. You're too tight."

She whimpered, nails sliding deeper into his shoulders. The slap had only made the next clench worse.

His next thrust changed angle, the head of him dragging across some new place inside her, and her whole body convulsed. He noticed, of course he noticed, the bastard noticed everything. He laughed, low, dangerous, and aimed every stroke after that exactly there.

"Don't — don't — "

She was moving with him now. Couldn't help it. Every time her body dropped, his hips were already rising up to catch her, and he was driving in again, deeper, harder, hitting that one spot.

His mouth covered hers, swallowing all the sounds she couldn't keep in. He sucked her tongue. Saliva slipped down the corner of her mouth. The whole thing was indecent.

"Quiet," he murmured against her lips. "Someone's outside."

She heard it then. The bathroom door swinging on its hinge. Female voices, two or three, laughing at something, talking back and forth as they came in.

Sloane's whole body went rigid. She had never done this in her life. Not even in the bad old days. The closest she'd ever come was AP English junior year, when he'd slipped a small humming thing into her panties and then sat next to her for forty-five minutes while she silently came undone in her chair.

Holden hissed through his teeth, jaw locked.

"Sss — baby, you're killing me."

His pace slowed against her, gentler. He sank in deep and stayed there, just rolling his hips against the part of her that lit up under his attention, slow and grinding, while outside the stall the women's heels clicked across the tile and the laughter wove around them.