Page 24 of Sunday's Best

His mouth captures mine, and all at once, we’re the only two people who exist. Our kiss is ravenous and reckless, and my back collides with the cool metal of a pickup truck. He has me caged with his big arms pressed to the truck on either side of my head.

His kisses move to my jaw. My ear. My neck. I quiver at the brush of his stubble on my skin. All I can do is curve my body to give him better access. What I really want is to grab his rough hands and direct them to the most intimate part of me.

“Fuck, I want you so bad.” He says the words like they’re paining him, his teeth scraping the side of my neck. “You’re sweeter than the dessert.”

Holden grabs my ass and pulls my pelvis roughly into him. Oh, God. He feels so big. My hips develop a mind of their own, rolling to feel the hard length of him pressing against me. My stomach hollows, a trapped whimper slipping through my clenched teeth when he bumps my clit.

His thumb drags along the low-cut neckline of my dress, and when he pulls the fabric down low enough for my pebbled nipple to slip out, every thought I’ve ever had scatters like beads from a broken necklace. He sucks the tender peak into his mouth, and I gasp, hands coming to his head.

I’m desperate to say his name, but afraid I’ll end up screaming it.

With a low groan, his lips come to find mine again. We are totally fucked. This doesn’t feel like two horny adults who find one other attractive. He doesn’t look at me as a means to an orgasmic end, and I’m afraid if we keep going, we’ll destroy ourselves. But the cost of stopping this now is never knowing how it feels to come undone at the mercy of Holden Kearney. I’m not sure I’ll be able to live with that.

My hips move fast against his hard cock now, tilting and grinding despite the layers of clothing between us. He’s hitting my clit so aggressively it borders on painful, but in a good, delicious way. In a way that has me writhing and arching against him, pushing myself to the brink. And then over.

I fall into the orgasm, trusting Holden entirely. He muffles my cry with a sweeping kiss, then straightens my dress and smooths his hands over my mussed-up hair.

“Sunday, I⁠—”

“We should go.” I’m too fragile post-orgasm to hear him explain once again how we shouldn’t have done this.

I get it. I’m nothing but a mistake he can’t stop himself from making. And each time, he comes to his senses a little too late, stealing pieces of my heart in the process.

Nine

The following morning I’m sitting sideways in the back seat of the pickup, with my knees tucked to my chest. I tilt my head from side to side, bringing my hand up to massage the knot at the nape of my neck. I groan a little, and Holden’s eyes immediately cut to meet mine in the rearview mirror.

“If you sat normally, your neck wouldn’t hurt,” he offers.

“Mmm, I think it’s from last night.” I narrow my eyes at his reflection before adding, “Slept wrong.”

Holden’s hands twist around the leather steering wheel, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “Even still…. Seatbelts work better when people are sitting properly.”

I huff and twist, letting my bare feet fall to the floorboards with a bratty stomp. I lost my flip-flops somewhere in the truck cab a few hours ago. “Can we stop somewhere and get out to stretch? We have the rest of the week to make it back home, I don’t understand why you insist on driving for twelve hours straight.”

Holden cranes his neck to look at his brother in the passenger seat. Sunglasses on, hat pulled low, Logan’s head lolls against the window. He didn’t join me in bed until sometime after I’d fallen into a deep, orgasm-induced slumber. It’s no wonder he’s out cold now.

“Thought you wanted to get home,” Holden says in a low voice.

“Well, yeah… but that doesn’t mean we can’t make the most of our time now.”

The tension in his cheek muscle indicates he picked up on the undertones of that sentence. He straightens in his seat, stealing yet another glance at Logan.

“No… no, it doesn’t.” He busies himself with checking his side mirrors, then adjusting them when he needs further distraction. “It’s gonna be weird not having you around.”

“Weird how?” I raise an eyebrow. “No more peppermint mocha creamer in the fridge for you to scoff at? I know you love to start your day annoyed.”

He snorts. “Yeah, that. And a lot less products cluttering the bathroom.”

“Half of those are Logan’s, and you know it.”

After a beat of silence, Holden adds, “My nights are going to be a lot less interesting.”

“Less… complicated, though.”

“Yeah,” he exhales. “You make it hard to keep things simple—I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

I nod slowly, staring out the window at the Saskatchewan prairies, with leaning, weathered barns and tall grasses fanning across flat fields in the ever present breeze. He makes it hard to keep things simple, too.