Chapter fifteen
Holly
I shut the bedroom door and just stood there for a second, heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
The pajamas were safe. That was easy. He’d loved me in them, his whole face going soft, and I was learning how to be safe with Blake. But the black silk… that was different. That was grown-up, and scary, and I didn’t even know where to start.
I peeled the pajamas off, trembling all over, and folded them as neat as I could. The silk felt so light in my hands, like it might disappear if I breathed too hard. I ran my finger along the lace, the tiny pink bows. I’d never owned anything like it. Mom would have thrown it out. Said I was too soft, too round, too nothing. “Perfect girls don’t wear things like that,” she’d sneered once, and the words stuck.
I wasn’t perfect. Not even close. But maybe that was the point.
I pulled the teddy on, careful not to rip anything. It slid over my skin like water, cool and slippery. The cups barely fit, lace stretching at the seams, and the hem didn’t even reach the tops of my thighs. I looked in the mirror and almost turned away, but I forced myself to look.
I looked ridiculous. Curvy and awkward, dark hair wild around my face, eyes too big. The lace clung to every inch of me, making me look even softer, even smaller. I hugged my arms around my chest, then let go, because I remembered what Gemma had said. You get to be both. You get to be anything you want.
I wanted to be wanted, and Blake wouldn’t have bought it if he didn’t want me. Removing it carefully, I rushed to the bathroom and got clean, then carefully redressed.
I tried to fix my hair, but the curls just bounced back. My cheeks were bright red, and my mouth wouldn’t stop trembling. I pressed my hands to my face, just breathing for a second. I could do this. He’d said he wanted all of me. Even this part. Especially this part.
I reached for Banjo, then hesitated. I didn’t know if it was silly to bring him, but I needed something to hold onto, even if it was just pretend bravery. I hugged the bunny close, then set him on the bed, promising I’d come back.
The hallway was dark, the only light spilling from under the living room door. My feet were bare. I padded down the hall, every step making me more nervous, more desperate. I could hear Blake, the sound of his voice as he talked to Biscuit. Safe. Always so safe.
I stopped at the edge of the living room, heart in my throat.
He was sitting on the couch, looking at his phone, but the second he saw me, everything went still.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t move. Just stared, hard, like he was trying to memorize every inch of me.
I almost ran, right then. My legs wanted to run so bad it hurt, but I made myself walk in, arms by my sides, lace and silk and skin on full display. My face was burning.
Blake put his phone down, slow. He didn’t say anything, but his hands curled into fists on his knees. His eyes traveled from my bare legs all the way up. It was like I’d knocked the breath out of him. All that focus. Every inch of me hot and prickly under the lace.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.
And I just stood there, shaking, wishing I could be anywhere else but here, and also wishing he’d just…do something. Look away, say it was too much, laugh. I could have handled that. Expected it, even.
But he just kept staring. Like I was something precious. Like he couldn’t look away.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hide the worst bits. The way the lace pulled at my hips. The way my thighs bulged over the hem. I wanted to cover up. I wanted to run. I wanted him to touch me so bad I thought I might die from it.
I didn’t even realize I was crying until the first tear hit my cheek.
He stood up then, slow and careful, like he was afraid if he moved too fast I’d bolt. His hands were still clenched. His jaw was sharp, eyes even sharper.
“Come here,” he said. Not a question.
I couldn’t move.
He crossed to me in two strides. Big, broad, so much taller than me. He didn’t reach out. He didn’t touch. He just stood there, letting me feel how much space he took up.
“You’re shaking.”
I nodded, because I couldn’t trust my voice.
“You’re not in trouble,” he said, softer now. “But I want to know if you’re scared. Tell me the truth.”
I swallowed. “I’m not scared of you.”
He let out a breath. I saw his shoulders drop, just a little. “What are you scared of?”
I stared at the floor. “That you’ll laugh. Or change your mind. Or tell me to go put the pajamas back on because this is wrong.”
He made a low sound, almost a growl. “Look at me, Holly.”
So I did.
His eyes were so blue it hurt to look at them.
“You think I don’t want you?” He shook his head, then reached up, slow, and brushed his thumb over my cheek where the tear had landed. “You have no idea, baby girl.”
I nearly sobbed at that. “But I’m not like Amanda. I’m not… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be what you want.”
He smiled. Not big, but real. “Amanda wore silk and heels and made it look easy. But she never wanted me. Not really. She never let herself need anything, and above all I need to be needed so badly. And that’s the last time we’re ever gonna mention her ever again.”
He stepped even closer. The heat coming off him made me dizzy. “I want you. All of you. The part that needs teddy pajamas and the part that needs this.”
He traced his finger along the edge of the lace, not quite touching skin. My breath hitched.
He leaned in, so close I could feel his breath on my face. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re perfect. I want you so bad I can’t even think straight.”
I made a noise, The way he touched me didn’t feel anything like careful, but it was. Every move was slow, deliberate. Nothing rushed. He was so big and I was so not. My heart thudded so loud I was sure he could hear it.
He didn’t kiss me at first. He just touched my face, thumb gentle on my cheek, then along my jaw. His hands were shaking, which made no sense. He was always so steady. “You sure about this?” His voice was thick, a little rougher than usual.
I nearly lost my nerve right there, but I nodded. “Yes. Please.”
He closed his eyes for a second, like he was holding himself together, then leaned in and kissed me. Not soft. Not tentative. It was the kind of kiss that made my knees buckle, even though I was already standing right in front of him. I clung to his shoulders, silk and lace and bare skin pressed between us, and it felt… right. More right than anything ever had.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “You know that?”
I shook my head. I didn’t know. Not even a little. But I wanted to.
He kissed me again, slower this time, then trailed his lips down my neck, his hands moving so carefully over my back, along the edge of the lace. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire. My breath kept catching. I couldn’t stop trembling, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, mouth close to my ear.
“I know.” I tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His hands found my waist, fingers splaying over my hips. “You can stop me anytime. Just say the word.”
I wasn’t going to. Not even if my legs gave out. The thought of him stopping was worse than the nerves.
He lifted me before I could even think to protest, just scooped me up like I weighed nothing. My arms locked around his neck. I could feel the muscles in his arms, the heat of his chest through his shirt. He carried me to the bedroom and set me down on the edge of the bed, then knelt right in front of me.
“Look at me,” he said. When I did, he smiled, real and soft. “You’re beautiful.”
My face burned. I didn’t believe him, but I wanted to.
He traced his finger along the edge of the teddy, just barely touching skin. Every place his finger found made me shiver. “If you want to stop, you tell me.”
“I don’t want to stop,” I said. It came out shaky, but true.
He got up and sat next to me, strong arm curling around my waist. His hand skimmed my thigh, careful, not pushing, just letting me get used to the idea. He kissed my shoulder, then my collarbone, then the hollow at the base of my throat. I felt every single one all the way down.
He let me set the pace. I didn’t even know how to start, but he made it easy. He didn’t take my clothes off right away, just let his hands learn the shape of my body, slow and careful, like he was memorizing every inch. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to. If I did, I’d lose the feeling of his hands on my skin.
He kissed me again, deep and hot, and I could taste the want on him. My whole body went tight. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I clung to his arm, fingers digging into his shirt. He didn’t mind. If anything, it made him bolder. He traced the straps, then the line of my shoulder, then down my spine, just barely touching.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered against my neck.
“It’s not,” I gasped. “Please don’t stop.”
He groaned, low and rough, and his hands went to my waist, then lower, cupping my hips so gently. It was so gentle it made me want to cry, but he just held me like I was precious, like every curve was something he’d waited his whole life for.
He didn’t tear the teddy. He peeled it off, slow, like unwrapping a present he’d wanted for years. I was shaking, but it wasn’t fear. It was relief, and hope, and so much wanting I thought I’d burst open.
When I was bare in front of him, I tried to cover myself, but he stopped me with a touch. “Don’t,” he said, voice ragged. “Let me look.”
I almost sobbed. No one had ever wanted to look. Not really. But he did. He looked at every inch, every scar, every patch of skin I’d always hidden.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “I want you more than I want to breathe.”
I couldn’t speak. I just let him touch me, his hands gentle at first, then hungry, then gentle again. He didn’t push. He didn’t rush. When he kissed my breast, my whole body went tight and I made a noise I’d never made before.
He smiled, then did it again, like he was learning what made me melt. He touched everywhere. My stomach. My thighs. My arms. He kissed the inside of my wrist and the spot behind my ear, and every time I made a sound he held me tighter. In another second he was naked.
When he finally moved over me, I wasn’t scared. I was nervous, sure. I was shaking so bad I thought I might fall apart. But I wanted this. I wanted him.
He paused, forehead pressed to mine. “You’re sure?” His voice was wrecked.
I nodded. My voice didn’t work, but I nodded again, and that was enough.
I watched in awe at him putting on a condom. There was no way it would fit, but when he kissed me some more I didn’t care.
He entered me careful, slow, stopping the second I tensed. “Easy, baby-girl. We go at your pace.”
I clung to him, nails digging into his back. At first it hurt—a sharp, burning stretch—but he didn’t move until I said okay. He kissed me, soft and slow, until the pain faded, and then it was just heat. Pressure. Fullness so sweet I wanted to sob.
He went slow. So slow. Every inch was a question, and every time he eased deeper, he watched my face like the world might end if I said stop. It hurt, but not in a bad way. I knew he’d go slow forever if that’s what I needed. My hands were shaking so hard I had to clutch his arms just to stay grounded, and every time his hips rocked forward I made a noise I’d never heard before in my life.
He stroked my hair, murmured things I barely understood. “Breathe for me, baby-girl. Just like that. You’re doing so good.” I felt the burn turn to heat, and then it was just pressure, and the ache inside me that never seemed to go away when he looked at me like that.
I couldn’t believe I was here. With him. Wanted. Not perfect, not even close, but he wanted me anyway.
He went even slower, moving back, then forward, and his breath hitched every time I squeezed around him. “You feel so good,” he whispered. “So goddamn perfect.”
I tried to answer, but it came out as a moan. I’d never made noise like that, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, it made him hold me tighter. His hands were everywhere. On my hips, my waist, my face. I wanted him everywhere, all at once.
When he finally pushed all the way in, I broke. The stretch was so much, but he held me still, forehead pressed to mine, his voice nothing but need. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “Don’t stop. Please, Daddy, I want you.”
He made a noise, deep in his chest, and kissed me like I was the only thing that mattered. His hips rocked steady, slow, and the burn faded into something sweet and sharp and dizzying. Every time I moved, it felt better, heat curling low in my stomach until I thought I might come apart from it.
He rolled us so I was tucked under him, but not trapped. If I’d needed to move, he would have let me. But I didn’t want to move. I wanted him to keep going forever, to never stop looking at me like that.
“Good girl,” he said, and the words made my whole body go tight. He kissed my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth, and then drove into me again, deeper this time.
I cried out, but he swallowed the sound with a kiss. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect. You feel so good, sweetheart.”
I could feel him everywhere. I’d never been so full. Never been so wanted. I tried to match his rhythm, but my legs shook too much. He held me steady, one big hand under my hip, the other gripping my wrist tight enough to make me feel safe.
I was crying again, but this time it was relief. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t ashamed. He wanted every part of me, and he wasn’t going to let me go.
He shifted, and suddenly every thrust hit something deep inside. I gasped, back arching, and he just smiled, gentle, like he’d known exactly what I needed all along.
I didn’t even know what I was doing, just that every time he rocked into me, my body went tighter, the ache inside sharper and sweeter. My legs wouldn’t stop shaking. I thought he’d mind, but he just held me tighter, hand under my hip, his voice right in my ear.
“Good girl. That’s it. Just let go for me.”
I wanted to. I wanted to so much it hurt.
He moved so slow, so careful, like he was afraid I’d shatter. But I wasn’t scared. Not of him, not of wanting. I just wanted more. I wanted him to keep going, forever. I wanted him everywhere.
“Please,” I whispered. I didn’t even know what I was begging for.
He groaned, rough, and kissed me again. “You’re perfect. Look at you. You take me so well.”
I tried, but my eyes kept fluttering shut. Every time he moved, the heat in my belly doubled. My hands clung to his arms, nails digging in, and he didn’t even flinch.
“There you go,” he murmured. “Just like that. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
And I believed him. I was wanted, and so close to something I’d never felt before. He must have seen it, because his hand came up, gentle on my cheek, brushing away the tears I didn’t know I’d made.
“Come for me, baby-girl.”
I broke. My whole body went tight, every muscle clenching, and then I was flying apart, sobbing his name. I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t stop crying. He held me through it, arms strong and safe, mouth everywhere, words soft and steady.
“That’s it. You’re safe. Good girl. I’m so proud of you.”
The words made everything sharper. The pleasure was too much, but I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted to feel it forever.
He didn’t stop. He slowed, let me ride it out, and then when I was limp and boneless and dazed, he started moving again, deeper, harder, but never rough. I could feel how much he wanted me. I could feel him everywhere, inside and out.
“I can’t wait.” His voice was wrecked.
I nodded, frantic. “Yes, Daddy. Please.”
He shuddered, and then he was gone, hips tight against mine, his breath stuttering. I felt him inside, and it made me feel… I didn’t even have a word for it. Like I was his. Like I was wanted, every inch, every piece.
He stayed over me for a minute, breathing hard, then pressed his forehead to mine. “You did so good, Holly. So good.”
I tried to answer, but my voice was gone. I just held on, shaking, and he wrapped me up, pulling the blankets around us both.
For a long time he just held me. I didn’t know if I was supposed to say anything. I was so tired. My head felt empty, spun out, but good. Really good.
