Chapter 279: Every Inch

Holly’s POV

“No, no, hear me out,” she interrupted.

“There are just a few steps for you to take. Step one: make sure he’s tied up first. Use his own fancy ties. Guys like him always have silk ones. Step two: ride him until he confesses whether he’s a serial killer or just emotionally constipated. Step three: if he confesses to murder, finish him off with the world’s most earth-shattering orgasm so he dies happy. Step four: run like hell and call me from a burner phone in Mexico.”

I choked on a laugh despite myself. “You’re deranged. What happened to you? I thought you were gonna scold me.”

“Scold you? Girl, I’m tired of scolding someone that never listens. But seriously, Hols…if he so much as breathes wrong, knee him in the balls and bolt. I’ll bail you out. I’ve got bail money saved from the bakery. Business has been good lately.”

I giggled and glanced toward the kitchen. David was moving around now…quiet clinks of plates, the soft hiss of something on the stove. The domesticity of it made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

“He’s… cooking for me,” I whispered. “Like, actually cooking. And earlier he gave me this massage that—” My voice cracked. “Kay, his hands. Everywhere but where I wanted them. Slow. So fucking slow. I’m soaked through his shirt and he hasn’t even tried to touch me there. He just… kissed the spot on my neck where he grabbed me earlier. Like he was apologizing with his lips. I can still feel it tingling.”

Kayla whistled low. “Okay, that’s next-level foreplay. Or grooming. Fifty-fifty shot.”

“I know.” I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper. “But when he was massaging my feet… God. Thumbs dragging up the arch, rolling each toe like he was worshiping them. Then my calves…higher, higher, stopping right at the backs of my knees. I swear if he’d gone one inch more I would’ve come on the spot. And he just… stopped. Smiled. Told me to relax. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me and decided to let me suffer.”

“Oh God, Holly,” she muttered, half frustrated. “I can’t believe that I’ve gotten to the point where I enjoy the stories from your mad encounter with that dude. You’re basically a live wire right now, aren’t you?”

“Pulsing,” I admitted, thighs squeezing together under the throw blanket. “Like, embarrassingly wet. Every time he breathes near my ear I clench. And he’s acting like a saint. Cooking. Ironing his shirt for me to sleep in. I can smell whatever he’s making…garlic, sauce, something warm…and all I can think about is him feeding it to me. Finger by finger. Then licking the sauce off my lips. Then—”

A loud noise crashed from the hallway…something heavy hitting the floor, followed by a muffled curse.

I froze, phone still pressed to my ear.

Kayla’s voice sharpened. “Holly? What was that?”

I didn’t answer. Because I heard footsteps.

David was coming back down the hall with a tray balanced in his hands.

The moment he came closer, I hurried bid Kayla goodbye and hung up. David knelt in front of me after setting the tray down, close enough that his knees brushed the edge of the couch between my bare feet.

The steam from the pasta curled up between us like smoke, carrying garlic and cream and something richer…him.

His shirt on me suddenly felt too thin, the cotton brushing my nipples every time I breathed, every tiny shift sending sparks straight down my spine.

My gaze dragged shamelessly over him…cut abs tightening as he moved, veins standing out along his forearms like they knew they were being watched. Heat pooled low in my stomach, sharp and impatient, as if he’d laid himself out on the table on purpose, a feast meant only for me.

He leaned down as though finally surrendering to the food, close enough that I could feel the warmth rolling off his skin. But his hands bypassed the plate entirely.

They found me instead.

Fingers grazing, deliberate and unhurried, like he wanted me aware of every second he chose me over everything else in the room.

His fingertips ghosted along the outside of my calf…barely there, just enough to make the fine hairs stand up to the back of my knee, where he paused, thumb circling once, twice, pressing just hard enough that my thigh muscle jumped involuntarily.

I sucked in a breath.

His eyes flicked up…dark, steady, watching every flicker across my face like he was memorizing the exact second my control started to fray.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice so low it vibrated against my skin.

“I’m not,” I lied. My voice came out thinner than I wanted.

He smiled…small, knowing…and let his palm slide higher, cupping the back of my thigh now, thumb stroking the sensitive inner crease where leg met body. Not pushing. Not demanding. Just… holding in a warm, heavy and promising way.

My core clenched hard…empty, aching, slick enough that I could feel it between my thighs. I pressed them together instinctively, trying to ease the throb, but all it did was trap the heat and make it worse.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His other hand came up, mirroring the first…both palms now cradling the backs of my thighs, thumbs tracing lazy, maddening circles inches from where I needed them most. He leaned in until his forehead almost touched mine, breath warm against my lips.

“I can smell how wet you are,” he whispered, the words rough, reverent. “Been able to since the massage. Every time I touched your neck… your feet… your hands… you got wetter. Didn’t you?”

Heat flooded my face…and lower. I couldn’t deny it. My clit was swollen, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, begging for friction he refused to give.

“David…”

“Say it,” he breathed. “Tell me what you want.”

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I should be careful around him. I should be scared and angry. But right now... “I want—”

He waited. Patient. Torturous.

I couldn’t finish. The words stuck…too shameless, too raw. I shouldn’t say anything. I have to be strong.

But my body failed me.

I shifted forward…just a fraction…and his thumbs slid higher in reward, brushing the very edge of my folds through the thin fabric of his shirt. Not inside. Not yet. Just… there. Teasing the slick heat, spreading it, letting me feel how embarrassingly ready I was.

A whimper escaped before I could stop it.

His grip tightened…only a little, but enough to pin me in place.

“Holly,” he murmured against my mouth. Not kissing. Not yet. Just breathing me in. “Look at you. Soaking my shirt. Dripping down your thighs. And I haven’t even tasted you.”

My hips rocked forward on their own shamelessly…seeking, desperate. He let me grind once against his thumbs, let me feel the blunt pressure against my clit, then pulled back just enough to deny me the rhythm.

I whined…actual, pathetic whine.

He kissed the corner of my mouth…soft, chaste…then dragged his lips along my jaw, down the column of my throat, pausing again at the faint red marks his fingers had left earlier.

“I’m going to kiss every inch of these better,” he promised, voice wrecked. “Then I’m going to kiss lower. And lower. Until you’re crying for me to let you come.”

My head fell back against the couch. “Please…”

“Please what, baby?”

“Please… touch me.” I couldn’t believe the way I sounded…desperate.

“I am touching you.” His thumbs circled again…slow, slick, maddeningly light. “This isn’t enough?”

“No,” I gasped. “More. Please…more.”

He groaned…low, guttural…and finally, finally, one thumb slipped between my folds, gliding through the wetness, bumping my clit once…sharp, perfect…before retreating again.

I cried out…half sob, half plea.

He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing ragged now. “You’re killing me, Holly. I want to bury my face between your legs and eat you until you can’t walk. Want to feel you come on my tongue, then on my fingers, then on my cock…over and over until you forget how scared you were of me today.”

My nails dug into his shoulders. “Then do it.”

“Not yet.” He kissed me then…slow, deep, filthy…tongue stroking mine like he was already fucking me with it. When he pulled back, his eyes were black with want. “First you eat. Then you rest. Then…if you still want me after you’ve had time to think…I’ll give you everything. Every inch. Every way you can take it.”

Every inch?

He stood…slow, reluctant…adjusting himself with a grimace that made my mouth water.

“Eat,” he ordered again, softer this time. Voice wrecked. “Before I lose what little control I have left and fuck you right here on this couch until the sun comes up.”

I stared up at him…lips swollen, thighs trembling, pussy throbbing so hard it hurt.

He picked up the fork, twirled a bite of pasta, and held it to my mouth.

“Open.”

I did.

He fed me…slow, careful…watching my lips close around the fork like it was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

Every bite felt like foreplay.

Every swallow felt like surrender.

And when he finally set the fork down and leaned in to lick a stray drop of cream from the corner of my mouth…slow drag of his tongue…I knew I was already lost.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.

“Tell me to stop,” he said again, quieter this time. “And I will.”

My voice was barely a whisper.

“Don’t you dare.”