Now Or Never by Stella Rhys

19

IAIN

I hadn’t wantedto make the call last night, but I did, and and as predicted, it went long.

Far longer than I would have liked.

But I refused to let it affect me by morning. I forced the conversation to the back of my head as I got dressed and skipped the jacket, because as if to offset my mood, the day was particularly sunny.

Scorching, in fact. The temperature was at nearly a hundred degrees and the forecast had it getting hotter by afternoon, which made me grateful for the fact that I’d be watching today’s game at Fenway from the indoor comfort of a suite.

After completing the signing, taking the customary pictures, shaking a couple hands and giving a few quotes to the media, I headed down toward the field.

I was at the elevators when I got a text. From Holland.

I looked at her name on my phone, just taking in the sight of it for a moment. Then with a hasty swipe, I unlocked my screen, my eyebrows pulling together as I read her text.

HOLLAND:Think the AC’s on high enough here?

As soon as I finished reading the words, a picture came in.

And lit my eyes on fire.

It was Holland sitting at her desk at work. Only the lower half of her face was visible, and I could see a hint of her tongue sticking out between mischievously grinning lips. She was wearing a light brown dress with short sleeves, a high crew neck, and her hard nipples showing through. Like two pencil erasers fighting against the thick but clearly-not-thick-enough cotton of her top.

I clenched my teeth, a dozen conflicting emotions warring inside me as I stared at those tits.

Those fucking perfect tits. I wanted to suck on them and at the same time I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and march her the fuck out of that office before anyone laid eyes on her.

ME:For Christ’s sake Holland

ME: Why aren’t you wearing a bra

HOLLAND:There’s a bra built into this dress!

ME: It’s doing nothing to keep you covered

HOLLAND: What’s your definition of covered? Last I checked my boobs weren’t hanging out

I started and stopped a response to her last text, fighting off the mental image of her sitting completely topless at her desk before scrolling back up to the picture and looking at everything surrounding her.

A busy office. An open layout. More than a few men in sight. Goddammit. I wanted to believe that I was more rational than this. The world wasn’t going to end if Holland walked around without a bra on. That was the truth.

And yet, every drop of blood inside me was simmering at the thought of her blithely going about her workday, unaware of all the eyes on her as she did innocuous things like sit up straight or fix her ponytail.

I could just imagine the men in her being office quietly thrilled as they eyed her all day, hitting each other with knowing looks every time she reached her arms up to stretch.

HOLLAND:Don’t worry. I’ll wear my hair in front of my boobs during happy hour

Happy hour?

Jesus fuck. I ground my teeth at the idea of Holland getting drunk with a bunch of horny coworkers who’d spent their entire day ogling her tits.

ME:There’s no way in hell you’re going out drinking like that Holland.

HOLLAND:Really

HOLLAND: And who’s going to stop me? You?

HOLLAND:While you’re all the way in Boston?

I stilled, realizing where this was headed.

Whether or not she’d sought out with the particular mission, it was most definitely what she was doing now: tempting me into wanting to go home—specifically to take that weekend she was so insistent I needed.

I dragged a hand across the lower half of my face, my head feeling briefly like it was going to explode, because annoyed as I was, I couldn’t help the smirk curving my lips. I couldn’t help but shake my head in bitter but thoroughly impressed disbelief as I texted her back.

ME: You work for one of the largest lingerie companies in the world. Surely you can buy a bra for yourself at work.

HOLLAND: True. I should probably buy new panties while I’m at it.

I paused, telling myself to finish my point instead of walk willingly into her trap.

But didn’t work.

ME:Are yours wet right now?

My mistake.

I shouldn’t have asked that question considering how much effort it was already taking me to will down my hard-on. But I couldn’t help myself and considering that always eager pussy of hers, I already knew the answer. At least I thought I did.

HOLLAND:They would be if I were wearing any.

Fuck.

I was about to ask for a picture when it came in on its own. An under-the-desk shot with her camera positioned between her open legs, the gleam of her wetness more than evident despite the shoddy lighting.

Fucking fuck. She was at work with no bra or panties on, and her pussy looked like it was aching to be fucked over her desk. The mere thought had me picturing myself bending her over, spanking her ass till she screamed, and the fantasy barreled on even as I returned the nod and smile of a colleague coming my way.

“Thorn. Incredible job on the Crosby deal,” Dave said, oblivious to my clenching jaw as I reluctantly clicked my screen off and turned my outward focus to him.

“Appreciate it, Dave.”

“Bet you can’t wait for the new collective bargaining agreement,” he laughed, clapping my shoulder as we stepped into the elevator.

“Just counting down the days,” I replied, smiling through my every disruptively filthy thought about Holland, and shooting the shit on auto-pilot till Dave and I reached the suites, where I was greeted with a brand new slew of suits who needed to shake my hand, give their congratulations and pick my brain about the contract extension.

And like I did every day of my life, I went with it.

But the difference today was that under the easy exterior, the handshakes, and all the obligatory chuckles and hollow small talk, every cell in my body was fucking rioting.

Straining to be in New York.

My need to be near Holland was torture like I’d never known before, and I couldn’t tell if it was the best part or worst part that she knew. She knew exactly what she was doing to me, and for that, I had to reluctantly hand to it her, because from what I could tell, new Holland was all about her goals. When she had one in mind, she tackled it.

And as much as it fucked me right now, I had to admire that.

* * *

“Ooh, I’ve never been to Cincinnati.”

I didn’t look up from my phone as the redhead across from me feigned interest in my trip.

Then again, it may not have been feigned, considering I was sitting at the hotel bar with my colleague from the agency, Miles, who had mentioned the fact that we’d be flying private tomorrow morning. He was newly-divorced and eager to get laid, which was why he’d in fact mentioned several things. Like who he was. Who I was. Which star athletes we represented.

I’d watched the redhead’s friend openly Google me on her phone before looking at me with eyes that lit up like she’d just won the jackpot.

She hadn’t stopped with the whole giving eyes thing since.

“I lived in Cincinnati for two years,” she purred, touching my arm. “I loved it.”

It was a fact that would have been far from captivating to me on a regular night, but tonight, it was actually painfully boring. I was normally better—outstanding, in fact—at feigning interest, but that particular skill was on hiatus right now as I watched the ellipses blink and disappear on my phone, indicating that Holland was replying to the text I’d caved and sent her ten minutes ago.

Where are you now?

After the second picture she’d sent this afternoon, the remainder of my day had become a test of will. Whether I had the self-restraint to abstain from texting her back and risking the receipt of another photo that would undoubtedly piss me off as much as it would turn me on.

Thanks to back-to-back-to-back meetings from three to nine, the test had gone well.

Of course, within twenty minutes of downtime here at the bar, I’d discarded the entire day’s efforts by firing off that four-word text.

“That’s nice,” I told Red’s friend just as Holland’s reply came in.

HOLLAND:Still out :)

HOLLAND:With my hair over my boobs

“Girlfriend?”

I didn’t know which of the women asked, but Miles provided the answer—“he’s single”— as I thought about the fact that Holland’s hair hung just past her shoulders. It wasn’t long enough to cover her tits, but I wasn’t going to point out the obvious to her.

ME:Send me a picture.

HOLLAND:It’s dark!

HOLLAND:Phone is dying

I clicked my phone off and looked away for a moment, annoyed with both her dying phone and the fact that I was actively wasting my own time.

Picture or not, I couldn’t be where she was at right now. I was in Boston now, I’d be in Cincinnati tomorrow, and I couldn’t throw my jacket over her no matter what picture she sent, which meant I was knowingly torturing myself. Voluntarily getting myself all tight and wound up.

It had been so long since I’d allowed myself to feel this way that I couldn’t help but enjoy the sensation for a bit.

My blood humming in my veins. The restless buzzing in my muscles.

Once upon a time, I had a way to take care of this feeling. Generally with fucking, fighting or speeding, whether on my board, my bike or in my car. Obviously, the last two weren’t things I took part in anymore. Aside from the fact that I was no longer a reckless piece of shit, I had a career now. I was head of a high-profile agency representing clients who saw me as their prime example of exemplary behavior. My advising them to stay out of trouble wouldn’t hold quite the same weight if they knew about the things I used to do, which was one of the reasons I didn’t do them anymore.

The fighting and speeding had been abandoned a long time ago.

Which of course left me with just the fucking.

It had worked fine for me over the past five years, when I had a long-term relationship with a woman I didn’t care about. She enjoyed it as fast and hard as I liked to give it, and I enjoyed getting off as much as I always did. Fucking Keira did the job when I didn’t have that same steam to blow off. When I didn’t allow myself to get riled up past a certain point.

Of course, whatever point that was, I was past it now.

I hadn’t wanted to admit it, but in all likelihood, I’d passed it sometime in the last week with Holland. Whether it was that first night I made her show me her pussy, the night I fucked her at the hotel or the night I watched her ride me in the back of my car like a porn star, I wasn’t sure.

For all I knew it was the kiss.

But whatever it was, it didn’t matter. I was inching toward the edge of crazy with my need to be near her, inside her right now, and the smart thing to do would be to quell that energy before it got any bigger.

The smart thing to do would be to remind myself that I could get satisfaction elsewhere. I could fuck Red and her friend like their eyes had been begging me to for the past forty-five minutes. I could easily take them to my room and do whatever I wanted to ease the fire in my bones, because the last thing I needed right now was this growing restlessness. A chance of revisiting even a shade of my past.

And the fact of the matter was that I wasn’t dating Holland.

We were just fucking.

We had no agreement to fuck only each other, and a part of me still hated the fact that she had any sort of effect on me, let alone this much of one. Because while I’d never felt this before, I knew she was the start of something dangerous.

The start of a weakness I didn’t need.

MILES:Hey ever heard of sharing you prick?

I smirked at the text Miles sent me despite being right across from me.

He was laughing as he sent it, shooting me a what the fuck look over the girls’ heads, because both were facing me now, openly ignoring every word he tried to get in. All I’d done was force myself to ask a half-assed question—something about the concert they were in town for—but apparently, that was all it took for them to get hopeful and turn up the sultry act about a thousand percent. They touched me and each other at any chance they could get, and at this point, everything in their body language was code for ménage. Down the bar from Miles, my other colleagues were watching, grinning at me, shaking their heads.

They wanted what I had.

A fantasy scenario in the form of two attractive women flirting with me while pressing their tits against each other, practically cuddling on the same bar stool as they talked about why they were in town, how they did “everything” together.

“And I mean everything, so if you take her to see the view in your room, you have to take me with you,” Red smiled, wetting her lips while playing with a wavy lock of her friend’s hair.

The view we’d verbally discussed was the harbor.

The one we were actually talking about was my dick, obviously.

It was pulsing in need of attention now. A warm pussy to sink into and relentlessly pound till I got my much-needed release. I had two ready and waiting in front of me at this very moment, and it said something about the state I’d let myself fall into when the responsible decision here was to fuck them.

The thrill of two wouldn’t be anywhere as good as who and what I actually wanted right now, but I told myself it would be worthwhile to hold myself over. To settle myself long enough to get me through my meetings tomorrow.

Still, I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t get myself anywhere fucking close enough to interested, so with a few words to the bartender, I got the check.

“Wait—what? So soon?” Red attempted a cutesy pout despite the clear panic in her eyes. “But… aren’t you going to show us your view?” she asked hastily, rubbing her palm against my thigh—a Hail Mary to bring back what little of my attention she’d had.

I ignored her, signing the check and sliding it across the bar before briskly removing her hand.

“No,” I said.

A bit cold, perhaps, but I’d spent enough time pretending to care and at this point, I was maxed out on my ability to feign even a little bit of interest. So once I tossed back the last of my drink, I gave a goodbye nod to Miles, who mouthed a thrilled thank you to me behind the girls’ heads. I managed a laugh for him before heading for the doors.

And just as I got there, a new text buzzed into my phone.

From Holland.

I’d barely gotten past the H in her name before swiping my thumb over the screen to look at the latest picture she’d sent.

“For fuck’s sake,” I hissed aloud as my eyes immediately devoured her mirror selfie from the bathroom of the bar.

In it, she stuck her tongue out between grinning lips. Her sneakered foot was up on the sink, and she took the photo with one hand while yanking her neckline down with the other. Flashing me her bare pussy and just one of her tits.

And turning me into an instant fucking animal.

I didn’t even remember calling her, but before I knew it, I had my phone on my ear and my jaw clenched tight as I waited to hear Holland pick up.

And when she finally did, she had a teasing lilt in her voice.

“Iain.”

“You’re killing me,” I said as I strode out of the bar.

“I know,” she replied softly. Smugly.

“How much have you had to drink?” I asked.

She exhaled something indignant. “I’m on my ten millionth shot and I’m about to enter a wet T-shirt contest. Is that cool with you?”

“Holland,” I warned, jabbing my finger at the elevator button.

“Iain,” she countered, laughing so jovially I wanted to laugh with her, but it was impossible considering the state of my throbbing dick and the fact that she was most certainly seconds from putting me in my place. “First off, Mister Serious,” she started with an audible smirk. “It’s entirely your choice to be working at 10PM on a Friday night. Second, like I’ve told you a million times, I’m a big girl. I know my limits and I’m not so drunk right now that I’m going to forget to cover my tits and pussy before I go back outside.”

I stepped into the elevator, breathing deep as my piece-of-shit brain gave me a mental picture of that.

“Where are you right now?” I asked.

“The bathroom where I took a million naked selfies.”

“Send them to me.”

“Later. Where are you?”

“Heading to my room.”

“By yourself?”

“Yes.”

She paused for a moment, as if letting my answer sink in. “What are you going to do?”

“Jack off while I look at pictures of your pussy,” I said as the elevator stopped to open its doors on the third floor. Two women smiled at me as they walked in, and I heard Holland giggle at the sound of the automated voice saying, “Third floor. Going up.”

“Are you hard right now?” she asked, her words just slurred enough for my jaw to tense.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Do you want to fuck me right now?”

“Very much.”

She sighed, quiet for a couple seconds. “I want that too,” she finally said, sounding like the sweetest mix of tired, dreamy and tipsy. “I want your cock so bad, Iain. I just want to feel you come inside me,” she murmured, forcing me to tug on my bottom lip to suppress a groan.

And as if her breathy wish for my cum wasn’t torture enough, I suddenly heard the creaking of the bathroom door followed by the din of a crowd. She was back at the bar. The elevator stopped on another floor as I heard her order another margarita before murmuring into the phone again.

“Are you going to do that when you come back home?” she asked me.

I kept my expression neutral in the near full elevator, the occasional eyes darting my way. Under my stoic shell and tailored suit, no one would guess that I wasn’t discussing business with a colleague. That I was in fact talking to my best friend’s little sister. Reassuring her of my plans to fill her pussy with my cum.

“Of course I am,” I murmured.

Holland hummed a sound of satisfaction. “Are you going to be rough with me?” she asked curiously, sending blood rushing to my already stiff cock. I drew in a breath and let it out, needing a second to respond.

“Do you want me to be?” I asked, earning myself a curious glance from one of the women to my right.

“Yes,” Holland said just as the elevator stopped on the floor of the hotel restaurant. My grip on my phone tightened as everyone got out, and as soon as I was alone again, I exhaled hard into the phone.

“I need to fuck you, Holland,” I said, prompting her to whine adorably.

“Don’t say that right now.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she huffed as I heard the sound of a voice in the background. Someone asking her if a seat was taken. I couldn’t be sure if she nodded or shook her head, if someone was next to her or not before she started talking to me again. “Because you’re making me too horny, Iain, and it’s not comfortable for me to be this wet without any panties on.”

I stilled at her words, clenching my jaw hard as the doors opened on my floor. “I don’t want you talking like that in public, Holland,” I said, feeling my pulse steadily rising as I stepped out.

“Why?” she asked, sounding so genuinely confused that I entertained the brief compulsion to call the bar she was at and tell them that she was cut off for the night.

“Because I can guarantee you there are already several guys who’ve had their eye on you all night,” I said tightly, furiously loosening my tie as I got into the room. “And the last thing I want them to hear is you talking about how you don’t have any panties covering that wet pussy of yours.”

“Iain, it’s way too loud for them to hear. And even if they did, it’s not like they’re going to just bend me over the bar and take me without asking,” she said with a little laugh that went straight to my balls. Then she paused, mischief in her voice as she said, “I only let one person do that.”

My grip tightened on my phone. I could’ve fucking thrown it at this point.

Instead, I hit speaker and tossed it onto the bed, whipping my tie off my neck and picturing it wound around Holland’s wrists.

“Did I already tell you how much you’re goddamned killing me right now?” I asked heatedly as I undid the buttons on my shirt.

“Mm-hm.”

“Forgot how much you like pissing me off.”

“It’s one of my new favorite things.”

My lip curled. “You used to be such a good girl.”

“I was,” she agreed, her voice quiet and far away. “And I still would’ve sucked your dick if you asked me to.”

Fucking hell.

My temper spiked as I paused in the middle of the room. “I told you I don’t like when you talk like that,” I growled.

“Well,I like it. It’s making me hump my chair right in the middle of the bar.”

I closed my eyes for a second. “You better be lying to me, Holland.”

“I might be. I might not be.”

“Holland.”

“I might just make myself come right in front of everyone right now,” she said, making me clench my grip on the buckle of my belt. “Too bad you’re not here, and there’s no way for you to find—”

The call cut off suddenly.

Both calls back went straight to her voicemail.

Her phone was dead. Fuck.

Instinctively, I flew into problem-solving mode. I could call the bar. If I knew where she was. I could get her roommate’s contact information. Though she wasn’t necessarily with Holland right now. My mind ran through a thousand ways to reach her before I realized none were feasible, and for once, I didn’t have a solution. My only option was to undress in a fury and get in the shower, turn on the cold water and hope to put out the fire she’d set under my skin.

Of course, that didn’t work, so instead I jacked it like an animal. With my muscles tensed and my head tipped back, I let the water rain down on me as I furiously fisted my cock while thinking about how completely goddamned insane Holland Maxwell drove me.

And every way I planned to punish her when I got back to New York.