Ignition

Britt

Brace yourselves as my first fierce snowstorm of the season swirls in, bringing more than just icy chills. Imagine, if you will, the scene set for an epic showdown—right in my frosty backyard. It's Fitz, whose arrival could only be described as disastrously ill-timed and fashionably underdressed. As the snow blankets my streets, Fitz's calamitous entrance at Power Play sets tongues wagging faster than the wind outside. Will this storm force hidden feelings into the open, or will it simply bury the truth under a new layer of frost? Warm your hands and steel your hearts. I'm about to show us all how a real storm is weathered—with a dash of drama, a pinch of pathos, and my own special brand of spontaneous hospitality. Stay tuned, for the storm is just beginning, and its tales are as unpredictable as a biting wind.

Playlist: "Hazy Shade of Winter" by The Bangles

If Fitz isn't already dead, I'm going to kill him myself. What the hell was he thinking? It's bad enough that he came here—almost certainly at my father's request—but the fact that he arrived during a snowstorm in that stupid little race car is so very like him.

No common sense. At all.

I would rather lick Montgomery's boots than go on a single date with a man who has literally no self-awareness.

Unfortunately, he's here, which somehow means he's my responsibility. At the very least, I need to tell him that he's wasted his time. Holden and Shep straggle after me as I charge into the bar, puffing clouds of steam as I go.

Fitz is standing by the bar. His usually perfect chestnut hair is ruffled by the wind, his freckled cheeks are windburned, and he's sopping wet. He's also woefully underdressed for the weather. The moment he sees me, he lets out a pained cry and lifts his arms.

"Britt!" he calls. "You're alive!"

I sidestep his bid for an embrace. "You ran off the road fifteen feet from this place. Get a grip. And no, that wasn't an invitation for a hug."

Fitz sticks out his bottom lip, and his eyes do a puppy-dog thing that probably works on a certain gold-digging kind of woman, but makes me groan. Fitz isn't a bad guy, per se, but he's kind of like a puppy that hasn't been housetrained. I don't hate him for being what he is, but there is less than zero chemistry between us. Fitz would never demand that I drop to my knees for him. In fact, if he's ever even had his dick sucked, I'd be surprised.

"But I'm cold," he whines. "And my loafers are soaked, and this suit is going to be ruined with salt stains from the road…"

There are a surprising number of people at Power Play, undeterred by the foul weather outside, but they're an eerily quiet bunch. All of them are fixated by the little drama unfolding before them. All they need is a bucket of overly buttered popcorn wedged between their torsos, the perfect size to share. How long, I wonder, until news of this drama hits the airwaves to be dissected by Mickey and Arnie?

"Not even a little hug?" Fitz asks. "When I almost died?"

Declyn leans back on his barstool so that he can see over Bennett's back. "I'll give you a huggle, you strange, anxious little man."

Tierney shushes him.

He turns toward her and stage whispers, "What? It's called taking one for the team."

"I'm pretty sure you can't stay here," I tell him. "And the motel's closed, so we'll have to figure out what to do with you."

Fitz runs his hands through his hair. "I thought I could stay with you. I wanted to beat my package here, and it would be a romantic gesture and… oh, none of this is going like I planned!"

Hand to God I think Shep mumbles something like, "Bro beat his own package all the way up here?"

At the mention of romance, Beth straightens up behind the bar. I can feel her gaze on me, and the rising heat in my face.

"Well, you can't," I blurt.

"You can stay with the boys," Beth says. "Seeing as my motel is out of commission and there are no other options."

All three of her sons groan, but they snap their mouths closed when her eyes narrow.

"But, Mom…" Boone starts.

"He can stay in the spare room," she says. "The one Declyn moved out of."

Bennett shoots a glare in Declyn's direction as if to say that this is all his fault.

Brogan is the first of the brothers to lift his hands in surrender. "I need to plow before I go home. Could be a while."

"Perfect," Beth says, refocusing her glare on her older boys. "While you do that, your brothers can get this nice young man settled into his room."

"But, Mom…" Boone tries again.

She jabs a finger in his direction. "You definitely need to get this man out of his expensive Italian loafers that I've been hearing about for an hour. And maybe give him something to wear instead of this three-piece suit. In a blizzard." She lifts an eyebrow in Fitz's general direction. "I know you were planning to have a bonfire tonight. I'm sure you have enough room for one more. This is Sorrowville, and we're nothing if not hospitable."

Bennett sizes Fitz up. Apparently, the puppy-dog eyes don't work on him either, because he wrinkles his nose. "He's a little skinny for my wardrobe. I don't think I have anything that will fit him, but maybe Britt does."

From behind me, Shep pipes up, "Oh, good thinking! We'll take him by the house on the way. We're going there now, since Britt's moving in with Holden while the motel's repaired."

Fitz's mouth drops open, and our audience sucks in a collective breath. Lovely, not only have we volunteered to shuttle Fitz around for now, Shep has also announced to practically the whole town that I'm moving in with Holden now. I wouldn't mind so much, but Tierney and Beth are smirking at each other, and I already know I'm never going to hear the end of this.

"I thought he was your best friend," I hiss to Holden.

"He thinks he's helping." Holden's defeat is evident in his posture. "But it's hard to tell sometimes."

Fitz shuffles his damp loafers against the floor. "Um, I'm going to need my luggage," he whispers.

"Cool," Holden says. "Grab it."

Fitz lifts a trembling finger to point toward the road outside. Despite my irritation, he's still a human being. And he deserves kindness. I wasn't thinking about how cold he must be, but we really should get him out of those clothes. "It's in the car."

Holden troops toward the door. "Of course, it is. Come on, let's grab your things and get out of here."

"See you at the end of your next delivery, Express!" Heath calls from the bar.

Holden flips him the bird over his shoulder.

Between Shep and Holden, it doesn't take long for them to retrieve Fitz's things. It's colder in the van than the bar, though, and within minutes, Fitz is shivering so badly that I can hear his teeth rattling over the whoosh of the radiator.

"Seriously, Fitz." I twist around to look between the seats. "What are you doing here?"

"Y-your f-f-father said I should c-come. That you m-missed me." Fitz sniffs and rubs his nose on the sleeve of his sodden blazer. "I came as soon as I c-c-could."

"What exactly did he tell you?" I ask.

Fitz sniffs again and turns his face to the window. "That you were thinking about your future, and that there might be a place for me in it."

I study his profile. "Fitz. Be honest with me. Do you even like me?"

"I don't really know you," he mumbles. "But you're smart, successful, beautiful, and you'd make an exceptional wife for a man like me."

"So, why drive all the way here just because my dad decrees it?"

Misogynistic crap like this really gets under my skin. Just because I'm female doesn't mean I need a man to validate me. This idea that my achievements don't count unless they come with a ring? Ridiculous. I've worked too damn hard to let some outdated notion of marriage define my worth, trust fund be damned. Fitz's attitude is a prime example of the backward thinking I got my law degree for just so I could fight against it.

He sighs. "Because I like your dad, and because the two of us have a lot in common. Or at least, I thought I did. Can I ask you something? Why are you here?"

Technically, I'm here to spite my father. And to visit Tierney. Or at least, that's why I was here. Now, as I watch Shep and Holden waddle back toward the van, carrying Fitz's bag between them, I realize I have a new answer.

"Because I like it here," I say.

Fitz lets out an incredulous little grunt. "But it's so… It's so…" He waves a hand to encompass the street, the snow, and the cluster of curious onlookers who have just emerged from Power Play and are standing in the street, watching our progress.

I smile over my shoulder. "Yeah. Exactly. It's real. And people care about each other. Do you think a perfect stranger would have offered you a place to stay if this happened down in the cities? You'd be lucky if anyone even stopped to see if you needed help getting out of the ditch."

To his credit, Fitz doesn't argue, or offer up any number of unflattering opinions that my dad would have had at the ready. He just slumps against the door, looking for all the world like he's just had his heart broken.

I don't know if Dad mentioned the money when he sent Fitz on this doomed reconnaissance mission masquerading as romance. It's possible, I suppose, that he didn't need the encouragement. Fitz isn't the villain here, and he certainly doesn't need the money, although most rich people don't think that way… at least not the ones I've grown up with. Not that it matters. It's clearer than ever that my parents' vision of my future differs pretty significantly from my own.

Holden and Shep put Fitz's stuff in the back with mine. Before he closes the door of the van, Holden removes a small cardboard box from the back. Once he and Shep are buckled in, he hands me the battered package.

"What happened to it?" I ask, holding it up for inspection.

"Accident," Shep and Holden say in unison.

"Uh-huh. And what's in here?"

Fitz holds out his hands. "It's a pair of crystal champagne flutes that my grandparents saved from their wedding reception. I thought we could make a toast after we… after I, um…" His lower lip wobbles.

"Champagne flutes?" Shep peers at the box. "Huh."

I hand Fitz the box, which he cradles to his chest like a baby. "She's going to be so upset when she finds out that they broke."

"They didn't break," Shep blurts.

I squint at Holden's profile as he inches us along the road through the flurries. "Is that so? Because that box looks pretty rough."

He keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his lips pursed, his shoulders hunched guiltily toward his ears. "I'm sure they're fine."

"Why did you mail champagne flutes if you were planning to drive?" Shep asks.

"It's not just champagne flutes," Fitz says. "There's chocolate, and a bath bomb, and a candle… it was all going to be very romantic."

"Were you really going to propose to me?" The guy works fast. Then again, who knows what Dad said to him to light a fire under his ass.

In answer, Fitz reaches into his pocket and pulls out a velvet box.

"Wow." I lick my lips. "That's very… optimistic of you."

"Yeah," Holden says, his voice clipped. "Optimistic."

"I'm sorry, man." Shep pats Fitz's shoulder. "You've had a long day, haven't you? You must be disappointed. Do you need a man-hug? I know it's not one of Murphy's famous huggles, but it will do in a pinch."

Fitz nods, and Shep pulls him into a damp embrace, patting him lightly on the back a few times.

I lean closer to Holden. "Whose side is he on?"

He examines the pair of them in the rearview mirror. "Honestly? I'm starting to wonder."

* * *

After a pit stop at Holden's, we make our way to the Foster place. Shep stays in the driveway to light flares to help everyone find the driveway. We leave him to it, and the three of us head inside.

Sorrowville is gray, overcast, and miserably cold, but the inside of the house is full of laughter, warmth, and light. Holden helps Fitz carry his bag to the spare room, guided by an irritable Bennett, while I head for the living room.

I stumble to a halt when I see another unexpected guest ensconced on the sofa, surrounded by hockey players, is a lanky form in a familiar blue sweatshirt.

"Blink?" I ask. "You know these guys?"

"Nope!" Blink lifts his Solo cup in greeting. "I was delivering your shit for the bonfire and I got stuck in the driveway, so I'm staying until the roads are clear."

Bennett looms in the doorway behind me. "Another uninvited guest, courtesy of Britt," he intones.

"Aw, man, Blink's cool." Boone brandishes his own drink. "And look! Britt totally hooked us up."

I did indeed. They've already raided the bags Blink brought, judging by the multiple sizes of Solo cups—regular and shot-sized—paper towels, markers, Jello mix, and snacks strewn across the coffee table. More s'mores supplies, along with new roasting sticks, have been deposited in the kitchen. Boxes of candles, matches, and a pair of rechargeable flashlights are set along one wall in easy reach, with the flashlights already plugged in.

I step deeper into the living room to make way for Bennett and Holden. "You're welcome," I tell the eldest Foster. Would it kill him to thank me?

"Mm." He paces over to the table and lifts a packet of Jello mix between two fingers, as if it personally offends him. "Why did we need this again?"

"I'm hoping you have vodka," I tell him.

Boone wrinkles his nose. "We might be out. Would Jack Daniels work?"

"I don't know, but we can always—" I begin.

"Did someone say vodka?" Shep barges through the front door in a whirl of flakes. Declyn, Tierney, and Joely follow him inside. "I've got some!" He produces a massive bottle from an inner pocket of his coat. I don't know how he fit it in there, or how he heard us through the door, but I've learned that it's better not to ask questions when it comes to how and why Shep does what he does.

"Yes!" I accept the bottle. "Who wants Jello shots?"

A rousing chorus of cheers fills the room. Blink applauds.

Holden crosses his arms. "You can't drink. There's no way you're twenty-one."

Blink groans and slams his shoulders back against the couch cushions. "Typical Fed! Always worried about the justice department."

Fitz emerges from the back room. He's wearing a pair of oversized gray sweatpants, dress socks, and a Slammers jersey that's two sizes too big for him. "Thanks for letting me borrow these," he tells Bennett.

"Of course," Bennett says in his Scroogiest voice.

"Is that Brogan's?" Shep asks, squinting at the back of the jersey. "He's not going to like that."

Bennett looks down his nose at Shep. "Too bad. He wasn't here to argue."

Boone and Blink have already headed into the kitchen, so I grab Holden's hand. "Want to help me make Jello shots?"

"You'll have to teach me. I've never done it before." He lets me steer him through the party as more and more people crowd through the door. Blink helps Boone carry hot dog supplies outside where the Fosters have erected a giant tent to keep the festivities out of the snow, and the two of them talk while they get the bonfire going.

Three hours later, I watch in amazement as Brogan, Heath, and Joely cheer while Fitz downs his fifth Jello shot of the night. Shep is teaching Blink how to juggle, Declyn has somehow coerced a whole bunch of people into playing Uno, and Holden and I are giggling drunkenly while we demolish a package of limited-edition Oreos.

"Is it always like this?" I ask.

Holden looks around. "Kind of. There's a little extra flavor this time between your contribution and everything Fitz brings to the party." He rolls his eyes in Fitz's direction. "Please tell me you never dated him."

I twist the top cookie off one Oreo and combine it with another one into a DIY double-stuffed monstrosity. "I never dated him."

"Are you just saying that? He was going to propose to you." Holden's tone carries a hint of vulnerability. As I stare at this man I'm quickly growing attached to, I realize I don't not like it.

I roll my eyes. "He was going to propose to my daddy's legacy."

"Fair." Holden nudges my shoulder with his but his gaze reveals a flicker of something deeper. "But if you had, I think I'd be jealous. The thought of you with someone like him… it would drive me nuts."

"I promise, I never encouraged him. I definitely never dated him. And you know what else?"

Holden rests his chin in his palm and studies my face. "No. What?"

I kiss his cheek. "This is my best snow day ever."

He pulls me in for another kiss, and my day just keeps getting better. "Know what would make it even more perfect?"

I snuggle in deeper. "What?"

His breath tickles my ear. "Downstairs bathroom. Wait about five minutes, then follow me."

Holden winks and disentangles from me, rising from the log we've claimed by the bonfire. His absence is like a cold shadow, sudden and stark against the warmth of the fire. "Just gonna hit the restroom. Be right back," he murmurs, slipping away into the shadows that fringe the glowing circle of light.

I wait, counting the minutes, each second ticking by like an hour until it feels safe to follow without drawing the curious gazes of our friends. Excitement flutters in my stomach, a mix of nerves and anticipation. I stand, brushing off the back of my jeans, and nonchalantly make my way toward the house under the pretense of needing another Jell-o shot.

Slipping inside, the warmth of the house embraces me. I shed my heavy coat, leaving it draped over the banister before I tiptoe down the hallway to the downstairs bathroom. The light spills from beneath the door, a thin promise of what's to come.

I knock softly until the door swings open, and Holden's there, his smile wide and inviting. He pulls me inside, locking the door with a soft click that seems to echo louder than it should in the small space. The air between us is electric, charged with anticipation. I never used to consider doing naughty things like this.

Not until him.

Without a word, he helps me off with my beanie and gloves, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. The mundane act feels intimate, charged with an unspoken promise. He lifts me up with ease, setting me gently on the cool counter. Our breaths mingle, warm and quickening, as we shed the final barriers of winter's chill, our coats forgotten on the floor.

Holden leans in, his hands framing my face, his eyes locked on mine, and everything else fades away. Just before his lips meet mine, the world holds its breath, poised on the edge of pleasure.

His kiss is a wildfire, consuming me with its intensity. It's as if every longing I've kept buried within me bursts forth in that single moment of connection. I cling to him, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

I want this. I want him.

As our kiss deepens, the world outside ceases to exist. There's only the two of us in this small, dimly lit bathroom, lost in the heat of the moment. His hands trail down my body, leaving a tingling trail of fire in their wake. With a deftness that speaks of practiced desire, he slides my leggings down my legs, followed by my panties.

I feel exposed and vulnerable, but not afraid. Not with Holden gazing at me with such hunger and adoration in his eyes. And then he whispers those filthy words that make a shiver run down my spine. His words are like a lit match thrown into a pool of gasoline, igniting a wild craving within me.

"I want to taste you," he murmurs against my lips, his breath hot and heavy with lust. "I've been thinking about this sweet pussy all night."

My legs fall open as I let my fingers drift lower until I feel the heat of my own arousal. "I want that too."

It's true. I want this intimacy, this raw connection with him more than anything in the world. So, without hesitation, I pull him closer and guide his head downward, giving myself completely to how this man makes me feel.

A soft moan escapes as his lips touch the delicate skin of my inner thigh, trailing upward until they finally reach my most sensitive spot. His tongue teases and tastes every inch of me, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through my body. Then his fingers find my core, twisting and flickering as they send shockwaves of delight crashing over me like waves.

As Holden continues to caress my swollen flesh with his tongue, the heat grows at the base of my spine, becoming more intense with every passing moment. My fingers claw at the ceramic countertop, as he sends me higher and higher, until I'm utterly lost. This man knows how to play my body—exactly what to do, what to say, to push me over the edge.

"Britt," he murmurs against me, his voice low and rough, "you taste so damn good. I wanna feel you come all over my face, hear you scream my name as you shatter."

His filthy words only add to the sinful pleasure I'm experiencing, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. I can feel the orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation threatening to crash over me at any moment.

"I'm so close, Holden," I gasp, my voice trembling. "Please, don't stop. I need this."

And he doesn't stop. He keeps licking, teasing, and driving me closer and closer to that dark, fierce abyss. His fingers find their way inside me, moving in time with his tongue, pushing me closer to the edge with each stroke.

I can't hold back any longer. My body convulses, shuddering with pleasure as a powerful orgasm takes hold of me. I cry out his name, a mix of pain and pleasure resonating through every part of me. Throughout my climax, Holden's tongue doesn't falter, lapping up every drop of my release, as I writhe against the pressure.

Finally, the waves of ecstasy begin to subside, leaving me panting and spent. I look down at him through damp eyes, my body still trembling from the intensity of the experience. He smiles up at me, a wicked glint in his eye.

"Fuck, Britt," he mutters against my sensitive flesh, "you're so fucking tight, so fucking wet. I can feel your desire, your need, your passion coursing through you like wildfire. And I'm gonna make you come so hard on my cock, babe."

I tug him upward. "Then do it. I hope you have a condom on you?"

My eyes lock with his, a fiery intensity burning between us. I can see the hunger and longing in his gaze and my blood starts to fire again. He nods, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a condom. Then he undoes his belt and pants, his cock already half-hard and twitching with anticipation.

After he frees his length, he quickly slides the condom on, his movements smooth and practiced. The sight of his erection wrapped in the rubber sends a jolt straight through me. Reaching out, I run my fingers along the veins of his cock, feeling it pulse beneath my touch.

"You ready to take all of me?" he asks, his voice low and husky, his eyes never leaving mine. I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. Holden positions himself between my splayed legs, guiding the head to my entrance.

The tip of his cock presses against me, the slight resistance sending a wave of excitement coursing through me. He looks into my eyes, his expression a blend of lust and tenderness. Slowly, he pushes inside, my body adjusting to his thickness.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he whispers, his voice hoarse. I moan softly, my hands gripping the countertop as he sinks deeper into me. Then he grabs my legs and throws them over his broad shoulders. "So fucking tight and hot and wet. And all mine."

The sensation that this angle gives is unlike anything I've ever experienced before—raw, visceral, and overwhelming.

Holden begins to thrust, his movements slow and deliberate at first, building up a rhythm that drives us both wild. With each stroke, my desire intensifies and I meet his thrusts, my hips bucking to the rhythm he set. His eyes never leave mine, his expression a mix of primal hunger and raw passion.

"Briiiiiit," he growls, his voice hoarse with desire. "I can feel your greedy little pussy clenching around me, milking my cock like a vice. You want me to go even deeper, don't you?"

I nod feverishly, my eyes locked on his, pleading for more. He smirks, his eyes flashing with mischief.

"Then take it, babe. Take everything I've got because it's all for you."

He increases his pace, his movements becoming harder and faster, each stroke pounding deeper into me. I cry out, my body arching off the counter, the intensity of the pleasure overwhelming.

His strong, calloused hands grip my hips, guiding our bodies in perfect harmony. The room is filled with the sounds of our passion—the slick slap of our skin against each other, the soft purrs of ecstasy escaping our lips, and the pounding of our hearts in unison.

"Can't last," he growls, his breath hot against my neck. The lust in his eyes is palpable, his desire to please me apparent in every motion. I look into his eyes, desperately needing to feel that connection. He slows his pace, relenting only for a moment. His hands trace the curve of my hips, his fingers delicately brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.

His touch is feather-light, sending shivers down my spine as it lingers there. His eyes never leave mine, burning with a deep, intimate passion that sends my heart racing. I can't help but feel that I might be falling for him, and the thought sends a wave of warmth spreading through me.

He reaches between our bodies and strums my clit until my body shudders as I let out a low moan of pleasure. He knows just how to touch me. Just what I need to get off.

"Fuck, you feel so good." His cock twitches inside me, the sensations overwhelming my entire being. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, "Are you going to come for me, Britt? While my cock is buried deep inside you? I love it when you come so fucking hard I can feel it squeezing me."

His words ignite a spark within me, and my eyes lock on his. My body is aflame with desire, every nerve ending screaming for release. With the weight of his words and his light touch on my bundle of nerves, I reach for my release, soaring upward until I feel like I hit the ceiling.

When the peak finally hits me, I cry out, convulsing with pleasure as I feel the familiar tightening in my core. Holden thrusts harder and faster, his hips working, changing the angle to plunge even more deeply inside me. His body moves inside me with complete abandon until the storm breaks, crashing over him until he lets out his own moan of pleasure.

After a few moments, he stares down at me, breathing hard. Withdrawing from my body, he smiles at me.

Holden leans in to plant a gentle kiss on my lips. With his warm breath fanning across my neck, he murmurs, "You're incredible, Britt. I can't believe we just did that."

I smile, feeling the weight of his words settling between us. "It was... intense."

He chuckles softly, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his voice. "Yeah, I think "intense" is one way to put it. Good thing grumpyface doesn't know we're down here."

We stay that way for a while, catching our breath and basking in the afterglow. The music from the bonfire can still be heard faintly, but it seems distant and unimportant now. Our hearts are pounding in sync, our bodies flush from the exertion and the heat of our passion.

As I begin to gather my wits, I notice Holden's tender gaze still locked on mine. I can see the depth of his emotions reflected in his eyes—a mix of awe, desire, and perhaps something deeper still.

I reach up to cup his cheek, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cool bathroom air. "You did make my snow day even more perfect," I whisper, my voice barely above a whisper. "That was... amazing."

His thumb gently brushes against my lips, leaving a trail of moisture on my skin. "Snow days are the best days. But only when they're with you."