Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

" Y ou're showing off, aren't you?"

Holden grinned up at Angela. He had been showing off. He wanted to impress her.

No, scratch that. He wanted to please her. And, yeah, impress her too.

"You're not done, are you, Doctor?"

Angela shook her head slowly. The smile on her face was wide. Her eyes were closed. Slowly, they opened and looked right at him.

"I wouldn't leave you hanging, Mr. Tighe."

Holden's lips met Angela’s with a softness that belied the strength of his muscular frame. His hands, so often praised for their prowess in scenes that played out before unblinking lenses, now trembled slightly as they cradled her face. This was no performance; there were no directors or scripts. The only audience to this moment was the thrumming desire that filled the space between them.

Because not once since he'd turned the camera on had Angela even so much as glanced at it.

She sighed into his mouth as he kissed her. Holden found himself drowning in the depth of that kiss. He couldn't remember a hotter sexual act he'd done in the last decade.

Angela's brilliant mind had captivated him just as much as her body had. Her intelligence was as sensuous to him as the curve of her waist, the arch of her back, the way she moved beneath him—methodical yet passionate. The only calculation Holden saw in her eyes was how to increase their mutual pleasure.

He kissed her again, losing himself in the softness of her mouth. Holden realized with a jolt that shot through him like electricity that he was making love to Angela Prescott. He wasn't just having sex; he was worshiping at an altar he hadn't known he'd been seeking. It was a revelation that left his heart racing, a vulnerability that he had shielded with humor and bravado now laid bare.

He grabbed her behind her knees, tossing her legs over his shoulders. In one thrust, he slid into her. It was an easy glide with how wet and ready she was. But still, he was a big boy. She gasped at his intrusion.

Holden knew he should give her a moment to adjust, but he could not hold back. The best he could do was to hold still while he was fully seated inside her. He closed his eyes as her muscles pulsed and clenched around his length. He was going to explode, but not yet.

He moved within her, a slow burn that promised an inferno, his movements calculated to stoke the flames higher. Holden withheld his own release, a disciplined maestro conducting the crescendo, waiting for her climax to crash over them both.

He watched as her eyes rolled back in her head with his strokes. It only stoked his desire higher. His movements sped up. He rolled her higher on her back, giving him an even deeper angle than before. She was completely at his mercy. He wanted her in this position always.

Not just tonight.

Not just tomorrow morning.

He couldn't see an end to his need to be inside of this woman.

His thrusts were relentless, almost mindless. Each and every sexual experience he'd had in the last decade had been calculated, choreographed. Not this one.

He'd already driven her past the brink of pleasure. Now it was all about him. And what would please him… well, that would be to feel her orgasm around his length.

Bringing his hand to her mouth, Holden urged her to open for him. Angela did as he bade her. She suckled his fingers, making Holden want to have that pretty mouth around his cock. Next time.

With his fingers wet, he pulled his digits from her mouth. He brought them to her swollen bud. Then he showed no mercy. He motorboated her clit with his fingers, forcing another orgasm from her.

Angela screamed. Her body jerked. Holden clamped down on her legs, pulling her down on him, trapping her core around him as she clenched and pulsed and sucked him deeper inside of her.

But he didn't come. Not yet. He wanted to do it again.

"Fuuuuck," she screamed as he started to thrust again. "I can't—I can't—I can't," she insisted.

It wasn't a no. So he took it as permission. He wrapped a hand around her throat and thrust deeper…shallower… then deeper again. He barely gave her an inch as he claimed that warm and wet place inside of her.

He saw the tears in her eyes.

He saw the glaze that went over her whole face.

He saw the dribble at the corner of her mouth.

It all just enhanced her beauty to him. He fucked her harder. Even though fucking was the wrong word. He wasn't putting on a show. His only goal was to get this woman to pass out on his dick so that she wouldn't have the strength to leave his bed. So that she would want to stay.

He knew he was close to his goal when her back bowed off the bed. Her legs were still over his shoulder. He still had a hand on her throat. Their gazes locked as she was close to another orgasm. Holden knew this would be the last because when she went over, he was going to fall with her.

And when it did, Angela's body clenched around him, a vise of heat and pulsing release. She cried out, a sound so raw and beautiful it seared itself into his memory. Only then did he allow himself to follow, surrendering to the torrent of sensation that threatened to sweep him away.

Afterwards, they lay entwined, a tangled mess of limbs and dampened skin. Holden's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, grounding Angela's head with each breath. She had, in fact, passed out.

Her eyes were closed. Her hand curled over his chest, her body resting against his. Her expression was relaxed, one of complete trust.

Holden couldn't remember the last time he'd slept with a woman after sex. After they came, that was the end of his work day. Everyone would clean up and go to their respective homes.

Now he was in his home. He was in his bed. And a woman he wanted, a woman he wanted a repeat performance with—a permanently recurring role—was tucked into his arms.

His eyes drifted to the camera perched discreetly in the corner. A smile played at his lips. He had captured their passion, immortalized this interlude between frames and reels.

For a fleeting moment, Holden imagined watching back the footage, reliving the intensity that had eclipsed any scene he'd shot before. But reality's sharp edge cut through the haze of post-coital bliss. Having sex on tape was like juggling fire: thrilling yet fraught with danger.

He had every intention of erasing the evidence of their union in the morning. He knew better than to have proof on tape. Those always had a way of getting out and being shared with eyes that weren't meant to see them. But they were safe in his home. She was safe in his hold. Even more importantly, he felt safe with her.