Page 12 of Ring in the New Year

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'dshot 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.

CHAPTER TEN

Morning light spilled through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over the loft's open kitchen. Angela tucked a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear as she perched on a stool at the kitchen island. Her limbs were still languid from their night together. Holden moved around the kitchen with a surprising grace for a man of his muscular stature, the scent of sizzling bacon mingling with the fresh aroma of coffee.

"Hope you like your eggs scrambled," he said over his shoulder, his voice low and slightly rough from sleep.

The sight of him, bare-chested with a pair of well-worn jeans hanging low on his hips, was enough to reignite the embers of desire within her. "Only if they're made by a man whose hands are as skilled at cooking as they are at... other things."

Holden leaned over the counter. He offered his lips instead of taking hers. Angela met him more than halfway. The kiss was sweet, like they'd been doing it for years, not hours. She knew better than to get her heart involved in this tryst, but it was beating loudly as his lips left her mouth to plant another sweet kiss on her nose.

He had never done that in any of his films. Could that have been something special just for her?

"You'll find I'm a man of many talents, Dr. Prescott."

She wanted to tell him to call him Angela. But she liked the way he said her last name. It was kinda like a nickname he'd given her. Another sweet moment between the two of them.

As Holden plated the eggs and set them before her, the intimacy of the moment wrapped around Angela like a warm blanket. They sat across from each other, a feast of morning-after comfort food between them, but it wasn't just physical sustenance that was shared.

"I've been thinking a lot lately about where my life is heading." Holden's voice was vulnerable as he talked, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "The adult film industry... it's given me a lot, but there's this gnawing feeling that I'm meant for something more...real."

It was a side of Holden few got to see—the man behind the mythic persona. She reached out, her fingertips brushing against his wrist. "What kind ofrealare you looking for?"

He leaned back, running a hand through his tousled hair—an unguarded gesture that spoke volumes. "Connections that go beyond the physical, you know? The kind where you can actually feel something genuine. It's like I'm craving experiences that don't end when the director yellscut. I want to explore depths that aren't just about flesh and fantasy. I want to touch souls, not just bodies."

Here was a man who could have rested on his laurels, content with superficial encounters, yet he yearned for something deeper, something meaningful. It was a yearning she understood all too well, and in that moment, their connection became something far more profound than either had anticipated.

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