Page 35 of Anchored

“Maybe next Labor Day?” Maple answers, coming up behind Mom. “It would be the anniversary of our first kiss.”

Dad claps me on the back. “You got a romantic on your hands, son.”

I slide my arm around Maple’s waist like that’s where it always should be. “I do.”

The second the door closes behind them, I spin Maple in my arms, press her up against the door, and kiss the hell out of her until we’re both panting.

ChapterThirteen

Maple

I feel so dizzy the only thing keeping me up is the bracket of Holt’s hands on my hips. “What are we doing?” I gasp, trying to catch my breath.

Holt’s breathing just as hard, his forehead pressed to mine after making out against the front door. “I like you, Maple. I like you very much.”

My lips tilt up into a smile hearing his confession. “I like you too.”

Holt pulls back just enough to grin down at me, his eyes sparkling. “Say it.”

I tilt my head. Maybe I’m lacking blood flow to my brain because I don’t know what he wants me to say. “Say what?”

He leans down and rubs his nose against my cheek. His whisper fans across my ear. “Say you have a crush on me again.”

A giggle threatens to burst the mood, and I desperately want to do more than just kiss Holt tonight. “I have a crush on you, Holt McGrath,” I whisper back.

His smug grin is the last thing I see before his hands are in my hair and his mouth is devouring me once again. Just as quickly as they threaded into my hair, his hands are rough on my hips, pulling me upward. Instinctively, I know what he’s asking. I jump and wrap my legs around his waist. His hands smooth over my ass, kneading and soothing. He spins us away from the door, our lips still sealed together.

I figured he’s moving us into his bedroom and get a surprise when he slowly squats down, placing me on the couch. He untwines my legs from around his waist and stands up. His half-hooded gaze traces up and down my body like he can’t believe I’m real.

“Stay right there.”

Holt grabs the stack of blankets on the floor between the chair and the wall, unfurling them to make my makeshift bed. My heart melts, knowing he remembers that I don’t like real beds and isn’t going to pressure me into going into his. When the blankets are in place, he pulls his shirt over his head and stalks back over to me like a superhero about to turn to the dark side.

I hold up one hand, palm forward. “Wait!”

He stops on a dime.

“I need you in your glasses. My crush has the hottest glasses.”

Holt’s expression goes from surprise to a level of heat and want that takes my breath away. He runs back into the kitchen and jams a pair on his face. Yes. There it is. The awkward cute guy from my youth, all grown up and hotter than any summer bonfire. He stops on the way back to get Mookie settled on her doggie bed and then slides it into the kitchen where I can’t see her.

I sit up on the couch and Holt positions himself in front of me. Ever so slowly, he reaches down and pulls me to my feet. His hands fist my shirt and tug it up and over my head, careful not to pull on my hair. Cool air brushes across my heated skin and puckers my nipples.

“Fuck, Maple,” he breathes, his hands immediately coming up to cup my bare breasts.

“Need a second?” I tease, feeling his stare.

His gaze comes up to meet mine, his pupils blown wide. “Your breasts are incredible. I’m officially obsessed.”

He sweeps his thumbs across my nipples, and I feel the electric pulse all the way into my toes. My eyes flutter closed as he kneads and thrums them in an intoxicating rhythm. Shitting shiva, I could come just from this alone. My eyes fly back open as his mouth latches on to one nipple. His teeth scrape just to the edge of pain, his tongue coming along after to offer relief. Damn. The man knows his way around a pair of breasts. My hands land on his shoulders to keep me upright as he showers the other side with the same treatment.

“Holt,” I whisper, desperate for more. I need him naked. I need his hands between my legs. I need that talented tongue everywhere. Right. Fucking. Now.

He straightens, blinking several times. Then he drops to his knees and unbuttons my shorts. He pulls them down my legs, dropping his forehead to my hip bone when he sees I’m not wearing underwear.

“I, uh, need to do some laundry,” I offer as an excuse for not wearing any.

Holt doesn’t answer, he just growls as he rips the shorts off my legs. He pushes his shoulders between my knees and kisses my pubic bone, just above the light patch of hair I keep trimmed.

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