HOLDEN
Isit on my bed and look at my hard-on. God, Sophia is amazing. I don’t know why I couldn’t finish. I swear I was on the edge, and it’s fucking with me. She’s sexy as hell and all I’ve wanted to do since the moment I’ve kissed her is have her mouth wrapped around my cock, have my cock buried deep inside her. So why can’t I fucking finish!
There’s two soft knocks on my door, then it’s opened. Sophia stands there, her dress on properly, but the flush still across her face. She’s so gorgeous, so … sexy. She smiles and tucks a stray hair behind her ear.
“I’m going to finish you.” She says surely.
I chuckle. “I believe it with that attitude.”
She reaches for my jeans, and I jump slightly, reaching for her and pulling her chin up. She freezes and leans her head to the side. “What is it, Holden? Please. I want to know.”
“I’m not …”
She arches an eyebrow and bites her bottom lip. “Please?”
I sigh heavily. Now is as good a time as ever. I kick off my shoes and see her look down. She blinks a few times, then squints to focus. The low light isn’t exactly helping with this explanation, but she deserves to know what she’s getting into.
Sophie sits next to me, leans her head on my shoulder, and rubs my thigh. I kick off my pants, revealing the full prosthetic. She looks at it, tilts her head to the side, then looks up at me. “I don’t … I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“It’s a-”
“I know what it is, Holden. I’m not an idiot.” She climbs onto my lap, rubbing her bare pussy against my still hard cock. I take a sharp breath, but she wraps her arms around my neck. “This doesn’t change anything … not for me.”
I stare at her, seeing if she’s serious or just still turned on. I run my nose over hers. I’m not like the others, not really. A part of me will never come back from war, and I wear it constantly, no matter the counseling.
Sophia reaches for the hem of her dress and pulls it off. I groan as I get to see every fucking perfect inch of her. No tattoo, no big scar, nothing. She grins at me. “You’re sexy, Holden. And I like you. Nothing else matters.”
I groan, and she rolls her hips on my cock. “If you want to talk, we can.”
“Talking sounds … good.” My voice sounds fucking strangled.
She smiles, then rubs her pussy over me again. “Or it can wait until later. It’s up to you.” Then I see a light go off in her eyes. “Or we can do both.”
“Both?”
“I want you to know how important you are to me.” She rolls her hips on me again. “And I want to know you … in a lot of ways.”
“Okay.” I blink at her stupidly. Fuck, my mind is blank. All I can think about is making her come again, about her wet pussy rubbing over my cock repeatedly.
“Tell me what you want … until you’re distracted.” She smirks.
I swallow and nod. “I only have one leg. I hate being in crowds.” I shake my head. “I’m not Gunner or Roman.”
“And they aren’t you. They aren’t each other. Which is probably good. One Gunner is already a lot.” She gives me a slight smile as her hips roll again. “I like each of you for who you are individually.”
“I don’t need pity.”
“Who’s pitying you?” She looks around.
I arch an eyebrow, and she rubs her wet pussy against me again, this time harder. Her breath catches as I groan and grab her hips. She smirks. “I’m a lot closer to fucking you than pitying you.”
“Do you want to fuck me?” I hiss between my teeth.
“Let’s see …One, I snuck by my dad to get here. Two, I’m on top of you. Three … I’m naked.” She laughs once. “It’s almost fun. I never got to do it as a teenager.”
I nod once. Her lips brush mine. “Holden, do you want to fuck me?”
“I can’t think about anything else,” I say honestly.
She adjusts slightly, and then I’m inside her. Fuck, she’s got a tight little pussy. So fucking silky, tight, wet, and hot. I groan and kiss her hard, hungry, starving for every delicious inch of her. She whimpers and melts against me, even as she rides me.
“You feel good, Holden.”
“Fuck.” I thrust up and into her.
“You’re strong.” She groans, dropping down on me. “Sexy.” She comes down again. “All fucking man.” She grabs the back of my neck and kisses me hard. “Everything any sane woman would want, and I’m damn lucky to have you. I wanted you to be the first one inside me.” She purrs in my ear.
That does it. I can’t think of another fucking thing we need to say, not when I’m buried inside her, and she’s riding me so hard and sure. I thrust into her every time she comes down and lose myself in her. She smells amazing, feels perfect on top of me, around me, against me.
Sophie ups the pace, and I drag my nails down her back as I lick and kiss over her tits, sucking her nipple hard before biting her. She muffles her moan by biting my shoulder. She gasps, and I feel her pussy tighten around me. Grinding down on me for more.
God, she’s already close?
“Fuck!” I hiss against her skin.
She whimpers louder, more often, with each roll of her hips, each stroke of my fingers across her skin, every thrust of my hips. I lift my face to claim her mouth, and she comes apart, moaning and panting into my mouth as her pussy gushes over my cock.
I barely pull out in time. I come across her stomach and pant, pressing my forehead to hers. She laughs and kisses me softly. “Three for three.”
It breaks me. I laugh and shake my head at her. “You’re …”
“Amazing, sexy as hell?”
“Ridiculous.” I chuckle.
I clean her up with my t-shirt, then lay back in bed. Sophia drags her dress back on but lays next to me for a moment. She shyly meets my eyes. I don’t know what she’s shy about after that, then she swallows. “You don’t sleep with it on, do you? The prosthetic? Seems like it would be uncomfortable.”
A laugh gets through my lips. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
She shrugs.
“No. I don’t. I was just about to take it off.” I say.
“Is it hard to do?”
“Habit now.”
She nods, then squeezes my hand. “Since you shared … I’m so worried my dad is going to find out about … this, and that’s a horrifying conversation to think about.”
I nod.
“And I have to talk to Sasha on Monday.” She flops back dramatically. “She hates me. You know, she thinks I’m dating my dad? There’s so much wrong with that sentence I’m surprised it came out.”
That breaks me entirely. I laugh and give her hand a squeeze back. Sophie treats me to a warm smile, then leans over and kisses my cheek. “Neal is an asshole, and I miss being here with you for work.”
“You only say that because we got wine.”
“And no people up my ass watching my every move.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s a hell of a welcome adjustment from the busy office.”
Her voice is so calming. It’s not fair.
“I’ll take your advice and go to bed since I’ve left you fully satisfied, sir. I saved some pancakes for you. They’re hidden behind the leftovers in the fridge.” She winks. “Goodnight, Holden.”
“Goodnight, Soph,” I whisper.
She opens the door, looks both ways, then darts away. I shake my head. She’s absolutely ridiculous, a horrible woman to pursue considering who her father is, but she’s never boring. And she rarely does or says what I think she will.
I thought nothing could shock me more than her stripping just inside the front door, but coming here to check on me because she was worried about how I was feeling, then fucking me …
I don’t know how to compartmentalize that. So I shove it to the side. I can save it for my counseling session. Looking to my door again, I flop back on the bed and then pull off my prosthetic and set it to the side.
Sleep comes easily but doesn’t stay.
Nightmares of the child standing in the road, of the bomb, the car flipping, of us losing James … not being able to go back for him even though Roman and Miles came for me, of sand filling my mouth and the sun baking my skin, of my leg just gone despite the itch on my non-existent foot.
I jump up, sweating, ready for combat, but there’s nothing threatening me. There are no shooters, no targets, no bogies. Just me and my inability to let the current place and time join me in sleep.
Getting up, I dig through the fridge and drag out the pancakes that Sophia made earlier. Nick passes by and notices me, jumping slightly. “We need to get a bell for you, Hold. You’re too silent.”
“How was your night?”
“Not terrible.” He shrugs. “Definitely better than Miles considering he ended up working.”
I snort. Miles can’t stop working. If he stops, the past catches up, and we’re all running from something. Even Nick. He’s modeled, he’s lost himself, found himself, and is working on building stability.
That’s how he copes.
A good, healthy way.
Nick leans on the counter. “Get some real sleep, Hold.”
I roll my eyes. He offers me a sleeping pill. Maybe it’s melatonin. Maybe it’s something harder. Either way, I don’t like the idea of being trapped with my nightmares. I’ve been trapped before.
“Hey.”
“I’m going to counseling Monday. It’ll be fine.”
“If you want to talk …”
Nick always wants to make others feel better. Maybe it’s how he makes himself feel better. How he can ignore the fact that when we were taken out, it was while we were having the best day over there. We’d kept a school safe, and we’d been smoking, drinking, joking around. It had felt like we were just on a drive, not getting back to camp.
Just a few kids enjoying their twenties and not worrying about tomorrow, or the next second. But the next second came in a flash, a bang, and the screech of metal.
“I’m okay,” I reassure him.
Nick pats my shoulder then heads out. “Sleep in tomorrow.”
I want to. A big part of me wants to just sleep and sleep and sleep. But another part nags at me. It doesn’t help that I’m shoving Sophia’s pancakes down my throat with minimal syrup. I go back to bed and wrap my arms around a pillow.
I make it through the night but don’t have it in me to leave my room in the morning … or early afternoon as it ends up being. It’s easier to make a list of what I want to cover in counseling.
I want to talk about my flashbacks and my agoraphobia, but I have a feeling that I’m going to need to talk about my fears of Sophia. My fears of being with another person, period. I take a slow breath and drag a pillow over my face.
Under a blanket, under a pillow, it’s just me and my own breathing. I’m entirely alive. That’s what problems prove, right? And it could be worse. Even if there was a time where I wished it wasn’t just my leg, I lost.
Survivor’s guilt. That’s what I’ve heard I have. On top of PTSD, shared trauma, insomnia, and bouts of anxiety.
“Holden?”
I look at my door, listening without getting up – even for Sophia.
“If you want to, I could use a pro gamer to join me in this co-op. I’m getting my ass handed to me, and I’d love some help.”
She’ll wait. I know she’ll wait until she gets an answer. And I want to join her despite how exhausting it sounds. I groan and sit up, rubbing out my shoulder. “Give me a minute.”
“Next match then. A.S.A.P.! I can’t have twelve-year-olds kicking my ass!”
I chuckle, then shake my head. This is progress, right?