Dare Me(53)

“Holt!” she screams.

“Tell me what you want, Saige,” I breathe into her ear, gently biting her earlobe.

“I don’t know,” she cries out as I pound in and out of her. I’ve never been more turned on in my life.

“Tell me, Saige.”

“Holt,” she cries my name, pressing her forehead against the window again.

“Now, Saige!” I yell at her as I feel my cock hardening inside of her. I pull my hands from hers and grab both of her ass cheeks, pressing my fingers into the soft flesh of her perfect ass. I’ve never been so f*cking turned on by anyone in my entire life.

Only the sounds of her heady breaths escape her lips, and I grow angry, wanting to hear her say she wants me. I f*ck her harder, growing angrier with each thrust until I finally lose it, releasing my anger into her. Then I growl loudly and pump myself into her before hastily pulling out.

Turning, I stalk toward the bathroom. Why can’t she say it? What’s holding her back? I sigh in frustration as I think that maybe she’ll never want me, love me, need me the way I need her.

But as the door slams behind me, I hear her meek voice mumble the words I’ve been dying to hear. “You. I want you, Holt.”





Saige

This morning’s early sex session against the glass wore me out. I fell back asleep with little effort and now that I’m awake, I see that it’s closer to lunch time than it is breakfast. Holt is nowhere to be found, but I did find a note on the nightstand.



I hope you slept well.

XO,





H


I dress quickly in a pair of black skinny jeans and a gray oxford shirt. I pair this with red jewelry and red flats for a pop of color. Running a large curling iron through my hair, I create big, natural-looking waves, and I apply simple makeup of a light foundation, eyeliner, mascara, and red lipstick.

Within thirty minutes, I’m out the door and headed to Fifth Avenue; this is where Holt told me I’d have the best luck in my shopping endeavors. I have an idea in mind of what I’d like for a dress, but as I hop from boutique to boutique, I’m coming up empty handed. Everything is too glitzy or too glamorous. I need chic but simple.

In between boutiques, I tap out text messages to Holt, but an hour later, he has yet to reply to one. While I walk the busy New York streets toward my last stop of the day, Barney’s, I stop and get a New York hotdog from a street vendor. From a corner street cart with a little yellow umbrella on top comes this amazing hotdog topped with sauerkraut, grilled onions, and spicy mustard. It’s divine.

I enjoy the walk, taking in all of the sights that I can. I’m in awe of the buildings, the traffic, and the hustle of people in a hurry to get everywhere. However, even if I had a week here, I’d never be able to see everything I want to see.

As I make my way through Barney’s, I’m taken aback at its opulence. Everything is pristine and perfect. Every rack, every display, every single employee from top to bottom. I find a sales associate, Deb, who is over the top helpful, which I’m thankful for because I don’t look like I belong in a store like this. I describe what I’m looking for, and in no time, Deb is shoving me into a fitting room with five dresses that all look exactly like I’ve described—simple, chic, and elegant. Within minutes, I’ve narrowed it down to two, and I stand in front of a mirror with the dress that is my favorite. It fits perfectly, hugging every curve, hiding every flaw, accentuating all my assets. It fits my tall frame perfectly, as I pace back and forth in front of the mirror.

“It’s stunning,” Deb says of the olive green dress. “I can’t believe how perfectly this color matches your green eyes.”

“It’s my favorite color,” I admit.

“Shall I wrap it up for you?”

When I look at the price tag, I swallow hard against my dry throat and almost choke. Over four thousand dollars for a piece of fabric I’ll most likely never wear again. Sweat forms on my forehead, and I begin debating the pros and cons of spending more than one of my entire paychecks on this dress. I’ve always been a girl of common sense, rational and levelheaded, but today I throw that out the window. I smile and nod at Deb. She hangs the dress over her arm and disappears with my credit card.

After I put myself back together, fixing hair that’s out of place and slipping on my shoes, Deb meets me outside the fitting room with a garment bag, my card, and receipt. Then I step outside, feeling pleased as I blend into the masses of people on the streets, everyone bustling about to get somewhere. I love the energy New York has, and like Holt said, it’s very much like Chicago, only better.

Arriving back at our room, I find Holt sitting at the small oval table, his cell phone pressed to his ear. A smile pulls at his lips when he turns around. He’s talking, but his eyes follow me as I walk back to the attached bedroom to hang up my dress in the closet.

Not wanting to disturb him, I kick off my shoes and lie down on the bed to rest for a few minutes. Minutes later, I hear him come into the room, but I keep my eyes closed. “Shopping is exhausting,” I mumble and let out a small laugh.

“Do not let my mother hear you say that,” he says, laughing in return.

“Speaking of your mother, how was lunch?” I push myself up and sit cross-legged on the bed.

He frowns. “She had to cancel, but we’re having dinner with her tonight.”