Hard by Cheryl McIntyre, Dawn Decker Read Free Book Online Page B

know had gone missing. Something deep down and hidden. She pulled something out of me like I do to the women I photograph. She gave me vision. Inspiration.
    Add this to last night and whatever I thought I felt when it came to Holland is now a carnal, animalistic instinct. I want to keep this feeling—absorb it, take from it, use it.
    I continuously click through photo after photo, knowing I face a crossroads. One where I decide if I allow obsession to make me or break me.
    No matter what, I know I am not nearly finished with Holland Howard. That’s not how obsession works. It doesn’t release you after you’ve had a taste.
    No. Not even close .
    It pulls you in, dousing your already burning desire with gasoline. You can stop, drop, and roll all you want. You can walk away with your ass in flames. It doesn’t matter. Once it has you, you’re fucked.
    I’ve sampled my obsession, my Holland, and I know without a doubt, I’ll gladly let her strike the next match.

 
    12
    Holland
     
    I notice him the instant he walks through the door. My skin tingles with the memory of the night before and I feel my ears warm. I touch them, attempting to cool them with my shaking fingers.
    It isn’t embarrassment—I don’t care what he thinks of me or about me. It’s more like…yearning. And revulsion. I want a repeat of the night before. I want more. I want to ride the feeling of empowerment and liberation again. But I hate myself for it. I shouldn’t be able to escape so easily just because a man with a dirty mouth and big dick blows me away in bed.
    Jensen doesn’t acknowledge me. He takes a seat and slides his phone onto the table, giving it all of his attention. I bite down on my lip, hesitating. I can still feel every aching muscle with each movement I make. Still taste him on my tongue. See his eyes, hooded and full of desire in my mind. Scent him on my skin though I’ve showered twice since our time together. He has branded himself on me.
    It’s just sex, it shouldn’t hold this much power over me, but even as I think this, I feel the all too familiar craving for the passion only he has shown me. I’m greedy and needy, and know without a doubt if he asks, I’ll go home with him again. I’ll let him make me feel good. I’ll let him make me forget. The way I feel after, full of loathing and disgust will be my penance.
    I finally make my way around the bar, stopping beside his table. “Hi,” I breathe.
    Jensen’s mouth quirks up on one side as he pushes his phone away and looks up at me. His eyes dip down, running over my body before coming back to rest on mine.
    “Good evening,” he murmurs, his voice low, soft, intimate. “You look lovely, as always.”
    “Um, thank you,” I whisper.
    His eyes crinkle in the corners as he offers me a small smile. “How do you feel today?”
    “Good. Sore. But good.” He nods, knowingly. I don’t mention the war I’m suffering inside of me. “Can I get you a drink?”
    He cocks a brow, the warmth in his eyes fading. “Whiskey sour,” he says dismissively, returning his attention back to his phone.
    I take a step back, keeping my gaze on him, confused as to his abrupt mood change. Or maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know him well enough to know his moods. I turn on my heel and go back to the bar to make his drink, adding an extra cherry.
    “I thought you might like to see these,” he says as I set his drink in front of him. With the tip of his finger, he pushes a small memory card to the edge of the table. “Your photos.”
    I pick up the card, holding it in the palm of my hand. “What do you do with them?” I ask. Most women probably would have asked that last night, before they stripped down for his camera.
    “With these?” He shrugs. “Nothing. I didn’t have you sign a contract, so I can’t sell them.”
    “Is that what you usually do with them, though?”
    His eyes finally lift, locking onto mine. “Yes, usually.”
    “Do you want me to sign something? So