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“Wait—stop.”
She shoves against my chest, hands balled into hard fists. She’s no longer in my hold. Instead, she’s sitting up and scooting back. A foot away from me. Two feet. Three. Her bed head is a wild mess framing her face and it’s kind of charming, actually. It almost looks like I’ve fucked her into disarray.
“Why? What’s wrong?—”
“Why are you in the bed with me, Reese?”
I narrow my eyes. “I dunno. Probably stumbled over here in the middle of the night. It’s not like the chair was comfortable enough to sleep in all night.”
“Yeah, well, you could have found somewhere else to sleep.”
“This is my room,” I snap. “I don’t see what the big deal is?—”
“The big deal is your wife. The one you conveniently keep forgetting.”
“Goddammit, we’re not on that bullshit again, are we?”
Olivia’s nostrils flare. She’s fucking beautiful like this—all fluster and fire. She makes me want to either tame her flame or burn up right along with her.
But she has other ideas.
She practically propels herself out of the bed, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and, speaking of fire, gives me a smoldering glare to go with it. “Back off, Reese. I’m not having sex with a married man. There’s a lot of things I’ve done with you I regret, but that is not going to be one of them.”
Before I can say anything, she storms out of our room. The sharp slam of the door rattles my walls and I growl, flopping back onto the bed.
I’m horny and I’m pissed.
With another growl, I shove my boxers down. It’s not my finest or most put-together moment, but I don’t care. I wrap my hand around my hardened cock and start stroking. There’s barely even a fantasy in it. I don’t want fantasy; I want reality. I want Olivia sinking down on me, looking me dead in the eyes with those deep chocolate browns of hers as she pulls my very soul out with her body.
I come quickly, but even when it fades, I’m far from satisfied. It’s just mechanical. Heartless.
Holly Wilson is going to pay for every fucking disruption to my life if it’s the last thing I do.
8
OLIVIA
It shouldn’t have felt so good.
I’m mad at Reese. Furious, really. There’s no going back to what we were, not a chance.
But waking up to his hands on my body, his breath misting over my skin…
It felt so, so good.
What I didn’t confess to Quinn last night is that it isn’t just Violet that’s keeping me here; despite everything, it’s Reese, too. The idea of being away from him makes me ache inside. It’s embarrassing beyond belief. Where’s my inner Beyoncé when I need her? Put all his shit in the box to the left, yanno? Where’s my Carrie Underwood? I should be keying his car and burning his clothes in the front yard, not starting my day with a little half-clothed grinding.
Instead of any of that, though, I’m in the guest room, leaning back against the closed door with my heart racing a mile a minute and my breath coming in painful pants. All I can think about is how angry and turned on I am by Reese. I still crave his hands on me. My need for him is almost pathological.
“Fuck.”
I push my fingers into my pajama bottoms. I’m pantyless and soaked. The reaction that my body has to him has always been intense. How the fuck is it still that way?
It doesn’t matter. I need to take the edge off and take it off now.
Tipping my head back against the door, I work my fingers over my clit. I pump my hips into motion. Everything pulses. My clit, my pussy. I gush and make a quick mess of my pajamas as I alternate between circling that chaotic bundle of nerves and plunging inside myself.
I’m a dumpster fire. Pleasure juices drip down my palm to my wrist. I dig my teeth into my lip so the moans caught in my throat can’t escape. It’s a furious, horny push-and-pull, and I’ve placed myself right smack dab in the middle.
