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I can’t help but laugh. I know what I look like in the downstairs equipment department. I know what it’s capable of. “Don’t bother lying, Olivia. You haven’t seen bigger than me, and you won’t. It’s okay to admit you were wondering just where all of it’s supposed to go. Well, I can give you an answer.” I lean in, nipping at her ear. “But mostly, it depends on where you want it and if you have the patience to let me get it all the way in.”
My comment elicits a gasp. And then, very faintly, a soft groan.
When I pull back and look at Olivia, the corner of her lip is pulled between her teeth. I want to bite it, too.
But I don’t move as the gears in her head churn and the heat between us builds. I stand there, looking down at her.
I want her to come to me.
I want her to show me that I’m fucking right.
Olivia takes a quarter-step toward me. I don’t look away.
Another quarter-step. Chin out. Eyes defiant.
I think that’s the thing that I like the most about her: the way her eyes always seem to hold a fire that just can’t be dimmed.
She leans up as I lean down. So fucking close to each other. I can smell the strawberries and cream, I can taste them, I can feel the desire crackling around us like heat lightning. We’re a storm. This sexual, kinetic energy igniting between us pushing us higher and higher, closer and closer, until we’re just a centimeter away from?—
Then a shrill cry brings it all crashing down.
My brows furrow and I look around. Olivia fumbles for something on her hip, but her hands are shaking so badly that she drops it to the ground, which is when I realize it’s the baby monitor.
The wail goes on and on as she drops it twice more before she finally clicks the sound off. Flustered, she looks back up to me. Her eyes are twin pools of liquid heat. Molten amber, with those pupils trapped in them, blown wide open.
She doesn’t want this to stop.
Neither do I.
“Olivia—”
“Sorry. Gotta go. Duty calls.”
I swallow the bitterness in my mouth and let her go. I watch her as she leaves, as my door snaps closed, as her footsteps fade and disappear down the hallway.
Then I’m alone. It feels pathetic.
You shouldn’t be trying to fuck her anyway, remember, asshole?
It’s so much easier to remember all the reasons I shouldn’t entertain this temptation when she’s no longer with me. Olivia Carter does something to me. Sets fire to a need deep down that demands more kindling. All reason goes out the window when she’s with me, going toe to toe without fear or hesitation.
But now, she’s gone.
My arousal sure as fuck isn’t, though, and unlike last time, I don’t have the patience to simply will it away. The scent of strawberry cream lingers in the air, and goddammit, I can’t resist what it does to me.
With a growl, I go to my bed. I lean a knee against the edge, a hand fisting into my sheets as the other grips my cock.
I’ve had a lot of women in this room. There’s not a surface that hasn’t been fucked on. My walls, my floors, my dressers, my bathroom, my bed.
But there’s no one that’s been in here that I’ve wanted more than Olivia.
As I stroke myself, I can picture her spread out on the gray silk. Her hair a cascade of curls fanned out around her head. Her creamy skin, flushed, heated. I can picture her pretty pink nipples nice and pert on her perfect, round breasts…
I groan and shudder. I’d suck and tease her with my teeth until those nipples are aching peaks. Until she’s begging and moaning for me to put my mouth in sweeter places.
I wouldn’t be able to resist her. How could I? I can’t even resist her now in my imagination.
Reese, please, she’d whimper. Don’t tease me anymore.
