Page 31

She swallowed. A nod.

He curled one hand around the edge of her top, inching it up and out of the way. The other slid to her belly, her muscles contracting and jumping as he skimmed along the bare skin just above the waistband of her leggings. “I’m going to strip you naked.”

Her breath hitched. She wasn’t going to argue with that.

Cool air brushed her skin as he dragged the fabric all the way up and over her head. She heard it fall somewhere at her feet, and she stood in front of him in nothing but her bra and leggings.

He moved his hand lower, skimming along the seam of her legs through the thin layer of fabric, and she felt it everywhere. She’d never expected to feel an attraction this strong—not now, not like this, for a virtual stranger. But with him just a shadow behind her, none of this seemed real.

The last six months—hell, most of her life—she’d been focused on everyone else. But tonight? She could allow herself a few hours in this dark dreamworld. To take what she wanted. To do what she pleased. To put herself first for once.

He bit her earlobe, then reached for the front clasp of her bra and released it. Her breasts sprang free, and he filled his hands with them, a low sound escaping him. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”

And in that moment, she felt perfect—admired, worshipped. Covering his hands with hers, she leaned back into him before her legs buckled. He was solid and steady, and he took her weight easily, finding her aching nipples, tugging and rolling them between his fingers until she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.

She shifted against his steel hardness, feeling every inch of him through his sweatpants. Her bed was just inches away. It would be so easy to walk there, to pull him down, to feel his weight on her.

Just two virtual strangers in the night.

No past, no future—just them.

The darkness was engulfing. Destabilizing. She clung to what she could—to touch, to sound. The solid wall of him behind her, his hands toying with her nipples before trailing lower and lower. The rough chop of his breath as he slid the leggings from her, nudging her to step out of them before skimming across her lace thong.

His voice rumbled through her. “I need to feel you come around my fingers again. Is that what you want too?”

She licked her dry lips before she could form the word. “Yes.”

It was the right answer. He groaned, dipping inside the lace, dragging her wetness over her clit… his strokes sure, focused.

Too soon, he withdrew, guiding her to sit on the edge of her bed and sliding off her panties. All she could do was go by feel—his long, tangled hair brushing her thighs as he sank to his knees in front of her, the demand in his grip as he spread her legs, the scrape of his beard along her sensitive skin, the slickness of his tongue as he tasted her.

His mouth lifted. “More?”

She nodded, but he didn’t resume. Didn’t touch her. Just waited. Confused, she opened her eyes… realized even Oliver couldn’t see in the pitch black.

Fisting the sheets around her for courage, she managed one word. “More.”

That was all he needed. Spreading her wider, he explored her with the flat of his tongue—his beard a sweet sting against her flesh. He slid one finger into her, then two, finding the spot inside that made her arch, twist against him. The rough pressure of his mouth on her clit dragged her to the edge. Panting, gasping, she tore at the sheets, unable to stop the cry that ripped from her as he finally pushed her over.

“Not yet.” His voice had gone so low she barely recognized it. “Not done with you yet.”

Urging her higher up the bed, he climbed over her, his erection pressing against her. The thin material of his sweatpants rasped against her clit. She didn’t hate it, rolling her hips into him, relishing his groan.

Tilting up her face, he kissed her. Rough. Demanding. Her head spun from the sheer brutality of it. His beard scraped across her flaming cheeks, her chin. His tangled hair fell over them like a curtain, and beneath all that cool silk, his scalp burned hot. She tasted herself on his tongue.

Unable to stop touching him—his hard shoulders, the flexed muscles of his back—she pulled him in closer, rocking into him as they consumed each other.

He softened the kiss, slowed. Pulled back, waiting until she took one shaky breath before returning his lips to hers—a gentle brush, another… the lightness at odds with the heavy thud of his heart against her rib cage. She could lie here forever, just like this.

Lifting her hand to the face she couldn’t see in the dark, she touched his sweat-slicked forehead, the rough scars along his temple—

He reared back as if she’d slapped him.

She shouldn’t have done that. She’d only wanted to learn him, to explore—

His weight left the bed.

The door creaked open. He didn’t bother to slam it.