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“It’ssix a.m.on aSaturday, Oliver.”
He sighs. “I know. They wanted to talk today, urgently. It’s a deal we’ve been chasing for a while.”
I take a few steps closer, emboldened when his attention remains on me. His eyes trail up and down my body as I walk toward him, and I return the favor.
A white t-shirt and dark gray joggers are a really good look on him, especially since the bulge below the waistband suggests he didn’t bother putting on any boxers.
I surprise him—and myself—when I don’t stop walking until I’m climbing into his lap, straddling his growing erection.
Oliver groans as his palms land on my bare thighs, the rasp of callouses and heat of his hands sending sparks across my skin. “Go back to bed. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
My hips move back and forth, teasing the growing bulge.
I’m intensely aware of what’s driving this urge. I’m leaving tomorrow, and after that there will be no trips to New York. The next time I see Oliver—ifI see him again—we won’t be married. And what is only a piece of paper has come to mean something to me. It’s an invisible string, something tying us together that isn’t shared by anyone else or affected by anything.
His breathing quickens, the tendons in his neck straining taut. “The rest of the day, I’m yours. I won’t do any work.”
“Do you promise?” I ignore the modifier.
He’s mine—temporarily. He knows we’re a ticking clock, just like me.
“I promise.” Oliver groans, his fingers tightening on my hips as they continue moving. “Dammit, Hannah.”
I giggle. The thrill of him responding to my touch the same way I react to his is a high. I’m not wearing any underwear, so all that’s separating us is the thin material of his pants.
Oliver’s hand inches higher and higher on my leg, until he’s under the flimsy fabric of my negligee. His dick twitches when he discovers how wet I am, something primal and proud heating his gaze.
He glances at the phone, then the clock. “Sixty seconds, Hannah.”
I don’t realize what he means at first. His palm cups my breast, the touch gentle and teasing. His thumb barely brushes my nipple, but it floods me with need and want and feeds the addiction I’ve developed to Oliver Kensington.
I cry out when he suddenly pinches my nipple, the burst of pain reverberating throughout my entire body and heightening my lust.
“Fifty seconds.”
He means it. If I don’t come by then, Oliver will stop touching me.
And I could get myself off, but it wouldn’t be as satisfying. He’s what my body wants.
“Oliver.” I love saying his name. Love the way his expression changes, some secret shift that’s a response to my voice.
“What do you want, Hannah?” One finger pushes inside of me, curling against a spot that sends sparks of pleasure flying through me. “You want to fuck my hand and pretend it’s my cock?”
I moan, pressing my face against his neck and inhaling deeply. The expensive scent of his cologne is familiar. Comforting and arousing, all at once. I’m used to the scent on his skin. On the sheets I sleep on. For the rest of my life, it will always remind me of him.
“Thirty-nine,” he murmurs, amusement saturating his voice.
My hips rock faster, my entire body tight and aching with need. A second finger stretches me open. And then, finally, his thumb touches my clit. My entire body jerks, the zap of sensation pushing me higher as he rubs small circles around the swollen spot.
“Twenty, Hannah.”
I grind against his hand, forcing more pressure and focusing on that one spot.
“Ten.”
His fingers curl, hitting a sensitive spot inside of me. And then I’m coming, collapsing into him as shuddering pleasure crashes through me. The wild rhythm of my heart blocks out every other sound, gradually slowing until I can hear and think andbreatheagain.
Oliver is already on the phone. He watches me with a satisfied smile on his lips, slumped in his lap, as he listens to whatever is being said on the other end of the line and nods along.
