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That built body and gray hair that is almost a perfect match for his eyes.
My heart skips a beat, and then rushes even faster. So much so that I’m slightly breathless when I shake his hand to say goodbye, thanking him for his hospitality.
His scent remains even after he leaves.
It’s probably why I dream about him later.
The dream where his silver eyes stare down at mine as he holds me. I see the little quirk of a smile appear at the side of his lips as it did in the kitchen, and in the dream, he stares at me with affection. His hand trails down my face, my neck, my side, and wraps around my waist and he pulls me gently to him, molding my softness to his hardness.
As his lips drop to mine, molding to them and coaxing my tongue into a sensuous dance, one strong hand palms my breast. Even through the fabric of my shirt and bra, I tremble as his thumb skims over my nipple, feeling the electricity zing all the way to my knees. Meanwhile, his other hand grabs my ass, shifting me closer so I can cradle his length into my belly.
“Take it off,” he whispers in my ear.
The words take time to make sense to me because my mind is too caught up in a haze of desire, from which there is no escape. The only relief is through his touch, his kisses, his caresses.
He pulls away then, and his eyes are gray storms as they stare down at me.
“Take it off,” he says again.
“What?”
“Your clothes.”
I glance down at my shirt, and pull it over my head. Then follow it with every other piece of clothing covering me until I’m bare to his eyes.
He stares me up and down and growls, desire clear in his eyes.
He comes to me, possessing my mouth with his. Owning me. Taking his pleasure from me as his hand lowers to where I need it the most. Where I need him the most.
As he is about to touch me, I whimper in anticipation and…
I wake up, so horny and frustrated I want to cry.
It’s probably for the best that I woke up then anyway, before anything serious could happen.
Because I would have to be delusional to think that a man like that would ever be interested in me.
Chapter Four
Oliver
Fuck.
Something on her bag’s keyholder must have been pretty sharp because the scratch looks deeper than it did last night. I know it’s just a car and it is fixable, but same as happens with everyone, I’m bummed because this is a new car and I wanted it to be in mint condition for a while longer. Still, I guess what really matters is that Delilah wasn’t hurt worse and the damage to the car is just minor.
It’s still frustrating because I worked hard for this car. It was fucking difficult to find this model and the one time I take her out for a spin, bam. A scratch.
I built myself from the ground up to be able to buy this car and anything else I want. Everything I have came from my own blood, sweat, and tears. Nowadays that’s something young people don’t value. They live a disposable lifestyle. But I don’t because every single dollar came out of my back. So, what should be a minor inconvenience, like this scratch, is actually a bigger deal than it would be otherwise. Because of everything I had to go through.
And the culprit is sitting in my house, cozying up and enjoying the fruits of her labor.
I don’t know what got into me to offer her my house for the month. Sure, I likely wouldn’t be using it before December,
and I feel bad for the girl, but I didn’t get to where I am by being a bleeding heart. I did it by being practical.
I know she twisted her ankle and all, but I need to look at this as I usually do. From an impartial stand point, instead of an emotional one. And what I see is that she needs to leave.
I take my time, taking a shower and getting ready for the day. I make my first coffee and scarf down some leftover Chinese food while I'm at it. I have a bunch of meetings coming later, so I need all the energy I can get even though the food tastes like oily plastic.
