I had seen a glimpse of Oliver’s room before, but now I was inside the inner sanctum.
A queen-sized bed with white sheets and a dark gray bedspread sat in the middle of the room. A sofa that wasn’t quite big enough for him to stretch out on was set in front of a bureau. There were no pictures, no football trophies. Bare and lacking a personal touch, it reminded me of a sparsely decorated hotel room. Or my room in Dad’s apartment.
“I moved in here after the accident.” He rubbed his left thigh.
“You forgot to decorate.” Here I was, the pot calling the kettle black.
“Not all of us are as talented as you.”
Heat filled my cheeks as I concentrated on the bed. “Okay, but these pillows are criminal.”
His lips pursed in a way that hinted he was trying not to smile. “Having pillows is criminal?”
“These two lifeless, flat objects lying on your bed? Yes. Where is the neck support, the fluffy softness you are desperate to fall into every night?” I held up the offensive pillow, watching it limp over. My neck hurt at the very sight.
“That’s what you look forward to at the end of the day?” He scrubbed down his face, square jaw grinding.
“You don’t? A weighted blanket wouldn’t hurt either.” I could picture it, how to make this space his, or at least comfortable.
“Probably not my first thought when I think of beds.”
A flush crawled over my skin as I tossed the pillow. “What do you think about, then?” And now I was word vomiting statements that could be considered flirting. I guess I should be thankful it was a full sentence.
Oliver moved to sit at the end of the bed, rolling his neck. “I’m thinking you might be right about that neck support.”
“Never be in charge of redecorating.” I perched next to him, shoving my hands between my thighs.
“Isn’t this what they call monochrome?”
He was trying, and it was adorable. “This is more, uh, bachelor pad.” I glanced at the mismatched couch. “There isn’t a scheme, more a collection of things. Aren’t you supposed to be a rich recluse?”
“Ouch.” His hands came up as if I had wounded him. But we both knew it took more than that.
I nudged his shoulder with mine. “We all have our strengths.”
“It feels like throwing a dart at a board while blindfolded.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head ducked, his shoulders scrunched, tension rolling off him. “Maybe everyone only gets one thing, and I’ve already had mine.”
My heart squeezed. “You’ll find something else—you probably already have.” My heart sank; I was the one who had made him feel this way. “Can I?” I wiggled my fingers at him, needing to do something to bring him some sort of relief.
“Said with the confidence of someone who has found their thing.” His shoulders rolled, easing back toward me. My fingers immediately met with the knots in his back, the weight he carried, the physical manifestation of it. I couldn’t change his past, but I could relieve some of it in this moment, taking some of his pain from him.
“I fell into it. Got lucky. I loved the work Dad did.” He released a soft moan as I dug into the muscles along his spine. I wanted to press my forehead there, acknowledge the trust that he was giving to me for a moment, this silent beating thing. The world had tossed him around, and still he was able to be here with me, the heat from his body drawing me closer. I couldn’t not be touching him. I never wanted to stop.
“I understand family legacy. It’s constantly breathing down your neck.” He tilted his head to consider me, cheeks flushed. “You’re good at this.”
“Should I become a masseuse?”
“Wait until you finish with the house.”
I squeezed his shoulders. “You’re only saying that so you don’t have to share me.”
“Guilty.”
My fingers stopped moving as his gaze captured mine. Those gray orbs had been haunting me. My thumb brushed against the juncture of his shoulder and neck, watching his pulse point beat rapidly in time with my own.
I was leaving in a matter of months, and he’d be off inheriting the family business. We were running parallel for the briefest moment before our lives diverged in different directions.
But my palm remained against his neck, curling as I leaned in, propelled by some hidden force that had nothing to do with my brain. All the reasons not to were growing quieter and quieter as everything in my body tingled, gathering low in my belly.
“You going to kiss me, Petal?” he asked as our noses brushed.
“Do you want me to?” Part of me was still hesitant, remembering how he’d run out the last time.
He surged forward, wrapping his arms around me, lifting me until I straddled him. “We shouldn’t.”
“Oh.” I leaned back, pulling my hands away from his shoulders, but he caught them, pressing them to his chest. His heart was racing, maybe more than mine.
“We shouldn’t, but I want to.”
His lips captured mine, and fuck, it was worse, so much worse than I had prepared myself for. Because it was better than the last time—impossibly, earth-shatteringly better. Fireworks went off in my brain, an “Out of Office” sign, away messages. I released a moan, desperate for more.
My fingers delved into his hair, his beard brushing against my cheek as the soft press of his lips became more confident. His sweatpants failed to hide the bulge pressed between us, hitting my center.
All of him was designed to wreck me. Then the curve of his lips lifted. Oliver smiled as our lips continued their dance.
“Fuck.” His voice echoed my experience—insides burning, gasping for breath.
He bit his lip, and I couldn’t help myself—I chased after it, bringing him back. I ran my tongue along his bottom lip as he opened, angling my head, shifting my hips, pressing him where I was aching. Separated by our pajamas, it wasn’t close enough.
I scratched my fingernails down his biceps, my hand unable to circle him, holding on. He was soft and hard in all the best places.
I had never been so knocked off center, and I wanted more. My greedy hands pulled at his T-shirt, lifting.
“Tell me it’s as good for you as it is for me,” he demanded in a low voice as I sat back to admire the breadth of his shoulders. I wasn’t attracted to the overly slim runner types. I enjoyed bulkier builds, a bear of a man, as Sebastian would say. Oliver was every daydream I’d ever had, but better.
I wanted to taste him. My tongue crept down his shoulders to his pecs, biting. I had a very specific goal in mind, desperate to stay in control of this moment.
“What are you doing?” His voice was hoarse as I shifted to the floor, in between his thighs, my lips still on him, licking along the trail of black hair.
“Blowing your mind.” I grinned as I reached for his pajama bottoms.
Before I could touch him, he halted me, his other palm clenched on his left thigh, rubbing the muscle there. “It’s not that I don’t want it. All I crave is you.” He pressed my hand to his erection. He was huge everywhere, and my pussy clenched, already imagining it. “But I haven’t done this in a while and …” He played with a tendril of my hair that had fallen.
“There’s no pressure.” I shifted my hand to twine my fingers with his. “I want what you want.”
“Can we”—he ducked his head down, fingers picking at the hem of my shirt—“can the pants stay on?”
“Of course.” It was better this way, one of us keeping our wits about us, going slow, not baring it all. He had mentioned he hadn’t dated anyone in a while; sex was likely part of that too. Lonely in a million different ways, and here he was letting me in. I didn’t know what to do with that but understood it for the gift it was.
“Okay.” He took a breath, then said with more confidence, “Okay.”
He kissed me softly this time, cupping my cheek, gliding his lips across mine in a tender caress while I clutched at his shoulders. My veins were on fire, liquid burning through my body, my smile stretching across my face.
His palms gripped my hips, shifting me to straddle him again, as I landed directly over his erection, both of us hissing out a moan as our mouths connected, tongues licking the fire that danced between us. My nipples were practically poking a hole through my shirt to get to him, my thighs aching at the spread.
“I’m not sure I’m going to last very long.” The hunger returned to his eyes as he released a nervous laugh, our stomachs pressed together.
“I got this,” I promised, knees digging into his mattress, as my fingers gripped his shoulders, dragging his erection against my throbbing clit. It was delicious and all our clothes were on. This was safer, in my control, but that control was quickly slipping away from me. My gaze drifted up to his face to check in.
He leaned back, eyes heavy lidded, watching me, my breasts bouncing as my hips rolled.
“You’re too good at this.” He moaned, falling further, landing on his elbows, pulling me down with him, nipping along my neck, fingers clutching at my hips. “Don’t hold back.” He growled, shifting his hips, his erection pressing along the front of my pajama pants, hitting all the spots that made my toes curl.
Every part of me was turned on watching him enjoy this, as my body clenched on nothing. He brushed his fingers against my nipples, my palms landing on either side of his head, squeezing the comforter.
He overwhelmed me, his clean scent surrounding us, the taste of his skin, every growl from the back of his throat, the flush covering his body. Kissing him in the library hadn’t been a blip—it was a taste, and now I was getting another course, hungry for more.
I rocked into him, stars flashing behind my eyes, building, and building. And burst.
“Petal,” he breathed against my lips.
We ignited together from nothing more than grinding in our pajamas. I liked it way too much. The gentle way he kissed me, thumb brushing against my cheek, smiling again, like for tonight, we had a secret.
We cleaned ourselves up and ended up back on the bed.
“You’ll stay?” His hand grabbed at the thick part of my waist, holding me to him. Every single part of him was telling me he wanted this, wanted me, at least for tonight.
I avoided glancing toward the couch. “Yeah, I can stick around.”
“Good.” His eyes were at half mast, and it was hard not to be smug. “In a minute, I’m going to get my hands on you.”
“Sure you are.” My fingers scratched along his scalp.
“I have,” he yawned, “to keep feeling you.”
“I know, stud.” My limbs were heavy, sated.
I should have moved, gotten under the covers, lain on one of those flat pillows. But I couldn’t, mesmerized by the peace on his face, no scowls or frown lines. Relaxed. His enormous palm gripped my hip, keeping me partially on top of him as he slept.
My eyes tracked the darkened room, seeming larger with so few possessions in it. In his space, his heartbeat under my ear, it was too easy to fall asleep.
119 Days Until the Deadline
A pocket of sunshine forced my eyes open, one curtain pulled back, head resting on a too flat pillow in the middle of a mattress. I was in Oliver’s room, in his bed.
My palm swiped out, but I was only met with cool, soft cotton that Ambrose had probably ironed before he had made the bed.
I was alone.
It was for the best. Made things simple. I could slip out, avoid any awkwardness.
I hurried, fixing my clothes, throwing my hair back in a ponytail, hoping my room was empty now so I could shower and change.
As I reached for my cell phone, the en suite bathroom door opened, and my heart leaped in my chest, ending any chance of a simple escape.
“Morning.” Oliver stood in front of me, water glistening on his shoulders as he toweled his hair. Another towel was swung across his hips, leaving his delectable chest bare.
My cheeks were still flushed from his beard as I watched a drop dip down his skin, my body lighting up for a moment, tingling from the memories of the night before, how he’d gripped my hips, the grunts he made, the intimate way his gaze held mine as he came.
“Morning.” I bit my lip hard.
“Did you sleep okay?” He took another step into the room.
“Yeah, uh … did you slumber restfully?” I was focused on the newly exposed freckles on his shoulders, which I had been too distracted to discover the night before. I wanted to count them, memorize them, trace their pattern.
“Yes.” His face contorted, almost confused. “I did.”
“I should …” I gestured toward the door, inarticulate. But what do you say? “Hope the make-out and grind session was as good for you as it was for me?” I was a walking disaster and had to leave before I said something embarrassing. Like, can we do it again sometime?
He took another step, but he seemed miles away from this room. Probably figuring out the best way to let me down gently. “Petal, I—”
“It’s okay—I understand. We don’t have to do the morning-after thing.” It was safer. He had mentioned he hadn’t done this in a while. No need to make it worse with my awkward tumble of morning-after feelings as messy as my hair.
“The morning-after thing?” He genuinely seemed confused.
Why couldn’t he let this be easy? Give me one of his stiff nods and let me overthink all of this in peace.
“Where you ensure I’m not in love with you and am not going to expect sleepover privileges from now on. We’re good, I promise.” I held my hands up as if I could convince him, or at least clarify I wasn’t trying to act out every romantic comedy I had ever watched.
His hand fell to his side, face unreadable. I was baring my heart as I shifted my stance, fingers curled around the hem of my sleep shirt. My body screamed, Defenseless soul! Try not to break her, please.
“Are those the only options?” he asked.
“What else is there?” It was tempting to tell him he was relying on an expertise I’d never had that didn’t fit into my escape-as-soon-as-feasible plan. He was vulnerable, lonely in a way I understood. He didn’t want a fuck buddy; this had been a one-time-only thing.
When he said nothing, I accepted it as my cue to leave. I gave him a small salute, which was guaranteed to ensure I was never getting laid again, especially by him.
My room was blessedly empty as I stood in the shower, hoping to release some of the tension that had wrecked my body moments after I’d awoken.
Worse, I was still keyed up from the night before. I circled my clit in smaller and smaller circles, desperate for relief. But it wasn’t enough, my fingers were too small, it wasn’t enough pressure, and I was still aching.
Unable to stop myself, I imagined the roll of his hips, the weight of his erection as he thrust against me. Touching myself, I fantasized it was him, wondering if anything could ever compare.
The shower didn’t get rid of my embarrassment, but helped it melt into my skin, releasing the tension so I could face the day. The grumble of my stomach reminded me I couldn’t avoid going downstairs forever. One hookup didn’t have to change everything. One night to knock it out of our systems, that was all it was. Now things would be less … tense between Oliver and me.
I passed Finn, pausing briefly, even though he was absorbed too deeply to give me more than a nod before bringing his brush to the wall in that deliberate manner of his. Every time I saw him paint, I was struck by his talent. He’d taken the inspiration Oliver’s mom’s notebook provided, putting his own spin on it. His work inspired me on how to reupholster the dining room chairs, helped me decide between my carpet options.
Hopefully, Oliver would feel the same way.
Sebastian’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as I strolled into the kitchen. Traitor. Even with my shame, the deadline didn’t allow for horny breaks.
“And where have you been?” Sebastian’s voice was filled with laughter.
“Oh, now you care?” I not so accidentally stomped on Sebastian’s foot as I grabbed a bagel, placing it in the toaster.
“I may have deserved that. But you are suspiciously well rested for someone who didn’t sleep in her bed last night in a house with a shortage of beds.”
The desire to pick up a bagel and smack the smugness out of him with carbohydrates filled me. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”
He squirmed, slightly contrite. “I’m sorry. We didn’t exactly plan it, and trust me, you didn’t want to come in when you knocked.”
“Yes, thank you for the favor you did me.” I reached for the cream cheese and a plate. The aroma of the coffee carafe was calling my name as I prepared my breakfast, sitting across from the man formerly known as my best friend. “Don’t make me stab you with this knife.”
“Did you get stabbed with something else last night?”
“You are the absolute worst.” I avoided all eye contact as I took a bite out of my bagel. Given what had happened with most of our clothes on, I wasn’t sure I could handle a naked Oliver. “Besides, I thought you didn’t like him.”
“It’s hard not to empathize with someone who’s survived something horrific and got a bit stuck.” His foot nudged mine under the table. “I can’t be mad at the person who put that flush on your cheeks, or is that beard burn?”
“Anger. It’s an angry flush.” I defended my body’s betrayal.
“Hate sex is great too. Finn and I role-play sometimes, and I’m the—”
I covered my ears in desperation. “I beg of you, what do I have to do to stop this conversation from happening?”
A not-very-subtle smirk erupted on Sebastian’s face, but he didn’t continue pressing. “Come on. You can tell me anything.” Switching tactics, he pulled out the puppy eyes, blinking a few times. No matter how cold the soul, those eyes had a seventy-six and a half percent rate of success, though it was one hundred percent with Finn. “I’m filled with guilt.”
“Yeah, I’m sure we’re the reason you didn’t get any sleep last night.” I was going to have to make sure the sheets were washed before I went to bed, not that Ambrose would allow me to use the washing machine.
“It’s possible.”
I took a vicious bite out of my bagel. “Live in mystery. Your betrayal does not earn you information.”
“Think of the story you can tell your grandchildren.”
“Grandchildren?” I snorted. “How my best friend sexed me out of my room? A heartwarming tale.”
“Fine, we’ll decide on something better. But come on, did you spend the evening with the grumpy owner of the castle?” Since Finn, Sebastian believed every good love story was a fairy tale brought to life. Preferably a queer one that was not rated G. His cynicism that had bonded us initially had been forever wrecked once he found love.
“Trust me, he’s not Prince Charming.” It went without saying that I wasn’t a damsel in search of someone to order me around for the rest of my life. “He and I, we’re … barely even friends.”
Work was what I knew: how to reconstruct a house. Reconstructing my heart was not something I was equipped for.