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And I did.
I had the time to think away from the thick fog of my desire for her. To start entertaining the thought that Ruth Davis might be behind all this. But it still doesn’t make any sense because we don’t know why she would do it.
I strut to the door and throw it open.
She looks refreshed in the simple dress she is wearing. Her hair is strapped into a ponytail, and her eyes have a lot more glimmer than they have had since she left the clinic. She is also not as riled up as she was while making breakfast with me this morning.
“Hi,” Olivia steps in, hands clasped together in front of her. “You asked me to meet you here,” she takes cautious steps into the room.
“I did,” I close the door and go after her. “Coffee or tea?” I point at the tray on the table before us.
She shakes her head, “I’m fine for now,” she gulps.
I nod. “Liam is out scouring for information about your intern.”
She nods.
Breathing feels challenging being in the same enclosed space with Olivia.
“About this morning…”
“No,” she waves me off, “It’s fine,” she chuckles, “I get it…” She gulps, “You do what you have to do, and I will try to stay out of your way.”
What does that even mean?
“It’s good, you understand,” I reach for a bottle of water on the table and snap it open. “I wanted to talk about what happened in the pantry, though.” I relax on the couch.
She looks at me.
“The part where I had my mouth on your pussy,” I sip.
“I…” She stutters, blushing. “Well, that part was…”
“Come here. I can’t hear you from there,” I lie.
I have two days before things go south and all of this is taken away. Before she is taken away from me.
She stands, and with a small smile, she struts over and sits beside me. “Close enough for you?”
It's not close enough—it is never close enough—but better. “Better,” I sip my water again.
“Thank you for cooking with me,” she starts twiddling her fingers, and I hate it—not the act itself, but what drives the act. She does that whenever she is scared or nervous, and I hate to think she is getting that nervous around me.
“I enjoyed myself,” I swing my head to the side to stare at her, and I watch her burn up, from her face to her neck, turning red hot, “Relax.”
She nods and leans back on the couch, dropping her head to the side to lock eyes with mine. There are so many fucking things I want to be doing to her right now.
I lean towards her and extend my hand to briefly brush my fingers on her cheek. Then, I lean into her even more to brush my lips against hers. She gasps, and I take advantage of her slightly parted lips to slip my tongue inside her mouth, savoring her.
I let my hand explore her body thoroughly, with the same tender wonder of the very first time she ever allowed me to.
This is the woman of my dreams. Always has been. Always fucking will be.
My default around her is to let loose and taste, own, claim.
I drag my hand from her face to her neck, a subtle chokehold as my thumb now draws lazy circles under her chin. I drag my hand further down to the line drawn by her breasts. No bra. Hard nipples.
“This is wrong,” I allow myself to touch, stroke, and pinch slightly, using her twisting under my touch as a propellent to keep going. “Tell me to stop.”
