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I pursed my lips. "Nothing or you won’t tell me the truth?"
"Nothing. Just some crackpot who saw your picture on the internet."
Oliver pulled me against his chest, and I almost knew he was lying to me.
"I’m tired," I yawned.
"Go to sleep then. I have a few things I need to take care of before I come to bed. Will you be all right by yourself?"
"I think so," I mumbled.
Oliver planted a tender kiss on my forehead, lingering for a moment before slipping out of bed. He was only wearing a pair of black silk pajama pants, and I couldn't help but admire the way his muscles rippled in his back as he walked out of the bedroom door. The sight was both comforting and disconcerting, a reminder of his strength and the intensity that lay beneath his calm exterior.
I turned onto my stomach, snuggling into my pillow. The warmth of his kiss lingered, lulling me into a sense of security as I drifted off to sleep.
But my sleep was anything but peaceful. My dreams were filled with vivid, unsettling images—shadows lurking in corners, whispered threats, and the sensation of being watched. I snapped awake, my heart racing, just a half hour later.
From down the hall, I heard Oliver’s voice raised in anger, just like I had in the hotel room the week before. The intensity of his tone sent a shiver down my spine. I strained to catch his words, but they were muffled, lost in the distance and the walls between us. His voice finally stopped, replaced by a loud bang as if he had thrown something against the wall.
Curiosity and concern gnawed at me, but I decided against interrupting him. Whatever battle he was fighting, it was one he needed to face alone. I took a deep breath, willing my racing heart to slow, and tried to push the disturbing thoughts from my mind. Turning onto my side, I pulled the covers tighter around me and forced my eyes closed, eventually succumbing to a restless sleep.
"Sweetheart, wake up," Oliver's voice was a gentle command, pulling me from the depths of my nightmare. My eyes fluttered open to see him leaning over me, his face etched with concern. My heart was pounding, my skin clammy with sweat.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I stuttered, my voice shaky.
Oliver reached for the sheet and tenderly wiped my face. I started to cry, overwhelmed by the nightmare's lingering dread.
“Shh, it’s not your fault. I was expecting it after what happened yesterday,” he murmured, his touch soothing.
“Yesterday?” I glanced at the clock and saw it was 3 a.m. in the morning. “Shit, it’s your birthday.”
“Yes, it is,” he grinned, the light from the bathroom casting a soft glow over his face. He always left it on so I wouldn’t stumble if I got up.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss his cheek. My lips trailed down to his neck, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne.
“Thank you. I’m glad you’re the first one to wish it to me,” he replied, his voice a warm rumble in the quiet room.
“We should go back to sleep,” I suggested, though sleep was the last thing on my mind.
“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Oh? What would you like to do?” he asked, a curious eyebrow raised.
“Something for you,” I said, a mischievous smile playing on my lips.
He raised his eyebrows, “Such as?”
“I want to suck you,” I said huskily.
“No. Go to sleep. You can do that tomorrow.”
“It is tomorrow. Why do you always deny me? I like to do it and you taste good,” I insisted, my hand slipping between us to touch him.
Oliver groaned, his body responding instantly. “Fuck, Ryleigh, you’re going to keep pushing me.”
“I want to do it. Lie on your back,” I commanded, the need to please him driving me.
He moved to his back, and I pushed the covers off us, releasing him from his pants. By the time I had him free, his penis was rock hard, and my mouth watered with anticipation. Oliver lifted his hips so I could pull his pants down further. I positioned myself between his legs, teasing his head with my tongue, swirling it around his thick crown.
