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Goodbye seventy-six days of restraint. Tomorrow would be the new day one. And based on how I was feeling while sitting on top of his naked, gloriously muscular body, riding him as I chased orgasm number three—I knew we’d both be in hell while waiting to do this again.
Our bodies were made to be together, to be one. We fit. Knew each other well. The two-plus months of not being together hadn’t changed a thing.
And I had every intention of making time number three for the evening last.
Oliver rarely survived long when I was on top of him reverse cowgirl, my ass pointed at him, my hands on his thighs as I lifted up and down on his cock. In this position, it’d be up to me to shift off him in time for him to come. I gave this man a lot of credit for having the willpower and strength to do that every time we’d been together.
“Fuck, Mya, you’re killing me.” He groaned, holding my hips even tighter as he thrusted right along with me. “Do you want me to come inside you or what?”
“Condoms aren’t one hundred percent. And what if my birth control failed?” I reminded him of those salient and very valid points, my voice ragged being on the edge of coming.
“Right, okay, well, I’m going to fucking blow my load in two point five seconds, or break a molar trying to hold back. So, please, please, please . . . come all over my cock, buttercup, so I don’t break your rules.”
He sat up a bit and brought his hand around between my thighs, applied pressure to my already sensitive spot, and I switched from an up-and-down movement to rocking against him while he remained buried deep inside me. “Oh God, ohhhhh . . .”
“Off, buttercup. Off,” he begged in a strained voice after I finished riding the wave of my orgasm.
I had to move and fast, or the guy might die trying to deny his own release.
I rolled over to the side in time to catch sight of his body jerking, and every muscle in his abdomen tightened as he let go. He collapsed onto his back, chin lifted to the ceiling, body visibly relaxing into the soft sheets beneath him.
“Sorry, that was close.” I slipped next to him, curling up against his sweaty body.
I knew he couldn’t stay all night, because what if someone had eyes on the security cameras in the hallway and realized we’d hooked up? I mean, worst case, we could play off the whole “oops, I slept with my photographer” kind of thing. It wasn’t unheard of when people worked so closely together. But that was a backup plan I hoped we wouldn’t have to resort to.
Part of me still couldn’t help but wonder if the reason I’d chosen my cover story in the first place was because of my commitment issues.
Was I afraid of going undercover as a couple because I was worried about how fast things were moving with us? No, I didn’t do that. Right?
Great, now I wasn’t arguing with Oliver but with myself instead, and that was one fight I could never seem to win. Damn those internal battles.
“I didn’t do that,” I muttered my messy thoughts out loud.
“I think you just did. All over my cock, in fact.” Oliver shifted to his side and brought his hand beneath my chin.
“Sorry, no, I mean, yes, I did. Our, um, cover stories, well, I’m wondering if maybe I was?—”
“Afraid of what was happening between us?” His brows pinched. “That, or you really do hate me, and you want to watch me lose my mind if we ever face Hugo and he hits on you.”
“Not that we may ever even see him face-to-face.” I had a delayed reaction to that last jab of his, shoving at his chest when it finally sank in. “I don’t hate you. And I would never want to see you in pain for any reason.”
“You did just hit me.” He let go of my chin and brought his hand to his chest. “You love hurting me.” He winked, and I nearly swatted him again just to dodge the conversation I’d accidentally started.
Because seriously, did I throw our new relationship under the bus with these cover stories because of fear? Would we have been better off going under as a couple, and then I’d never have to try and woo Hugo Soren if the opportunity arose?
Shit. Damn. A whole string of other curses flew through my head as I went to stand. “I really do have issues, don’t I?”
“Don’t we all?” His tone was both teasing and serious in a way that only he could pull off. “First step is admitting them.”
Hands on my hips, I faced the bed, finding him sitting up and tying off the condom. He rose, and I became momentarily distracted by his strong glutes as he walked to the en suite bathroom.
When he returned to the room, he stopped in the doorway, not yet rejoining me. Hands braced to the frame, he tilted his head, studying me. “I feel like we may fight, and I won’t hear anything you’re saying with you standing there naked.”
He was right about the naked thing, but wrong about the fight. The last thing I wanted to do was argue with him. I was doing enough of that internally.
“We had sex.” I went over to the dresser for my oversized Syracuse University shirt to conceal my breasts so he could concentrate.
He smiled casually. “Yes, a few times.” Arms now across his chest, he remained in the doorway, doing that casual-sexy lean that was as distracting as his strong body. The combination took it up several degrees beyond bearably hot.
