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“Don’t go,” he pleads.
My heart swells inside my chest. The breeze blows over us, cooling my sweat-soaked skin, while the heat radiating from Ollie warms me. I’m in no hurry to move from this position. Being cocooned in his arms is turning out to be one of my favorite places on earth.
The cicadas play a concert in the background as a boom erupts in the distance. I glance up as a firework explodes in the air. Red, white, and blue colors dance in the night sky. Ollie shifts me until I’m still in his lap, but sitting across it rather than straddling him so I can see better. He nestles his face into the side of my neck, placing a sexy kiss there.
“You’re supposed to be watching the show,” I murmur, happy that he’s more consumed by me than the fireworks display.
“Our show was more explosive,” he states.
I smile. He’ll get no argument out of me.
As I’m watching the colorful display in the sky and Ollie continues to nuzzle that delicate space below my ear, I realize I’ve never been more content. I tip my head back and enjoy the moment, forgetting that we’re both sitting out in the open, partially naked. Or not caring.
“This piece of land is amazing,” I comment as golden sparklers twinkle overhead.
Ollie smirks against my skin, biting me playfully before letting go. “Mr. Matthews will never know that we christened it for him first.”
The fireworks show lasts for another thirty minutes, and we don’t move from our spots. I yawn when the sky goes black and quiet again, feeling the strain of a long day of work.
Ollie strokes my cheek. “You tired?”
“A little,” I admit.
“Let’s go home.”
I finally climb from his lap. He slips his T-shirt overhead after fastening his shorts in place again. I feel his eyes on me as I’m securing my bra in place and sliding the straps onto my shoulders.
“What?” I ask with the ghost of a smile on my lips as I tuck my breasts into the cups.
“You,” he says, his voice thick with something I can’t identify. His eyes are still hungry.
“Me what?” I slip my shirt overhead and run my fingers through my tangled hair.
My smile dims when I see the serious look on his face.
“You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.” His voice is husky and soft.
I roll my eyes and push his shoulder. I know Ollie’s been with gorgeous women in the past. The most recent, Dallas, was a stunner. And after a day of work, I’m sure I look tired. My skin still reeks of fried food and alcohol. My hair is a tattered mess. But his expression doesn’t change.
“No, Mads. I’m serious.”
A blush spreads across my cheeks before I can stop it. No one has ever looked at me the way that Ollie is right now. Like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen. Like he can’t get enough of me. Like he never wants to let me go.
But he will, I remind myself.
He kisses me again, slow and seductive. He takes my lips, unaware that he’s taking so much more.
I finish dressing, and we climb into the front of the Bronco. Ollie starts the engine and turns the steering wheel until we’re driving back the way we came. He reaches over and laces his fingers with mine, resting both our hands on his solid thigh.
I watch the road disappear beneath the spinning wheels as we head back to town. It’s late by the time we park in the small lot in front of the apartment.
I drag my tired self into the apartment, intent on showering right away. Ollie joins me, turning a quick rinse into a marathon session. We have sex again, but it’s slower this time. Gentler and less frantic, up against the cold tiled wall. I’m learning that I like both versions of Ollie.
As exhausted as I am, I can’t fall asleep initially when we’re lying in bed later that night. Ollie doesn’t have the same problem. His chest rises and lowers with his steady, shallow breaths. I study the angles of his face as he rests, unaware of my gaze. He looks almost boyish when he’s sleeping. And peaceful. Long, dark eyelashes kiss the tops of his cheeks. His jaw is strong but relaxed with stubble peppering the olive-colored skin. His lower lip is fuller than his top, but still masculine and slightly gaped. Despite his hard angles … he’s a work of art. Almost beautiful, though that seems like too feminine of a word for him.
With each tick of the clock, the time for him to leave draws closer. It’s always there, lingering in the background and threatening from a short distance while I try to ignore the inevitable.
I’ve grown accustomed to coming home to him sitting on the couch, watching something sports-related on television. It’s familiar. The two of us cooking in the kitchen together or rummaging for a snack in the middle of the night, the only light in the apartment radiating from the open refrigerator door. Or when I climb into his bed at night after I get off work, waking him as the mattress shifts from my weight. Lately, he’s been waiting for me, lingering in that space somewhere between sleep and consciousness. As soon as my head hits the pillow, he reaches for me. He kisses me. He removes my clothes, if I bother to wear any to bed. He loves on my body.
