Page 83 of When We Were Us

Oliver shifted, sliding his fingers lower to gather my slickness. His eyes never left mine as he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. "Christ, Ryleigh, I think you’re even sweeter than the last time I tasted you," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

"Maybe it’s the scotch," I said, managing a shaky smile.

He pursed his lips. "I noticed the bottles in the kitchen."

"I needed something to take the edge off," I admitted, my voice still uneven. "What the hell were you thinking when you put me in charge of Fox?"

Oliver's expression softened, his hand reaching to stroke my cheek. "I was thinking my company would be protected if my wife ran it while I was indisposed."

"As I said, the employees hate me. One of them even called me a cunt," I said, bitterness lacing my words.

His eyebrows knitted together in anger. "Who the fuck said that?" he growled, his protective instinct flaring.

"They’re right," I said, looking away. "I’m overwhelmed."

Oliver grabbed my chin, gently forcing me to meet his gaze. "Ryleigh, listen to me. You are not a cunt, and you are not alone in this. We’ll handle it together."

My cell rang, its insistent buzz pulling me out of the moment. I reached for it out of habit, but Oliver's hand darted out to stop me. His reflexes, still sluggish from his recovery, missed.

“Henri, what can I do for you? It’s a holiday, you know,” I said, trying to keep my irritation in check.

“Not in Japan, Miss Stewart,” came the reply.

“Mrs. Fox,” I corrected, glancing up at Oliver. He was grinning widely, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Fox. Haruto Ito called about our latest steel shipment. It’s been delayed and we’re already behind on the Miami project.”

I groaned, rolling my eyes. Ito had been a constant headache. He preferred dealing with Oliver, who spoke fluent Japanese. Without my husband, we were stuck using an interpreter, which only added to the frustration.

Oliver's gaze was fixed on me, concern etched into his features as I spoke with Henri. When I hung up, anxiety coiled tight in my stomach. I dreaded the thought of calling Ito today to sort this mess out.

“What’s the problem?” Oliver asked, his voice steady but curious.

“Ito has not been the easiest to deal with. Our shipments keep getting delayed for one reason or another,” I explained, rubbing my temples.

“I should talk to him,” Oliver offered, his tone confident.

“You’re not familiar with the Miami project,” I protested.

Oliver chuckled, shaking his head. “What do you think I’ve been doing while I sit in bed all day?”

“You’ve been spying on me?” I accused, raising an eyebrow.

“Not at all. I trust you. I’ve been keeping up to date on our latest projects. I have your back, dear wife,” he assured me, his voice warm and sincere.

“And that snitch Henri,” I muttered.

“He’s not a snitch. He cares about the company,” Oliver corrected gently.

I sighed, setting the phone on the nightstand. “Right now, it can wait. I have something else I want to do to my husband,” I said, a mischievous glint in my eye.

Oliver’s grin widened. “Oh? And what might that be?”

I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear. “Something much more enjoyable than dealing with steel shipments,” I whispered, trailing kisses down his neck.

Oliver’s laughter turned into a groan of pleasure as my hands roamed over his body. For now, the world outside could wait.

"No, no, hold on," I begged, my voice trembling with anticipation and urgency.

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