“See, told you.”
He kisses my lips, nibbling in that way that makes me moan.
“You’re a bloody genius.”
“I have my moments.”
After we get our drinks—two beers each in red Solo cups—we walk on the grass until we find the perfect spot.
“Now what?” my I-think-he-could-be-my-boyfriend asks.
“Have you ever drunk cheap beer, listened to good music and made out on a blanket, surrounded by a couple hundred people in a field, under the warm sun all afternoon?”
“Never had the pleasure.”
I lift one cup. “Today you will.”
Olivia and I stumble through the revolving door into the lobby of the Plaza holding hands, stealing quick kisses, giggling like two randy teenagers ditching class for a quickie in the broom closet. Lying with her on the blanket throughout the afternoon, kissing her long and slow, without a care who was watching—because no one was—has made me desperate for her.
And hard. Christ, so hard.
So if heads turn our way or camera phones come out, I don’t give a single shit. All I care about is my cock pressing against the confines of my jeans, thick and hot and aching.
Anticipation. Has there ever been a sweeter word? I’ve never had to wait—not really—not for this. I had no idea the buildup, hours of sizzling, teasing delayed gratification, could be such a heady aphrodisiac. My blood rushes and Olivia’s eyes sparkle—with lust and playfulness and hunger. We make it into the lift and the moment the doors slide closed behind us, I pick her up into my arms, press her against the wall and ravage her mouth—tasting deeper than I was able to before. She moans around my tongue as I grind against her, relishing the pressure that won’t bring any relief. But it’s fine—thrilling even—because I know soon she’ll be naked and spread out on my bed and I’ll be able to drive into her tightness again and again, until we’re both worn out.
Or we break the damn bed—whichever comes first.
As the lift rises, I lean back and look down, watching my denim-clad crotch thrust deliberately against her heated center. My cock slides exquisitely right there—against her soft, sweet flesh concealed beneath the thin fabric of her black cotton leggings. But I can feel it.
And it feels sublime.
With her fingernails biting into the back of my neck, Olivia pulls herself up, lips to my jaw, teeth scraping my stubble. “I want you to fuck me everywhere, Nicholas,” she pants. “Come everywhere. Between my legs, on my chest, my mouth, down my throat…oh, oh it’ll be so good. Everywhere, Nicholas.”
“Fuck, yes,” I hiss, feeling crazier with each word.
Note to self—cheap beer makes Olivia wild. Stock up on the stuff.
With a ding, the lift opens to the penthouse. Home sweet home.
Olivia locks her ankles at my lower back and I carry her, palming and kneading that luscious arse, across the foyer, heading for the bedroom. My journey is halted in the living room—by the head of my security team, waiting on the couch, stiff as an angry board and frowning.
And suddenly I don’t just feel like a teenager—I feel like a teenager who’s been caught sneaking in past curfew, stinking of sex and smokes and liquor.
“So…you’re back, then?” Logan stands.
“Uh…yes. It was a grand show,” I tell him. “No incidences occurred; no one seemed to recognize me.”
He throws his arms out—imitating a fed-up mum now. He sounds like one, too.
“You could’ve called! I’ve been here all afternoon—goin’ half out my mind with worry.”
And I know it’s rude, but the amazing day and the certainty that I’ll be balls-deep in Olivia quite soon makes me too happy to care.
I chuckle. “Sorry, Mum.”
Logan is not amused. His teeth grind so hard I think I hear it.
“This isn’t funny, My Lord. It’s dangerous.” His eyes shoot to Olivia for an instant, then back my way. “We need to talk. Alone.”
“All right, settle down, now. My hands happen to be exquisitely filled at the moment.” I give Olivia’s arse a squeeze, making her giggle and hide her face against my neck. “We’ll talk in the morning, first thing—I promise.”
His gaze darts between us, still looking unhappy. But he nods.
“Have a…pleasant evening,” he grinds out, then marches toward the elevator.
Once he’s gone, Olivia peeks out from her hiding spot. “I don’t think he likes me anymore.”
I kiss the tip of her pert little nose. “I like you.” Then I push my hips forward while pulling her closer—letting her feel every hard inch. “Do you want me to show you how much?”
Heat rises in her cheeks. “Yes, please.” Then she bites her lip and adds with a meek accent. “My Lord.”
Hearing that from Olivia’s lips does things to me. Makes me want to do filthy, dirty things to her. Without further delay, I carry her to the bedroom to get to it.
Most of the time Bosco sleeps in Ellie’s room. She brings him in with her and shuts the door—just to make sure our dad doesn’t trip over him when he staggers in…or Bosco doesn’t find a way to actually open the refrigerator door and eat until his stomach bursts.
But sometimes, Ellie gets up in the middle of the night to pee and forgets to close the door behind her. And on those nights, Bosco usually ends up in my room. If I’m lucky, he curls up quietly on the foot of my bed or burrows in close to me for warmth like a furry, ugly baby bird.