Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Hayes’s curious gaze bounces between us before his mouth quirks into a knowing smirk. “I guess this would be a good time to welcome you to the family, huh?”
A rumble of laughter vibrates through Oliver. “Don’t scare her off. She’s already trying to come up with any reason to bolt.”
Even though heat floods my cheeks, I don’t move away. If anything, I’m hyperaware of Oliver’s hand pressed to the curve of my back. Instead of letting go, his touch settles more firmly, possessive in a way that sends a thrill through me.
It’s a subtle but unmistakable claim. One that tells everyone in the room exactly where I belong.
And who I belong with.
The most dangerous part?
There’s a traitorous, secret piece of me I can’t seem to silence that doesn’t want him to let go.
Far below the penthouse, a siren wails before fading into the distance.
For everyone else, it’s just another Wednesday night.
For me, it’s a fragile interlude.
One that I fear won’t last.
40
Oliver
By the end of the night, after Hayes and Ava have headed back to their hotel and Kia disappeared down the hall claiming exhaustion, the apartment falls quiet. Rina and I remain on the couch, the silence settling between us. She’s curled up beside me, head tipped back against the cushion, fatigue etched into every line of her face. Even with shadows smudged beneath her eyes, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
My need for her goes so much deeper than her body. I’ve had nights with women where that’s all it ever was. Heat, skin, and the rush of release before walking away untouched by anything real. That kind of desire has always been easy.
Forgettable.
With Rina, nothing is easy.
And it sure as hell isn’t forgettable.
I want to take the weight she’s carrying, to strip away the fear and tension bleeding her dry. I want to prove that whatever this is between us, it’s not just desire.
It’s something much deeper.
I slide my hand over hers, my thumb stroking along her knuckles before giving a gentle tug. “Come to bed with me, babe.”
Her brows draw together, suspicion flashing in her eyes. “Oliver—”
“Not to fuck,” I cut in, my tone steady, threaded with a truth I’ve never spoken to anyone. “I want to take care of you.”
For a long moment she simply studies me. The snappy retort I expect never comes. Instead, she looks at me with uncertainty, a faint crack showing in her armor. That hesitation, that flicker of trust, feels more important than any climax I’ve ever given her.
I lace my fingers through hers before leading her toward the bedroom.
There have been plenty of times when our sex was frantic. Fueled by want, desperation, and the need to lose ourselves in each other. But that’s not what I crave tonight.
With Rina, I don’t want quick or forgettable.
I want to carve every second into her memory.
The bedroom glows in amber light, blurring the edges of everything. I take my time undressing her. My fingers work the buttons of her blouse one at a time, each gentle pop exposing another inch of skin. I lower my mouth and kiss each newly revealed expanse, taking my time to savor all of her—the graceful curve of her collarbone and the gentle rise of her chest—until the blouse slips from her shoulders in a whisper of fabric.
Her bra follows, the clasp giving way beneath my fingers before I slip the straps down her arms.
I drop to my knees in front of her, my palms sliding down her hips to the button of her pants. After flicking it open, I drag the zipper low and kiss her stomach, her hip bones, the hollow just below her navel. She shudders as I peel the slacks down until they puddle at her feet.
“This isn’t about distracting you,” I say against her skin, taking in her delectable scent. “It’s about adoring every gorgeous inch of you.”
Her lashes flutter, and for once, there isn’t a cutting response ready on her tongue. It’s just silence and the weight of her steady gaze.
I ease her back onto the mattress, lowering her with a gentleness that feels almost foreign. Only then do I strip out of my own clothes, tugging the confining material off and dropping it in a careless pile. When I’m just as bare as she is, I climb onto the bed and ease between her thighs until we’re perfectly lined up, as if we were always meant to fit together this way.
In that moment, it hits me all over again. This isn’t about taking. It’s about giving. About holding. About finally finding something worth keeping.
Even before I move, rightness settles over me. The sight of her beneath me, her hair fanned out across the pillow, eyes locked on mine as if she’s trying to decide whether to trust me or run, undoes me completely.