Chapter 5
Chapter Five
OLIVER
The snow doesn’t slow us down.
If anything, it helps blast through the last of our guardrails.
In this white, hushed world, we’re the only people on earth. There’s no one to stare or judge or whisper secrets to HELLO! Magazine. It’s just Emily and me and a hunger—a freedom—unlike anything I’ve felt in ages.
She tastes like mulled wine, salt from our pretzel snack, and a sweet surprise I wasn’t expecting on this cold winter’s night. She’s a fucking delight, and I can’t seem to stop kissing her.
Not even long enough to watch where I’m going, apparently…
I grunt, cursing as the back of my head knocks against something cold and metallic.
“Watch out for the lamppost,” she mumbles against my lips.
“Thanks,” I murmur back. “You delivered that warning in the nick of time.”
I spin us around, pressing her against the post, swallowing her laugh with another kiss that’s hot enough to make my wool coat feel like overkill. We proceed to claw at each other, tongues stroking deep as Emily wraps a leg around my hips, and I grab eager handfuls of her fantastic ass.
I haven’t been this desperate to get a woman alone in…
Christ, I can’t even remember, and it’s been an eternity since I’ve had such authentic, unguarded fun.
As a member of the peerage, one never fully drops one’s guard in the city. Hell, these days, it’s not entirely safe in the country, either. Since my father passed, and Edward and I each moved one step closer to the throne, it feels like there’s a paparazzo hiding behind every mailbox and teapot.
The Honorable Oliver David Dawson Featherswallow is not a normal man.
He has to keep his impulsive side on a tight leash so as not to mortify his mother, reflect poorly on the aristocracy, or draw the disapproving eye of the crown.
The spare to the Viscount isn’t allowed to kiss women in the snow like a lovesick uni student.
But Olly is.
Fuck, I love being Olly.
Just Olly.
Especially with Emily…
We kiss-stumble-laugh our way across the street, tripping over her suitcase and our own feet, but having a damned good time doing it. When we finally reach the entrance to the lofts, I smash my key fob against the sensor without coming up for air.
We trip again on our way across the lobby, and Emily starts giggling, that wicked, mischievous giggle that’s already one of my favorites. While we wait for the lift, I nibble her earlobe, she nips at my neck, and suddenly things aren’t nearly as funny.
I want her.
Desperately.
I’m already hard, my erection straining the front of my suit pants.
I’m in trouble with this woman. Deep trouble, and getting deeper with every passing minute. Saying goodbye tomorrow morning is going to be torture.
Which is why I’m not going to think about tomorrow.
All I’m going to think about is her lips and her curves and the way her tongue spars perfectly with mine.
The lift ride is torture and bliss. I press her against the wall, and she presses against my cock, making me groan as she grinds closer.
“I love a woman who knows what she wants,” I murmur.
“And I love feeling how much you want me,” she whispers back.
“I want you a rather alarming amount, Darling,” I confess, fingers digging into her hips. “I can’t wait to make you come, Red. Can’t wait to hear the loud, American sounds you’re going to make.”
She laughs again, but it’s a breathier sound this time, and soon becomes a moan as I cup her breast through her shirt. She’s the perfect, overflowing handful, and getting her nipples in my mouth is quickly becoming my new mission in life.
Before I can confess that or any of my other wicked thoughts, the elevator door opens and we kiss our way down the hall.
At the flat door, I wrench my lips from hers long enough to do battle with the lock, and then we’re inside, finally alone in the cool, citrus-scented darkness.
I just had the flat serviced in preparation for family coming down to do some Boxing Day shopping after the holiday, which means clean sheets for us to dirty.
And dirty them we will…
“I should shower first,” she says. “And put on something less—”
“Don’t even think about it, Red,” I say, stripping her blazer down her arms. “I can’t wait that long to have you naked in my bed, and I’ve been dreaming about getting you out of this suit for hours. I want to unwrap you like a business-casual Christmas present.”
She laughs against my lips as we kiss our way through the minimalist living room. “A rumpled, coffee-scented Christmas present. I’m pretty sure Albert spilled beer on me, too, while we were dancing.”
“Hot,” I say, tossing the blazer to the rug by the couch as we move into the darker hallway.
“You like it dirty then, do you, Mr…” She pauses, pulling back to gaze up at me, wide-eyed in the shadows. “Jesus, Olly, I still don’t know your last name.”
“But you know that I’m devoted to your safety and pleasure,” I say, kicking open the door to the primary bedroom behind me.
“Or you will know, very soon. Permission to undo the rest of your buttons with my teeth, Emily? My lips and tongue would very much like to pay tribute to your gorgeous, coffee-scented breasts.”
She sighs, her head falling back as I kiss my way down her throat. “Permission granted, you very bad man.”
“No, not bad,” I promise as I tangle my fingers in the chaos of her fabulous hair.
“I’m going to be a very good man tonight, darling Darling.
” I open her top three buttons with my teeth before pausing to press my lips to the constellation of freckles dusting the tops of her breasts.
“So beautiful… And your nipples hard for me through the wrinkles? Poetry.” I move lower, capturing one tight peak in my mouth, sucking it through the fabric of her blouse and bra, pulse pounding faster when she moans and arches closer.
“God, Olly,” she pants, confirming that being Olly is far better than Oliver any day of the week.
“Good?” I murmur, dispensing with the rest of the buttons with my fingers, too eager for party tricks at this stage.
“Perfect,” she says, her breath catching as I curl my fingers around the cups of her bra, dragging them down until her breasts spill free.
Bloody hell, her pale, peachy nipples are a revelation.
And all the inspiration I need to resume my worship…
The first taste of her bare skin—salty and hot against my tongue—makes my erection test the integrity of my zipper. The way she clings to me as I lick and suck her soon has me so hard, I have no choice but to ask, “Is it all right if I take off my trousers? Things are getting tight.”
“No,” she says, dropping the temperature a good five degrees as she pulls away.
Before I can apologize for rushing things, her fingers are busy with my belt, one hand dragging the leather through the clasp as the other rubs me through my pants. “That’s my job,” she adds. “I like to unwrap things, too, you know.”
“I love that about you,” I say, my cock twitching as she drags my zipper down and resumes stroking me through just my boxer briefs.
“I love this…” She rubs her thumb across my swollen head, where the fabric is already damp.
“That I’m so turned on, I’m already leaking for you?” I ask, the dirty words emerging without my conscious permission.
But she doesn’t seem to mind.
In fact, she rather likes them, if the way she bites her bottom lip is anything to judge by. “Yes. Is that filthy of me?”
“Utterly.” I reach for the zipper at the back of her skirt, bringing my lips to her forehead as I confess, “But like I said, Emily, I love a dirty girl. Now let’s get you out of this skirt so I can see if your pussy tastes as lovely as your tits.”
We tear at the rest of each other’s clothes, quickly disposing of the rest of the barriers keeping skin from skin. And then this magnificent, winter storm of a woman is naked on my bed, save for a pair of little cotton briefs, and bloody hell…
She’s stunning, all curves and flushed skin, pure temptation as she crooks her finger. “Come here, Olly. Right now. I have something I want to tell you.”
“What’s that, love?” I ask, lengthening myself on top of her.
We both exhale a soft groan at the first, full-body contact. She’s so soft and hot, her curves heaven against me as she wraps her legs around my waist.
And fuck, she’s wet.
So wet I can feel her through her panties.
“I want to tell you that I’m on the pill,” she whispers in my ear, making me groan as I grind closer, rubbing my cock against her clit. She shudders, a hungry sound wrenching from the back of her throat. “But I still want to use a condom. Is that okay?”
“Anything you want is okay,” I assure her in a husky voice. “I’ll grab a condom from my wallet in just a second. As soon as I work up the strength to stop humping you through these filthy little panties.”
“My panties are not filthy,” she teases, dragging her nails down my back in a way that makes it even harder to imagine leaving the paradise of her arms, even for a moment. “My panties may, in fact, be the only item of clothing that escaped both coffee and beer.”
“Really?” I nibble her dainty lobe before whispering into the pink shell of her ear, “Then why are they so wet, Ms. Darling?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Olly,” she counters. “Why don’t you do some investigating and find out?”
Investigate, I do.
Most thoroughly.
Until her equally dainty pussy lips are swollen beneath my mouth and she’s soaking my tongue as she moans and writhes on the mattress.
“Fuck, you’re sweet,” I say, my jaw clenching as I glide two fingers inside her. “And so soaked for me. God, Em, I really need to go fetch a condom. This drenched little fanny isn’t going to fuck herself.”
“Yes, condom. Yes,” she chants, even as she reaches down to grip my face in her trembling hands. “But not yet. Just do that thing again first. The thing with your… Oh, God. Oh God, yes, Olly. Oh God!”