Chapter 17
17
T he spa day leaves me glowing, my complexion as silken as moonlight on water. Despite Oliver’s hand in the arrangement, it was good to reconnect with Elise. Between pampering treatments, we talked about everything and nothing. I even surprised myself by laughing out loud when she said the baby moves like a trapped creature. Watching the kicks ripple across her belly, I couldn’t help but giggle.
For a little while, I almost felt like myself again.
But as I cross the threshold into the House of Capricorn, the glow from Elise’s presence fades, and whatever peace I gained vanishes under the weight of Landon’s dealings with Oliver.
The revelation that he’s Jerome’s accountant adds another twist to my already tangled feelings for Oliver Whitney.
Is he helping my brother take Jerome down? Or is he playing both sides? I pause in the sitting room and consider what I know about the man who taunts me every night with his voyeuristic tendencies.
His composure rarely slips, but it did when he told me about Talitha. In that moment, pain bled through the cool detachment he wears like armor.
Is it possible he’s an ally?
A shadow shifts in the kitchen doorway, drawing me from my thoughts, and I find him standing in the lit entrance. His gaze trails over my blond locks before landing on the shaped lines of my brows. I tuck a curled strand behind one ear, and his attention catches on the gleam of my polished nails.
“Exquisite color.”
I glance at the glossy paint, my ring glinting from the recessed lighting that keeps those paintings on display.
“The tech recommended it. She called it Scarlet Midnight.”
“I know.” He shoots me a secretive smile, and a flush spreads across my collarbone.
“Dinner’s waiting,” he adds, his tone carrying that edge of command I can never seem to resist.
As I step past him, he presses a hand to my lower back. That simple contact shouldn’t affect me like it does, but my body betrays me, and I lean into his touch without thinking.
We sit side by side this time. He’s taken the head of the table, and I’m to his right, no longer at the opposite end. Tonight’s dinner is pasta, tossed in a creamy sauce with grilled vegetables. I twirl a bite on my fork and bring it to my lips.
Loaded silence hangs between us. I’m acutely aware of all the things we don’t talk about—things that have been building in the dark for the past three weeks, even with a chaperone snoring nearby.
Astrid didn’t accompany me to the village today, which only highlights her absence now.
“Where’s the babysitter?”
“Dismissed,” he says, pouring two glasses of white wine.
“Dismissed as in…?”
“Gone for good.” He hands me a glass. “You’ve been behaving.”
I arch a disbelieving brow. “Have I, now?”
“Yes.” He unknots his tie and pulls it free, right at the dinner table. “You returned to your studio yesterday, and today, you went to the spa with Elise. I’m proud of you.”
There’s an unmistakable note of innuendo in his voice, despite his words masquerading as concern for my mental health.
He holds my stare, drops his tie to the floor, and I know I’m right. Awareness needles under my skin, while butterflies dance a wild rhythm in my stomach.
I tip my head back and gulp down the wine, because without Astrid shadowing my every move…it’s just him and me now.
“How was the spa?” he asks, spearing a broccoli floret.
“Good.” I lift a shoulder, feigning casual before aiming for his jugular. “The tech waxed my pussy bare.”
He pauses with the fork in his mouth, then slowly slides it out and chews.
But his non-reaction is not enough, so I push harder.
“My skin is so velvety now. Makes me want to touch myself.” I drag a fingertip up my arm, attracting his roving eye.
He refills my glass before taking a leisurely sip of his own.
God, this man makes me want to scream.
Fighting the urge to throw my drink in his face—because that would be unhinged, even for me—I go for direct instead. “Did you have ulterior motives for sending me to the spa?”
“I might have.”
“Such as?” I already know, but I want to hear him admit it.
“You’re an intelligent woman, so why don’t you give me your theory?”
“I think you wanted me polished and groomed for your perverted friends abroad.”
He sets his fork down, a deliberate preamble. “So tell me, Novalee. Are you ready now?”
Silence lands between us, stretching taut. This is about more than his travel plans.
He’s going to make his move tonight.
The certainty settles deep in my bones, ratcheting my heartbeat as he devours me with his eyes, saying nothing and everything, all at once.
I take another long swig from my glass and let the buzz carry me through the rest of dinner, arousal pulsing a relentless drumbeat at my core.
Every second heightens it, reminding me of all the nights I’ve forced myself to fall asleep with wet, aching need pooling between my thighs.
When he finally pushes back from the table, showing off the hard cut of his torso beneath his dress shirt, I expect…
More.
“I have some work to finish,” he says, his gaze burning with an intensity that contradicts his nonchalant tone. “Won’t take more than an hour. I’ll see you soon.”
He walks away with a confidence that borders on smug. Why do I get the feeling he’s already orchestrated the next move?
Five minutes later, in the privacy of my quarters, I understand why.
Lingerie drapes the foot of my bed, bold in maroon and tasteful in design, despite its wicked intent. Lace lines the cups, each one teasing with a peekaboo slit that leaves nothing to the imagination. A sheer skirt parts down the front, inviting quick access.
And the panties?
There are none.
Does he want me bare for my hands…or his?
I slip on the babydoll number, and anticipation thrums where I’m still tender from the wax. The bedtime ritual waits like a path I’ve walked too many times.
After three weeks of edging under his illicit stare, I ache to take the next step.
Crossing into my bathroom on unsteady feet, I go through the motions of my nightly skin routine before returning to the bedroom.
But I don’t pull back the covers—not with the fireplace painting the room in pale amber rose, its heat licking at my exposed skin. Instead, I climb onto the mattress and sink into the pillows, my desire simmering in my belly, banked like embers.
My nipples tighten through the lace-cut slits, and I roll them between my fingers, nails freshly polished to match the sultry hue of my lingerie. Stretching out my limbs, I let the sheer skirt fall open.
And that’s how I wait for the sound of his approach, fingertips veiling the peaks of my breasts, legs pressed together to obscure the view of my pussy.
He doesn’t keep me waiting long.
Oliver’s silhouette fills the doorway, and my breath catches as his molten gaze drags over every inch of me. Something flares in his expression.
Appreciation?
Or a craving that torments?
I meet him head-on, part my thighs, and offer what he hasn’t seen since I entered this house.
It’s a provocation.
An undeniable dare.
A demand for action.
And yet, a twitch of his jaw is all I get. Gritting my teeth, I slide my fingers through the slick folds of my pussy and let a moan break free.
Loud.
Needy.
Frustrated .
I’m wearing the lingerie he chose, putting everything on display, no sheets, no shame. And yet…
He still doesn’t move.
Will he ever?
“Oliver.” His name escapes in a plea, cloaked in seduction, floating on the air like a siren’s lure.
As if absorbing the impact of my voice, he sucks in a ragged breath and starts toward me, each step a release of restraint. By the time he reaches the bed and crawls over me, hovering but not touching, his loose shirt grazing my nipples, I’m ready to fly apart.
A hoarse whimper rasps out of me.
“Don’t come yet.” He takes me by the chin.
The air between us crackles, and another groan spills free.
He pushes a finger past my lips. “Suck.”
“Mmm.” I envelop him in the eager seal of my mouth.
“Match this pace,” he commands, withdrawing, then pressing back in. “Not faster. Not slower. I want you right on the edge.”
I hum around his salty skin, following his rhythm with trembling focus as I rub myself in tandem.
Oliver shifts, bracing an elbow on the mattress.
“Wider,” he says, deepening the motion, adding another digit.
I stretch my jaw for him, and he smirks.
“Both your mouth and your legs.”
So I spread even more.
“Yes, that’s it. Let the air ground you. Let it be the one thing that holds you in check.”
But I’m not sure I can control myself with him so close. His commands direct every aspect of this show, and I’m an actress under his tutelage.
“You’re doing so well. Now push your finger into that pretty cunt. I want to hear how wet you are.”
I work a single digit into my tight, slick walls. Need builds as my thumb drifts back to my nub.
“No more clit.” His fingers thrust into my throat, triggering a gag that rips my focus away. “You’re too close.”
Unbidden, my groan turns guttural, but the edge stays out of reach, held at bay by Oliver’s maddening pace.
He’s the master of patience, demanding I surrender with every slow stroke against my tongue. So when he suddenly yanks my wrist away and sucks my soaked fingers into his mouth, I’m caught off guard.
“Mmm, you taste incredible.” He guides my hand between my thighs again. “What do you want, Novalee?”
“I want to come.”
“I can leave and let you finish alone.” He nips my ear with his teeth. “Is that what you want?”
“After all these weeks, that’s your move?”
“If you want me to make you come, you have to say the word.”
“What word?” I gasp, dazed with lust. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” His pointed statement sends my mind straight to that locked door.
I do know, and it’s the knowing that winds around my windpipe.
“Please, Oliver,” I whisper, pride nowhere to be found.
“Please, what ?”
“Please…” Primed and shameless, I close my eyes and succumb to the inevitable. “Sir.”
That’s all he needs. In a fluid motion, he sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the forbidden door I’ve spent the month avoiding.
“Once we step inside,” he says, lowering me to my feet, “your virginity is the only thing off-limits.” He grasps my nape. “You’ll be mine until morning.”
“The whole night?”
“At my mercy until sunrise.”
“Will you hurt me?” My voice cracks, tendrils of fear snaking free.
“I don’t give pain without pleasure.”
“That doesn’t reassure me.”
“I’m not here to reassure you. I’m offering to take you to a place where the two are intertwined. If you want to know all the ways I can make you feel , then say the word one more time, so I know you’re certain.”
My attention veers from his face to the door. Sir is already clamoring to spill off my tongue again, but my vocal cords won’t cooperate. Seconds sneak by as I swallow down my instincts, both fight and flight, before giving myself over to the unknown.
With a choked plea, I seal my fate and utter what he wants to hear.
Oliver’s smile turns dark and sensual as he keys in the code. “By morning, you’ll say it without resistance.”