Chapter 20 Oliver #2
I kissed her like I’d wanted to every second since that first night on her couch. No pretense, no games. Just slow pressure, the drag of lips, the tease of tongue. Her hands found my chest, my shoulders, then slid around my neck as she pulled me in harder.
The kiss deepened, messier now. My hand slipped up her back, under her suit, tracing the warm slope of her spine. She moaned against my mouth, sliding on top of me as she rocked against my extremely hard cock. “Damn, Oliver, you’re huge.”
“All you, baby.” I sucked her skin, grinding into her when a bell jingled in the distance.
“Shit,” Sloane breathed, twisting in my arms, eyes wide and panicked. “Oliver, we can’t—"
I held still for half a beat, listening. “Shh, hold on.”
Voices. Distant. A door slamming somewhere down the hall. Definitely not someone coming for us but enough of a reminder that we were half-naked, entangled in a hotel hot tub.
Sloane looked at me, cheeks flushed, hair damp around her face. Her lips were swollen from kissing, and her eyes were wild in the best fucking way.
“My room’s right there,” she whispered, jerking her head toward the corner unit off the patio. “We can go through the sliding glass door.”
That was all I needed.
I grabbed her hand, and we moved fast—half tiptoe, half scramble over the wet stone.
I kept one hand on her back, like I could shield her from the world and also still feel her skin.
I quickly grabbed our clothes. The door slid open, and we slipped inside, muffling laughter like teenagers about to be caught.
The room was dark and cool, the glow from the bathroom night-light casting soft gold across the floor.
The second the door clicked shut behind us, I lost it.
I reached for her again, backing her into the desk without finesse.
She hit it with a soft grunt and a laugh, her arms wrapping around my neck as I lifted her ass up and set her down on top of it.
God, she was so wet and smooth and hot. Her legs fell open, and I stepped between them, not wanting any distance between us.
I kissed her like I’d been holding back for weeks.
She pulled my hair, her mouth dragging over mine like she needed the taste of me again. I braced one hand on the desk beside her, the other curled tight around her waist as her hips rolled toward mine like she couldn’t help it.
“God, Oliver,” she rasped, her voice all throaty and sexy.
I couldn’t get enough of her.
Every inch of her was heat and urgency and soft, maddening pressure.
My hands slid up under her suit, palms skimming over bare skin.
I traced her sides, thumbs brushing the swell of her ribs before I finally cupped her ass again—full, warm, fucking perfect.
She arched into me like she’d been waiting for me to touch her like this.
“Sloane,” I breathed, dropping my forehead to hers. “I’m so goddamn gone for you.”
She bit her lip—slow and deliberate like she knew exactly what it did to me.
I kissed her again, deeper this time, hungrier.
She met me with equal force, her tongue sliding over mine as she moaned low in her throat.
My cock throbbed against her center, only the thin barrier of my boxers between us, and when she rolled her hips again, I nearly lost it.
My hand slipped lower, trailing the curve of her ass, gripping it tight as I rocked into her.
The sound she made—breathless and completely sexy—hit me harder than any touchdown ever had.
Her nails grazed my chest. Her touch was greedy now, her fingers raking down my abs like she was memorizing me one line at a time.
“Tell me you want this,” I growled against her throat, sucking a mark below her jaw. “I need to hear you want me.”
Her legs tightened around me, her nails biting into my shoulders. “I want this. I need you.”
Fuck. That did it.
I kissed her again, rougher this time, tugging her hair and tilting her head back so I could take the kiss deeper. I sucked her tongue, completely mad and obsessed with her.
I pulled back enough to see her eyes—flushed, glassy, wild—but still holding that flicker of hesitation. Of trust. The kind she didn’t give lightly. I brushed her hair back from her face, my voice shaky with everything I felt.
“You remember what you told me?” I whispered, cupping her jaw, letting my thumb rest beneath her mouth. “About trust being your thing? About wanting someone who doesn’t take control—but earns it?”
She nodded slowly, breath catching.
I leaned in, kissed the corner of her mouth, slow and reverent.
“Then let me earn it, Sloane.”
My hand slid up her spine, the other still gripping her hip as I pressed my forehead to hers.
“You don’t have to think. Don’t have to plan. Just give me tonight, and I’ll take care of everything. All of you. Every second. Every inch. You feel.”
“Just… tonight?” Something flashed across her face, but it was so fast, and my brain was too turned on to register what it was. “Okay,” she said, her lips curving up as her gaze heated. “Yes, Oliver. Tonight, I’m yours.”