Chapter 4 Oliver
oliver
The workweek from hell is finally in the rearview, but my to-do list could choke an elephant, and sleep is some distant myth I read about in a self-help book once.
Fucking hell, between the Lewis-Burton merger and my dirty dreams involving one gorgeous barista, I haven’t had more than two hours of sleep in over a week.
I head up to my penthouse and strip down, swapping out my suit for shorts and a tank, every muscle on edge.
I take the elevator to the third floor. My mind’s still working overtime as I shove through the gym door, expecting the usual emptiness.
But no. The universe serves up a gift-wrapped surprise and shoves it right in my face.
A fucking present with a bow on top, waiting for me.
If I thought Cydney was gorgeous in her regular clothes, it’s nothing compared to her in skimpy workout wear.
Fucking hell. My cock turns to stone, and I know this is going to make working out a little more difficult.
Glancing at her, I realize there’s no halfway with Cydney.
She’s running on the treadmill like she’s got the devil himself at her heels, poured into skin-tight gray leggings that wrap around every sinfully perfect curve, and a cropped black tank that strains to contain her luscious tits.
My mouth goes dry. Her hair’s up in a high ponytail, swinging back and forth with every relentless stride.
A constellation of sweat beads glistens along her arms and collarbone, and I’d give my left arm to see if she tastes as sweet as she looks.
She’s locked in on the console, completely focused, until I make my entrance.
Then her eyes flick up to meet mine—dark, sparkling, dangerous. Game on.
I actually mutter it. “Fuck me.”
She hears me and her mouth goes wide in a heart-stopping grin, and she ups the treadmill speed just to show off, legs blurring while her ass bounces in perfect sync with her footsteps.
My heart pounds away, and I’m not sure I’m going to survive this run-in with her.
With as much dignity as I can fake, I veer away from the dumbbells and stagger over to the elliptical on the back wall. At least there, I can ogle her in the reflection without looking like a total pervert.
I crank the settings, fighting the urge to stare, but every part of me is on red alert. Sweat prickles my scalp, and I haven’t even started moving.
She’s still jogging and glancing at me every few seconds. The next time our eyes lock, she smirks, then punches the treadmill up another level. The belts whine. Her pace goes from “impressive” to “are you fucking kidding me?”
My hand slips, and I punch the resistance up so high my machine actually beeps at me. Like it’s worried for my safety.
“Living dangerously with those settings, Burkhardt?” Cydney calls across the room, not even winded, just grinning like she’s got my number.
I bark out a laugh, swallowing a groan. “Says the woman racing an imaginary cheetah. You training for the Olympics, or just showing off?”
She throws her head back and laughs—I’d recognize that husky rasp anywhere.
“This is my warm-up speed.” Cydney winks and powers through another minute, ponytail a blur.
Her entire body is a study in temptation—hips swaying, waist beaded with sweat, tank top hugging those perfect curves with zero mercy.
My cock is painfully aware of every second.
I pretend to focus on the elliptical, but my brain is too busy picturing her bent over the counter in her bakery… or, hell, bent over the equipment right here and now, yoga pants peeled down.
She saunters off the machine, stretching her arms overhead so I get a perfect, unfiltered view of her bare skin above her waistband. If I were a weaker man, I’d fall off this elliptical and drop to my damn knees to worship her.
Cydney wipes her neck and glances at me sideways. She’s flushed from the workout—cheeks rosy, hairline damp, eyes bright. My mouth goes dry.
She walks right past, close enough that the scent of her shampoo—something floral, sweet, with just a hint of vanilla—clouds my fucking senses. I nearly trip getting off the elliptical.
With her in range, there’s no way in hell I’m letting the moment go to waste.
“You got plans tonight?” I ask, doing my best to sound casual, which means my voice comes out rough and way too eager.
She stops, eyes on mine. Slowly, the smile spreads. “Hmm. Let’s see. I thought I’d treat myself to a shower, maybe wolf down a quick dinner, and then…”—her gaze holds mine, shameless—“collapse in bed. That’s about it.”
“Funny,” I fire back, barely missing a beat, “that’s exactly my agenda. Shower, dinner, bed. What are the odds? Maybe we should do it together?” Fucking hell. I’m blaming the lack of oxygen to my brain for uttering that lame pick-up line.
I’m trying to figure out how to backtrack when she laughs, breathless and a little wild, and I realize she’s not going to shoot me down.
She’s not even pretending to play it cool.
“I’m up for sharing dinner, and then we can see where things go.
” Her eyes twinkle, like she can’t wait to see if I’ll keep up.
My pulse jumps to DEFCON 1.
“Deal,” I tell her, voice dropping low. “How does pizza sound for dinner?”
She licks her lips, eyes narrowing like she’s sizing up a worthy opponent. “Pizza sounds perfect,” she fires back, not missing a beat. The look she gives me is pure challenge, and fuck if I don’t want to devour her right here.
It takes every ounce of control not to let my cock do the talking.
“Good,” I rumble and hop off the elliptical before stalking closer to her. “I’ll order a pepperoni special from Romano’s, and we can eat at my apartment.”
Cydney’s cheeks flush, and she taps her chin, pretending to think while her eyes rake down my chest, then lower. “Sounds great. I’ll shower and meet you at your place in thirty minutes. If you don’t mind cutting your workout short.”
That little tease. My cock twitches in my shorts, and I have to shift my stance before I embarrass myself. “I’ve already got all the workout I need,” I throw back, voice all heat.
She gives me a look that could burn holes in my nylon shorts. “Darn. That ruins my plans for later.”
I fucking love this woman. I give her the guest keycard that will allow her access to the penthouse floor, and she looks down at it and back up at me. “I should’ve already known.”
“What can I say, I love to be on top.” My mouth runs away without consulting my brain.
Cydney barks out a laugh that makes my cock twitch, then steps closer, eyes locked on mine. “You might change your mind later.” She twirls my guest keycard between her fingers before winking at me. “See you soon.”
She turns and saunters out, hips swaying like she’s on a damn mission to kill me. I watch her ass all the way to the door, and, hell, I almost thank the universe out loud.
I storm upstairs like a man on a mission, mind and body both strung tight as barbed wire.
Thirty fucking minutes. I might actually lose my mind before she gets here.
My cock is already hard, throbbing with every step.
I barely make it through my front door before I’m stripping out of my clothes, leaving a trail behind me like a goddamn animal.
Penthouse lights blaze as I stalk directly to the shower and crank the water to full blast.
It’s not even hot enough to burn off the need inside me. I step under the spray, fists clenched, but it’s no use. I can still see her: those luscious curves, the way she winked as she walked out, hips taunting me like she knows exactly what I want to do to her. Fuck me.
I palm my cock, already leaking, and stroke hard and fast because thirty minutes feels like torture.
I pump my fist, picturing her on her knees, lips wrapped around my cock, eyes wide and begging me for more.
Fucking hell, I need to relieve the pressure building in my balls.
I drag out the strokes, letting the tension build, picturing every inch of Cydney’s gorgeous body.
The way her tits strain against her tank top, the dark tease of her nipples, her mouth made for sin.
I groan and brace my hand against the tile, letting the water hammer my back. My cock throbs in my fist, thick and angry, leaking hot against my palm. “Fuck, baby…” The words slip out, guttural. I imagine her kneeling between my legs, tongue flicking over the head, tasting me, greedy for it.
I stroke harder, faster, chasing the brutal edge.
My balls draw tight, desperate for release.
I picture Cydney’s dimpled grin as she looks up at me, all sass and heat, as she takes me deep, my cock buried in her throat while her nails dig into my hips.
Fuck. That’s it. I explode in my hand, grunting her name as the orgasm tears through me.
Hot cum splashes down the tile, and I have to lean back against the cool marble wall to steady myself.
The water’s beating down on my back, but I barely notice. All I see is Cydney. All I want is her.
Thirty fucking minutes. There’s no way I’m making it that long without going insane.
I haul myself out of the shower and towel off in record time, adrenaline still spiking through my veins like I’m prepping for a prize fight.
I barely glance at the clock, but every second drags like torture.
I throw on a pair of jeans and a black tee, then head out to pick up the clothes trail I left in the living room.