Chapter 5
JENNA
Ishould say goodnight.
That’s what a reasonable, freshly divorced, emotionally fragile woman would do.
She would smile, thank the sweet, ridiculously handsome man for dinner and the scenic therapy session, then go inside to journal about her feelings while wearing fuzzy socks and an oversized t-shirt.
Instead, I just stand here on my porch, staring up at Oliver like my brain has been unplugged.
“Goodnight, Princess,” he says softly. The nickname stirs something low in my belly.
The porch light casts a golden glow over his face, carving out his cheekbones and catching the darker flecks in his brown eyes. He looks like all my good and bad decisions rolled into one very sinfully muscular package.
I should end the night right here. I should reach for the doorknob and go inside.
But I don’t. I want this. I deserve this.
I rise on the balls of my feet, leaning toward him and praying I don’t look too desperate.
His jaw flexes, just once. “Are you sure?”
No. Yes. God, I don’t know.
My heart is pounding. My stomach is flipping. My whole body is thrumming with awareness. But beneath all that, there’s a quiet steadiness that wasn’t there with my ex-husband. It’s calm and serene, laced with something else… a kind of desire I’ve never felt before.
“I’m sure.”
Oliver searches my face for a beat longer, like he’s giving me one last chance to change my mind. When I don’t, the corner of his mouth curls into a slight smirk before he presses his full lips against mine.
The second we touch, my whole body sparks. He makes a low sound in his chest—surprised, but pleased—and his hands find my waist. I tug the front of his shirt to pull him closer, kissing him like I’ve wanted to do since the moment I saw him in his shop.
He takes over slowly, gently, angling his mouth and coaxing my lips apart. His tongue sweeps against mine, and my knees actually go weak.
This. This is the kind of kiss I’ve read about. The kind you see in the movies but think don’t happen in real life. Bobby never kissed me like this. Not once in ten years.
Oliver is savoring me. Like he has all night to take his time. Like I’m something he’s been waiting for, not just something to get through.
A quiet moan escapes me, embarrassingly needy, as he presses me back until my shoulders hit the door. His body fits against mine like it was made to, firm and solid and safe.
He eases up, giving me space. “Too much?” he asks, his voice rough.
I shake my head, breathing hard. “No. Not enough.”
Fire flashes in his eyes.
“I don’t want you to be gentle,” I blurt, then wince. “I mean, I do. But I…”
There’s a silent plea in my gaze but I’m not sure what I’m begging for. I smooth my palms up his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my hands. He covers them with his own, holding me in place.
“I feel safe with you,” I confess, the truth spilling out on a whisper. “Safer than I’ve felt in a long time. Maybe ever.”
He closes his eyes for a moment, like the words hit him somewhere deep, then opens them again, his gaze dark and intent. “Jenna…”
“Show me,” I whisper, framing his jaw in my hands. I stare straight into his eyes so he sees I mean it. “Show me what it feels like to be wanted. To be worshiped.” My throat tightens, but I push through it. “I’m so tired of feeling like an obligation. I want to feel like a choice.”
For a moment, the world goes silent.
Then something shifts in his expression, and his voice drops to a low tone. “Give me your keys, baby.”
I fumble through my purse and give them to him. My hands are shaking, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the chill of the night air.
His hand slides up, his fingers wrapping lightly around my throat. He’s not squeezing, just holding with his thumb under my jaw, tilting my face up. I swear I forget how to breathe.
“You tell me if you want to stop. At any point, for any reason. You understand?”
I nod, my pulse thumping in my ears.
“Use your words, Princess.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I understand.”
His thumb strokes across my skin. “Good girl.”
Every muscle in my body melts at the praise. Oh. Okay. So that’s a real thing.
He must see it on my face, because the corner of his mouth lifts in a knowing, sinful little smile. Then he turns the knob and ushers me inside before kicking the door closed and flipping the lock.
He takes my hand, laces our fingers together, and tugs me down the hall. We barely make it three steps before I stop and yank him back for another kiss. I can’t help it. I need to feel his lips on mine again.
He chuckles against my mouth. “Someone’s impatient.”
“You have no idea,” I mumble, fisting his shirt.
His free hand slides down to grab my ass, pulling me flush to him. I feel the solid length of his cock pressing against my belly, and heat floods through me.
“Walk,” he murmurs, giving my hip a gentle, firm squeeze. “Before I fuck you right here against the wall.”
A shiver runs through me. “Is that… an option?”
He laughs again, amusement rumbling through his chest. “Don’t tempt me.”
We stumble down the hallway kissing like teenagers, bumping into walls, and tugging at each other’s clothes. Every time I think I can’t want him more, he does something else—tilts his head, licks into my mouth, murmurs my name—and my desire spikes.
We make it to my bedroom somehow, and my legs hit the edge of the mattress. He pauses, pulling back as his chest rapidly rises and falls. His lips are swollen, his eyes dark with emotion.
“Jenna,” he says, like a prayer or a warning, but I can’t decipher which. “Tell me what you want.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised he can’t see it beating beneath my sweater.
“I want you, Oliver. All of you. I want your hands on me. Your mouth on me...” My skin flushes, but I force the words out, because I need him to know.
“I want to feel you inside me. I don’t want to think about anything else. I just need to feel.”
His control fractures as his fingers flex at my waist. Then he takes a slow, deliberate breath, as if reining himself in. “You trust me?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “I trust you.”
“That’s a big thing to hand someone, Princess.” His voice softens. “I won’t take it lightly.”
“Good. Now stop talking and kiss me.”
He shoots me a lethal grin and something in his posture hardens. It’s subtle, but I feel it. The shift from sweet to something firmer. More dominant and in control.
His mouth finds mine again. Then he’s pushing me back until I’m lying on the bed. His hands slide under my sweater, his calloused palms warm and heavy against my bare skin. He lifts the fabric slowly, his knuckles brushing my ribs, my sides, the underside of my bra.
I suck in a breath. “Wait.”
He stills instantly, his hands hovering. “Stop?”
“No.” I shake my head. “No, I just—” I look down at myself, then back up, embarrassment prickling my skin. “I haven’t… done this with anyone else. And my body’s different from when you last saw me. I’m different.”
His hands tighten, just slightly, on my waist.
“Jenna.” His voice is firm. “Look at me.”
I do, and his gaze is steady, serious. More intense.
“You are beautiful. Every inch of you. I’m not just saying that to make you feel better.
I’ve thought you were beautiful since we were teenagers, and you have only gotten more so.
” He leans in, brushing his lips over mine.
“I want all of you. Nothing about you makes me want you less. Do you understand?”
Tears sting my eyes. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” His praise feels like a weighted blanket that settles my nerves.
He lifts my sweater the rest of the way, and I raise my arms to help him. The fabric glides over my head and lands somewhere on the floor when he tosses it aside. The cool air hits my flushed skin, followed by the heat of his gaze.
His eyes darken as he takes me in—my bra, my rounded stomach, my curves.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect.”
I chuckle. “If soft and squishy is perfect, then yeah.”
But Oliver doesn’t laugh. Instead, he holds my gaze as if daring me to look away. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. “You’ll always be perfect to me, Princess. Now lie back.”
There’s no sharpness in the command, just quiet expectation, like he knows I’ll listen. And God help me, I do. This man makes me want to submit to him like I’ve never wanted to before.
I scoot back onto the bed and stretch out, my heart almost pounding out of my chest. He follows, bracing one knee on the mattress beside my hip.
His hands skate along my sides, then slip beneath my bra, causing me to inhale a sharp breath.
He studies my face, looking for any sign of hesitation.
He doesn’t find one. Because I don’t want him to stop.
He deftly releases the clasp at my back with infuriating ease and slides the straps down my arms before dropping the garment to the floor. My heavy breasts spill free, and my nipples tighten under his hungry stare.
“Jesus, Jenna,” he groans. “Look at you.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but it comes with a hint of pride that has me arching my back as I present myself to him. He dips his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, then lower. His trim beard scrapes lightly over my skin, sending shockwaves down my spine.
When his hot, wet mouth closes around me, I moan, “Mmm…”
His hand cups my other breast, his thumb circling lazily while his tongue teases and flicks. The sensations build slowly and send me spiraling.
“You like that?” he murmurs against my skin.
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Use your words for me, Princess. Tell me what feels good. I want to learn you.”
A shiver runs through me at the possessiveness in his tone. “Your… your mouth. Your hands. All of it.”
“Good girl.” He keeps worshiping my body until I’m squirming, my thighs rubbing together, the need between my legs turning hot and insistent.
“Oliver,” I whine.
He lifts his gaze, his eyes smoldering. “What is it, baby?”
“Please.”