Chapter 29 Olivia #2
He watches me for a moment too long, then returns to his phone. “Parker Building renovations are going smoother than I expected,” he says, sounding almost… surprised. “It’s going to be beautiful when it’s done. Fit to honor him.”
The softness in his voice guts me.
I stare at him. At the way his brow creases when he’s deep in thought, the way his thumb taps against his glass absentmindedly. He’s not smiling, but his eyes are brighter than I’ve seen them in weeks.
And my mind can’t stop screaming it: I love him.
God, I really love him.
War answers another call and I get back to work.
Or try to.
I try to focus.
I really do.
He’s talking; something about permits and square footage, insurance clauses and structural engineers. I should be deep in numbers, reviewing projections for the new hotel site.
But instead, I’m watching him.
Lounging at the other end of the kitchen island, barefoot, shirt half-open, casual command incarnate. One hand cradles his cup, the other gestures sharply as he speaks.
He’s so in control. So effortlessly in charge.
All the while, I’m drowning in him.
I adjust in my seat, trying to cross my legs. His eyes flick to me. One glance. That’s all. But it hits like a warning.
I look away.
He finishes his call, murmurs a clipped goodbye, then scrolls through something on his phone. His thumb pauses.
“You’re not working.”
My head jerks up. “What?”
“You’ve been staring at me for fifteen minutes,” he says without looking up. “And you’ve typed nothing. Not a single key.”
I feel my face flush. “I was—thinking.”
“Mm.” His gaze lifts now. Sharp. Knowing. “Thinking about what?”
My mouth opens. No words.
He straightens.
My pulse stutters.
“You wore that set all morning like I asked,” he says, voice low. “You sat there in it. Crossed your legs in it. Shifted just enough to make sure I noticed.”
I blink. “I didn’t—”
He’s already crossing the room.
“I’ve let you play office,” he murmurs, coming to a stop behind me. “Let you pretend that I don’t see the way you squirm in that chair every time I speak.”
“War…”
His hands settle on my shoulders. Warm. Heavy. Possessive.
“You said you loved me,” he whispers. “But right now, I want you to show me.”
His mouth finds the curve of my neck. I shiver.
“I want you bent over the arm of that couch in the next ten seconds,” he says, lips brushing my skin. “Or I’ll put you there myself.”
I stand so fast my chair scrapes back.
His chuckle is low, dark, full of satisfaction. “Good girl.”
The lace clings to me as I walk, every inch of me aware of him behind me. I barely reach the couch before he’s there, pressing me forward, spreading my legs with his knee.
“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmurs, lifting the lace above my hips. “You think I can sit across from you all morning and not take what’s mine?”
His hand slides along the silk of my panties.
“War—”
“Quiet.”
It’s not cruel. It’s a command. One my body obeys instantly.
“You were so good not changing from last night, letting me enjoy watching you in this,” he praises.
His fingers slip beneath the silk, tugging the panties to the side. The fabric drags along my skin, exposing me inch by inch.
I gasp.
“You’re soaked.” He groans softly behind me, like he’s losing patience with himself. “All for me?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
I hear his belt come undone. The quiet clink. The slide of leather.
Then, the head of his cock presses against me, thick and hot, teasing.
I gasp, hips pushing back instinctively, aching for more.
“Please,” I whisper, breathless. “I need it.”
“You waited so well,” he says, one hand bracing at my lower back. “Now I get to reward you.”
He pushes inside. Slow. Deep. Thick. Until he’s fully seated and I’m trembling, braced against the couch arm with nothing to hold onto but the fire building inside me.
I cry out, needy, breathless, aching.
“That’s it,” he grits. “Take it, sweet girl. Take every inch of this cock. You earned it.”
He pulls back, then thrusts in harder. My body jolts with the force of it. My moan breaks open in the quiet room.
“You like when I use you like this?” he growls, fucking me harder now, his hand gripping my hip like a brand. “Bent over in our penthouse? Wearing what I bought you, just to get fucked in it?”
Our Penthouse.
“Yes, War! yes—”
“You’re mine, Olivia. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp. “All yours, please don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. He pounds into me with ruthless rhythm, every thrust sending shockwaves through me. My pussy pulses around him, desperate, greedy. My nails dig into the upholstery. I’m shaking, my orgasm so close it hurts.
His hand slides up my back, into my hair. He pulls gently, just enough to arch me back toward him.
“You gonna come for me?” he murmurs against my ear, voice rough silk. “You gonna milk my cock like the good girl you are?”
I shatter.
It rolls through me fast and hard—pleasure so sharp I scream. My whole body clenches, hips jerking as he holds me in place, thrusting through every wave until I go limp in his grip.
And still he doesn’t stop.
He growls my name, slams into me once more, and spills deep. My body pulses around him, greedy for it. Welcoming every drop.
We stay there, tangled. Sweaty. Spent.
His hand loosens in my hair, trails down my back. He bends, kisses my shoulder, then my spine.
“Thank you for wearing it for me,” he murmurs again, softer now. “You’re perfect.”
I melt.
Because I am completely his and fuck, I love when he makes me feel like this.
I never want us to end.