Chapter 10 #2
She rolls her eyes and pushes my hand away.
I ruined the moment. She expected me to.
I did it on purpose. I’m not going to have sex with her in the back of my car while Richard is driving.
He’d crash the car, and the night would be ruined.
I have loftier goals for our first time together, so it’s worth sacrificing the moment.
“I enjoyed that—thank you,” I say. “I like your hands.”
“Then you should really enjoy it when I strangle you with them,” she quips. Then she grins as I adjust myself. “I liked having your hand in the general area of my boob.”
“Noted.”
“And to be clear,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “I am open to having not-fake sex with you.”
“Thank you for being clear.” Booyah. “All in good time.”
I don’t even think about checking my phone for the rest of the drive home.
The neighborhood in which I bought my house isn’t outrageously fancy, but it’s very nice and it’s in a highly sought-after location.
I watch Olivia’s face as Richard slows down in the cul-de-sac and signals before turning into the driveway.
I don’t need her validation; I just want her to enjoy what I have to offer.
I’d seen so many of my colleagues blow their wad right out of the gate, burning out in the lifespan of a firefly.
I made a decision to be as frugal as possible after the first round of funding for Brainy Biz, and I have absolutely no regrets about this purchase.
I have no desire to buy another house in Palo Alto, no matter how much more money I make.
It’s a four-bedroom, mid-century modern bungalow, with clean lines and a lot of windows at the rear of the house.
The front face of the house is charcoal gray with a lemon-yellow door.
Private, with excellent landscaping and good night lighting.
It’s well designed, and I’m proud of it.
More importantly, I feel good here, and I’ve always had a feeling Olivia will feel good here too.
Richard opens the car door for her, and I get her overnight bag from the trunk as she steps out into the quiet night, sighing. She waits for me to lead her up the path to the front door. “I love the yellow door,” she says, as I unlock it and then disarm the security system.
“It’s an Eichler,” I tell her as we step into the living room.
She looks up at the high arched beam and decking ceiling, clearly impressed.
I stare at her elongated bare neck and think about kissing it. But instead I say, “He’s a famous architect. He designed this house.”
“I know who Joseph Eichler is.” She’s not quite snapping at me. It’s more of a verbal slap on the wrist.
This pleases me. “You do? I thought you only cared about dancers.”
She smiles and shakes her head as she reaches out to touch the orchids on the coffee table. They’re real. “I’m not that boring. I do have a Pinterest board called ‘Dream Homes,’ and most of the images are of Eichler houses.”
“Well, then. Welcome to your dream home.”
“It’s funny—I never really pictured you in it.”
“In an Eichler?”
“No, in my dream home.”
“Well, like I said, I’m afraid you just haven’t been aiming high enough.”
She doesn’t smile like I thought she would, but she doesn’t scowl either. I’ll take it. “I can see why you thought my place was such a dump.”
“I didn’t say it was a dump. It’s charming. I’ll show you the guest room, and then you can check out the kitchen.” I hold up her overnight bag and gesture for her to follow me.
Olivia is happy, I know, because she removes her shoes and does a leap across the floor. “I love all this open space!”
“Good. I had a ballet barre set up in the home gym.”
She stops in her tracks. “You did? Really?”
“Yes, really.”
She skips over to me and puts her hand on my back, leaning into me. “What else did you set up for me?”
I grin and wink at her. “You’ll see.” I can’t wait for her to find out.
I check my watch when I hear the hysterical shrieking from the guest bedroom.
It’s after midnight. Which means it’s after 8:00 a.m. in London.
Which means Alfie and Baxter have a meeting with suppliers in an hour, and they’re panicking because I haven’t given them an update on their budget yet.
Which means my very anxious young British founders will be calling soon if I don’t get this email sent first to assuage them.
I’m at the desk in my bedroom, wearing pajama bottoms, working on my laptop. After spending nearly an entire hour luxuriating in the guest bathroom, Olivia has finally climbed into bed and felt the cold rubber snakes against her bare legs and feet.
Step Three-B is a go. She will learn that she can have my heart, but I will remain in control of my senses. I have mastered my desires and impulses through mental and physical discipline.
“Motherfucker!” she yells out. I know she’s stomping down the hall, though her bare feet hardly make a sound. I remain focused on my email when she strides through the open door, swearing like a marine. “You massive turd! I almost had a heart attack!”
Keeping my eyes trained on the monitor, I can’t hide my delight. “Which is what I kept telling you every time you did that to me,” I say calmly.
She pummels me with her adorable fists. Laughing, but there’s anger there. Or maybe it’s just adrenaline. “Don’t you dare ignore me, Nerdballs!” She smacks my shoulder.
So spicy.
“I have to get this email out, Olivia,” I say as I turn toward her.
And that was my mistake.
I should not have looked at her until I had finished writing and hit Send on that email.
Because she’s wearing a tiny cropped T-shirt and flimsy little shorts. And there’s underboob. Underboob is the most underrated part of the boob. It has always been my second-favorite boob area, and I was not expecting to come face-to-face with the underparts of either of Olivia’s boobs tonight.
This presents some challenges.
Suddenly, I am not the rational billionaire genius VC who finally got revenge on his best friend’s little sister.
Suddenly I am the college student who can’t make it through a family dinner without splooshing into a hand towel.
Olivia’s fists are on her hips, and her chest is heaving, and her underboobs are boobing, and—fuck it.
I stand, remove my glasses, pick up my tiny dancer by her waist, and toss her onto my bed.
She is so adept at soaring through the air, she lands on the mattress gracefully, with her toes pointed.
Her little T-shirt flips up, and I see God for one second.
Her nipples are pinker than I thought they would be.
My vision isn’t crystal clear right now, but her tits are fucking magnificent.
She sits up, but that’s fine too, because underboob.
Her eyes are hooded, and she’s staring at my bare chest and abs as I climb onto the bed and kneel between her spread legs, pushing her shoulders back and pinning her down.
Hovering over her, I keep my gaze fixed on her flushed face.
Her hair is damp from her bath. She smells fresh and clean, and I bet her pussy tastes so good right now.
She lifts her head up to kiss me, but I jerk back, teasing her.
Her eyes flash with excitement. Her body is so tense.
She likes to be teased.
I thought so.
Olivia tries to kiss me again, making a little growling sound.
So feisty. I grab her wrists and hold them down over her head.
Which was a brilliant mistake, because underboob.
She is fucking glorious, up for a fight, but I lower myself and disarm her by kissing her mouth softly, slowly.
My tongue is unhurried, but I know where it’s heading.
She writhes around, making little animal sounds as she nips at my lower lip.
She moans as I kiss her, so deeply. When she sucks my tongue, it disarms me.
She manages to flip me over and straddle me. We are both breathing so heavily. This is a battle that I’m determined yet reluctant to win, but I’m not done engaging with my opponent yet. She wriggles around over the hard bulge in my pajama pants. Her eyelids flutter closed as she bears down on me.
I let loose a groan, and then she does the meanest, best thing anyone has ever done while straddling me.
She opens her eyes, full of want and dare.
She smirks at me, lifts her T-shirt up to expose her breasts, and rocks her hips.
I hold my breath because I want everything all at once.
But I also want to experience each part of her slowly, with the awe and attention that every single part of her deserves.
I reach for those perfect tits and massage them while she rides me.
“You’re a fucking gorgeous menace.”
“Yes.”
I never want to let go of these boobs, so this is very inconvenient. “I have work to do,” I grunt.
“Yes. Where do you keep the condoms?”
“Not tonight.”
She sticks her tongue out and slowly lowers herself to lick up my neck, suck on my earlobe, as she squeezes her thighs around my erection.
I groan again. So many years, I’ve wondered what those thighs are capable of.
She looks like a fairy princess, but she’s kissing me like a starving, feral woman.
I have to force my eyes to stay open so I can watch her.
She is so much hotter and more sensuous than my brain could ever allow me to imagine, and I want to remember every second of this.
Except it is not an optimal time for this to happen.
Olivia sucks on my tongue, rocking and circling her hips. Back and forth, round and round, down, down, down. Her tits are grazing my chest, and this is terrible. By which I mean it’s so fucking hot.
I have never had such a painful erection in my life, but I am not going to let down my boys in London, because they have to secure supplies.
“Olivia,” I manage to reprimand her when my tongue is free.
She mutters something about two forms of birth control, I think.
My cell phone is vibrating on my desk.
“Fuck.”
Olivia reaches down between her legs, strokes my hard length over my pants just once. “Jesus, Johnny.” She sucks in her breath.
I flip her over, pinning her wrists down again. “I have to take that call,” I grit out.
She barks out a laugh, probably thinks I’m joking.
I really wish I were joking.
I somehow manage to slide off the bed and make it over to my desk, clearing my throat so that I don’t sound like I have a massive boner. Answering my phone, I say, “Good morning, gentlemen.”
Olivia grabs a pillow and screams into it. I calmly discuss the budget with Balfie and Faxter. Or Faxtie and Alber—I have no fucking clue who I’m talking to anymore because now Olivia is squeezing her tit and reaching inside her shorts while glaring at me.
I cannot be in the same room with this randy she-demon.
I put on my glasses and flip her the bird as I walk out, but she doesn’t do it back because her hands are too busy pleasuring her evil, beautiful body.
The tentpole of my pajama pants reaches my home office thirty seconds before I do, but I arrive safe and sound, shutting the door behind me.
Safe.
I am safe from destroying my business over that little minx.
For tonight.
I am of sound mind.
For now.
Ten minutes later, my founders are calm and happy, and I end the call. I walk quietly down the hall. The door to the guest room is closed. She didn’t even slam it shut while I was on the phone. Good girl.
I can hear loud vibrating and soft moaning from behind the door.
Bad girl.
Very bad girl.
She had a vibrator in her overnight bag?
I grip the doorknob.
I rest my forehead against the door.
But no.
No.
Her magnetic pull is so strong. If the earth had an ego, wouldn’t it try to break free from the sun’s power over it? Just to prove that it could? Despite what would happen to all life as we know it?
I successfully accomplished Step Three-B.
I’m going to stop while I’m ahead.
And jerk it in the shower by myself, like a boss.