Chapter 16
OLIVIA
NOW
We’re in London.
I’ve been on my best behavior—as fancy and proper a lady as I can be.
I’ve been smiling politely. I’ve said please and thank you.
I only introduced myself to a stranger as Dame Olivia Montgomery-Duckworth-Chatsbury-Puckerton-Twinkletoes of Cleveland once, and the chauffeur found it rather amusing.
I haven’t grabbed John’s crotch. I haven’t flashed my tits at him.
I haven’t given him any impression whatsoever that my clit is royally engorged, my panties are perpetually drenched, and all I want is to get railed by him ASAP.
I’m not letting on that I’m annoyed about how he’s been acting as though he didn’t fingerdoodle me while staring at my reflection in a mirror.
I’m not even being passive aggressive, despite the cool and professional demeanor he has employed since the aforementioned time he ate a box lunch in my front parlor.
He almost seems kind of mad at me.
We barely spoke on the eleven-hour plane ride, which is why it was so hard for me to fall asleep in my first-class horizontal pod thing.
And now I’m kind of mad at him, because the street his flat is on is so picturesque and the “flat” John owns is, in fact, a four-story, four-bedroom townhouse with a secluded rear garden and private terrace.
It is preposterous that this beautiful home is left empty for most of the year.
And it’s up to me to tell him so. It has always been up to me to explain every single thing that is wrong about him.
The chauffeur tips his hat and takes his leave after placing our luggage in the elegant entrance hall. As soon as he shuts the front door, I say to John, “Are you not going to tip him?”
“A very generous tip was included when I booked the service.” He yawns.
“You mean when Iris booked the service for you.”
He removes his glasses and rubs his tired eyes. “I do, yes.”
“I’m guessing you don’t thank Iris enough for the work she does for you, either.”
He frowns as he puts his glasses back on and picks up his suitcase. “I have no idea where that’s coming from, but I just gave Iris a raise, so again, you needn’t concern yourself with this matter.”
“Oh, needn’t I? Well, while I’m at it, might I mention that it is preposterous that this stunning home is left empty when you aren’t in London? What a waste!”
John simply studies me for a moment and says, “The kitchen is always stocked with basic pantry staples, but this is a short stay, so I informed my very-well-paid chief of staff, Iris, that we would be dining out and ordering in this time. You seem peckish. What can I get you?”
“If peckish is snobby nerdspeak for horny, then yes. I am.”
“It means hungry and, more specifically, irritable due to mild hunger.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest and huff, for no reason other than the fact that he is not fucking me right now and I’m sick of it. “You are incorrect. I am not hungry for food.”
“All right, then. Just tired. I’ll give you the grand tour after we’ve had some sleep.
All the bedrooms are upstairs. There’s bottled water in each of the bedrooms and bathrooms.” He gestures toward the staircase to the right of the entrance hall, opposite the drawing room.
“You may use the principal bedroom. I will stay in one of the guest bedrooms.” He picks up my suitcase and then says, “Follow me.”
“I can carry it,” I snap.
“I’ve got it.”
I pout as I pick up my carry-on bag and follow him up the stairs to the second floor. “I’m not that tired,” I whine while yawning.
“That is nonsense. Our bodies think it’s the middle of the night. I have a regimented schedule and a strict protocol for defeating jet lag that I always follow when I travel. I insist that you join me in following this optimized program,” he explains as he climbs one step at a time.
I barely listen while staring at his horrendously magnificent butt.
“This is what works. I never suffer from jet lag,” he declares.
“Hydration is important, but getting the right amount of sunlight and sleeping for the correct duration at the right times is key. At four p.m. London time, which is in fifteen minutes, we will take a two-hour nap. Setting alarms for six p.m. We will force ourselves to wake up and then shower—separately,” he says pointedly.
“We will take a brisk stroll around the neighborhood in order to get some fresh air and to acclimate.
We will return here to order dinner, but we will not eat a heavy meal.
“Afterward, we will ingest a supplement stack consisting of four hundred milligrams of L-theanine, four hundred milligrams of magnesium glycinate, and fifty milligrams of CBD in oil form. We will drink eight ounces of warm water—no more, no less—exactly thirty minutes before bedtime,” he says.
I’m about to speak, but it turns out this rant isn’t over yet!
“Back to sleep at ten p.m., with sleep masks and brown noise machines on. Wake up at six thirty a.m. Breakfast on the terrace or in the garden. We’ll be slightly groggy in the morning but totally functional and adjusted to the time change.
” John leads me into a stunningly appointed bedroom and places my suitcase on the rug next to the exquisite queen-size bed that he clearly does not intend to fuck me on.
“So, you aren’t planning on fucking me tonight is what you’re saying.”
Without blinking, he answers, “Correct. My plan is to fuck you once George Merrick has agreed to become the CTO of the food-tech company I have now invested over seventy-five million dollars in.”
I let my bag drop to the floor and hop onto the bed. “Oh, so I’ll get fucked as a reward if I successfully aid in securing his trust and interest in you.”
“Olivia.”
“Got it. No, I get it.”
“No, you don’t get it.” He proceeds to close the fabric blinds and floor-to-ceiling curtains. “I need to stay focused. I don’t think you understand how high the stakes are for me here.”
“Yeah. You’ll only have one billion nine hundred twenty-five million dollars left if it doesn’t work out. Did I get that math right?”
Now he’s switching on the noise machine on the bedside table and setting the digital alarm clock. “You did not get the numbers right, no. Are you trying to get me riled up? I’m not going to be riled up. I’m going to take a nap.”
“Great. Have a restful nap.”
“I intend to, and I shall.”
“Oh, shall you? Are you going to fake an English accent too while you’re here not fucking your fake girlfriend?!”
“Perhaps I might!”
I toss an accent pillow at him as he exits and shuts the door.
Covering my face with my hands, I declare, “This blows!” to absolutely no one, because absolutely no one is fucking me right now.
I didn’t even pack a vibrator. For TSA reasons, but also because I thought for sure I wouldn’t need one, because surely my fake boyfriend who masterfully cunnilinguated me in his gym intended to fuck me while we traveled.
I don’t remember what John said about when we’re supposed to shower, but I’m going to take a shower now, and then I’m going to mess up that nerd’s sleep schedule, and he’s going to thank me for it later.
It took me a few minutes to figure out how to turn the shower on, for no reason other than the fact that I haven’t slept in approximately infinity hours.
I am now clean, dried off, and wearing the fancy lingerie I was planning to dazzle Johnny with when we’re in New York.
But he would rather take a nap than fuck me, so this means war.
This lingerie set is see-through black tulle, the bra features an underwired half-cup that makes my tits look sensational, it only took me three tries to get the suspender belt on around my waist, and I only cried once during the thirty minutes it took to attach the garter belt clips to the thigh-high stockings.
My hair is brushed and flowing past my shoulders.
I have a pack of condoms in hand, and I am now ready to rock John’s optimized cock’s world.
As soon as I find him.
He is not in the room across the hall.
I go up another flight of stairs to where there is a short hallway with two doors, one of which is closed all the way.
I open it and find a dark room that is quiet except for the noise machine and illuminated only by a digital alarm clock and the light that is now entering from the window in the hallway.
I see the outline of a floor lamp in the opposite corner of the room and turn it on.
John appears to be fast asleep, which is so obnoxious.
I strut over to the bedside table to place the condoms there and to turn off the stupid noise machine.
Next, I switch on the lamp, hoping to find the correct button to turn off the alarm clock.
I don’t have the patience to figure it out, and it’s set to go off in eleven minutes, so I unplug the clock.
I then turn off the bedside lamp and carefully remove the silk sleep mask from John’s face.
He doesn’t stir.
At all.
He is sleeping so soundly. He is a living ad for deep, restorative, sexless sleep. He is really making a case for sleep right now, the fucker.
I strike a seductive pose and say, “You awake?”
He merely breathes.
While unconscious.
That’s it.
I’m goin’ in.
I go around to the other side of the bed and slip under the covers next to him. The sheets are so smooth, and the pillow is the perfect density, and the mattress is divine. No wonder this guy is so nap-happy.
I check to see if his eyes are open, but they aren’t. So I close mine. Just for a minute. And then I’m going to show his penis who’s boss.
I awaken to the sound of muffled grumbling and the distinct sensation of teeth nipping at my butt cheek.
I sure hope those teeth are attached to John Brandt.
I hope those hands that are exploring the surface of my bare ass belong to him.
WHOOO! I hope those are Johnny’s fingers swiping down the outer limits of my crack.
“No panties?” I hear from under the covers.