Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Olivia: You never told me who we ended up choosing and how much I am paying.
Lucian: Well, well, well.
Look who decided to text me first.
Olivia: Lucian.
Lucian: Olivia.
Olivia: Focus.
The contractors. What happened to the bids?
They said they’d email you the quotes—even when I said they should be sending them to me.
Not you.
Lucian: Not even a “hi”?
No “how was your day, Lucian?” No “thank you, Lucian, for single-handedly saving my business”?
?
Olivia: I am not thanking you, because I have no idea what’s happening.
Once I do, I’ll gladly be baking you cookies as a symbol of my appreciation.
Lucian: I see. So, I don’t get a thank you, but do I get cookies?
Can I choose my reward instead?
Olivia: LUCIAN.
Lucian: Yeah, yeah.
I’m looking at the pros and cons of the proposals.
They’re good, both. One has a five-week timeline while the other has a four-week.
Olivia: How much are they charging?
Lucian: Don’t worry about that.
Olivia: Of course I worry about it.
I need to come up with the money.
Aspen said she might lend me some of it.
Lucian: They’re not charging money yet.
Olivia: What do you mean, yet?
Lucian: Exactly what it sounds like.
They want other kind of payment.
Olivia: I’m not having sex with them.
Are you?
Lucian: LOL .
. . you’re precious, baby.
It’s not always about sex either.
Who hurt you?
Olivia: I don’t see what else they could possibly want in exchange for this job.
I mean one of them .
. . I think Mike said it would be almost a hundred thousand dollars if we added my house.
Lucian: We’re adding your house.
What they want from you costs much more than their quotes.
Olivia: Are you selling me to the black market?
Lucian: You have a wild imagination.
Olivia: How are we paying for this, Lucian?
You need to disclose what’s happening.
This is a hard limit.
Lucian: Ooh, and we’re back to hard limits.
Me like this discussion.
Olivia: I swear to God .
. .
Lucian: That you’re thinking about me right now.
Olivia: And there he goes with his selective reading.
Lucian: I choose to discuss things that matter, if that’s what you’re talking about.
Olivia: Crawford, I need information.
Lucian: You could’ve emailed the contractor directly.
But you didn’t. You came to me instead.
Olivia: Because I don’t want to lose that special Crawford discount.
Lucian: Oh, you want the Crawford treatment?
I got it for you, baby.
Olivia: I’m serious about this.
You’re just making things weird.
Lucian: Oh, sweetheart.
If I were making it weird, you’d be squirming right now.
Olivia: You are impossible.
Lucian: Impossible? No, baby.
What I am is relentless.
And thorough.
Olivia: Can you be thorough with an actual answer?
Lucian: I’m always thorough.
In every way. Every inch.
Every stroke. Every fucking thrust.
Olivia: OH MY GOD.
Lucian: C’mon, Liv. You walked right into that one.
Olivia: You are the worst human being alive.
Lucian: You don’t believe that, or you wouldn’t be texting me.
You keep coming around.
Still hanging on to every word.
Still secretly wondering how it would feel if I actually gave you the Crawford treatment.
Olivia: No. Nope. Not happening.
You’re so wrong.
Lucian: You say that, but I bet you’re already picturing it.
Me standing behind you, my hands gripping your hips, pulling you back against me.
Whispering in your ear exactly what I’m going to do to you.
Olivia: Lucian?—
Lucian: I’d start slow.
Real slow. Letting my fingers skim up your thighs, pushing your dress up inch by inch.
Feeling you tremble while I drag my knuckles over your panties, teasing you until you’re pressing your ass back against me, desperate for more.
Olivia: This is NOT what I asked for when I texted you.
Lucian: Maybe not what you asked, but definitely what you need.
Olivia: You’re delusional.
Lucian: Nah, I’m just right.
And when I finally slip those panties down, when I spread you open and run my fingers through that soaked little cunt, you’ll be too far gone to care about what you thought you wanted.
Olivia: *Breathes deeply and counts to ten*
Lucian: Oh, baby.
Counting to ten won’t help you.
Not when I’ve got you bent over, ass in the air, waiting for me to ruin you.
Not when I’m dragging the head of my cock over your clit, making you whimper, making you beg for me to sink inside you.
Olivia: This conversation has taken a sharp turn.
Lucian: And I haven’t even gotten to the best part.
Because once I’m inside you?
Fuck, Liv, you’d take me so deep.
Feel me stretching you, filling you, owning every inch of that sweet, tight pussy.
Olivia: I CAN’T.
Lucian: Oh, sweetheart, you can.
And you will. You’ll take every inch, let me pin you down, hold you in place, fuck you so deep and so fucking hard that all you’ll be able to do is scream my name.
Olivia: I—I need a drink.
L ucian: You need me.
Olivia: You need THERAPY.
Lucian: Baby, the only session we need is the one where I put you on your knees, fist your hair, and make you look up at me while you take me down your throat like a good girl.
Olivia: . . .
Lucian: Got nothing to say now, do you?
Olivia: I should not be turned on right now.
Lucian: But you are.
Olivia: . . .
Lucian: That’s what I fucking thought.
Now be a good girl, check the quotes I emailed you, and let me know which one you like best.
Olivia: There aren’t any prices.
Lucian: Only timelines, I know.
That’s all I need you to focus on, Liv.
The rest is my issue.
Olivia: But I need to pay.
Lucian: You get that all they want is what I can give them right?
Olivia: What is it?
Lucian: That’s for me to worry about.
Olivia: You’re not paying for this, right?
Lucian: Not a penny.
Olivia: Fine, I’ll look into it and give you an answer tomorrow.
Thank you for . . . what are you going to do?
Lucian: That’s for me to worry about :wink: emoji