Chapter 68
CHAPTER 68
BETH
I knew Oliver would know which Waffle House I was talking about. There aren’t very many left in Houston and absolutely none in Grove Hill. They make the best breakfast food, and I’m craving some over-medium eggs and bacon right now. I didn’t get to eat, considering Martin had to rush me out of there like his ass was on fire.
I’m going to try to forget about that for now. My worries about Nolan can wait until after I’ve dealt with Oliver.
I sit in the corner booth and sip on my water as Oliver’s black Mustang zooms into the parking lot, narrowly missing a handicap sign, before he pulls into a spot.
Someone seriously needs to revoke his driver’s license. He is a real hazard on the road.
My attention is only pulled from Oliver climbing out of his car by my elderly waitress bringing me my food.
“That is not nearly enough food, dearie,” she mutters as her hand shakes, but I don’t pay it much mind. If she is still working at a restaurant at her age, I doubt she has the ability to retire, and I appreciate the service she gives.
“I’ll be fine, Dolly. Thank you.”
She nods and slowly makes her way toward the register just as Oliver steps inside. Dolly gives him a once-over, but her dark gray orbs are full of suspicion. I can just imagine how he looks to her. Piercings, tattoos, a grumpy expression…he spells trouble.
I take another sip of my water as Oliver steps around Dolly, and he slips off his leather jacket before sliding into the booth across from me. “Are you okay?” he asks as he runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the wet strands out of his face.
Then, the sound of raindrops hit my ears. Weird. It wasn’t raining when I got here. He must’ve brought the rain with him.
I would say I’m fine, but we’re not here about me. This is just about the baby.
“The paternity results came back,” I start, crossing my arms over my chest.
The brow over his left eye shoots up, and he just studies me for a moment. “You’re still mad at me,” he assesses.
My lips thin with irritation. “It was a match, Oliver. Your DNA was a paternal match.”
His expression doesn’t change at all. “Are you going to continue skating around the issue?”
I gape at him. Un-fuckin-believable! “Look who’s talkin’.” My country accent thickens with each word I say. “I just told you that you’re the father of this baby, and you’re a fucking impenetrable wall. Does nothing affect you at all?” I slam my hands on the table in frustration, but he just glares at me.
“You…you goddamn infuriating woman affect me ,” he growls. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for five days?—”
“What? You can dish it, but you can’t take being iced out yourself? Poor thing.” I lift my hand, rubbing my thumb and pointer finger together in the world’s smallest violin move my mom used to do all the time.
“Is that what you call what you’ve been doing? Icing me out?”
My knuckles clench with my growing anger.
“Cut the crap, crazy girl. You just wanted me to understand how upset you were.”
Fucking Bastard. He’s not wrong, though. I did want him to understand how it felt, but that’s not all it was.
“The only reason I asked you here was to tell you about the results.”
“You could’ve done that over text or called me, but you didn’t. You wanted an excuse to see me. You want to be mad at me but can’t ignore the fact that you need me.”
I want to ring his fucking neck for one reason and one reason alone. I hate that he knows me so well, but I can deny everything and hold onto my dignity. “You’re so cocky it’s nauseating.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s just your hormones, or you could blame it on the smell of your bacon, but this isn’t me being cocky. When I’m deep inside you, and you’re screaming my name on repeat is the only time I’m in any way cocky.”
I scowl at him. He’s so infuriating, especially when he’s trying to get a rise out of me, and it’s working. My thighs clench at the mere mention of his dick inside me, and my core shudders with anticipation.
I divert the subject, much like he has been doing. “You’re not even reacting. I just told you that you’re the father and…nothing.”
“Why would I react? I already knew it was a possibility. Reacting to that news would be like acting shocked when someone dies after you shot them. The probability is too high to be shocked, angry, or excited.” His eyes narrow, a tick rising in his jaw. “You only wanted me to react so you could have another reason to be mad at me. I fucked up, baby, and you’re trying so hard to be mad at me like I screwed your best friend or something.”
With that, the ripcord that has barely been containing my anger, rage, and heartache over how he betrayed me comes pouring out of me. “For all I know, you could’ve, except you’re not her type. The problem is instead of coming to me with an explanation for your shitty behavior, you expected a booty call while drunk off your ass!” I’m so livid that the hunger I felt when I arrived has vanished, and I imagine ripping off those tattoos all over his flesh until he bleeds out on the floor. I doubt even the fiery pits of hell could rival the flames in my eyes. My gaze must truly burn.
“That’s not what happened,” he retorts, completely unfazed.
I’m going to strangle him. “Is that so, Mr. I-Just-Really-Wanted-To-See-You ?”
The bridge of his nose scrunches up. “Don’t make assumptions about my motives. If I said I wanted to see you, that’s why I was there. Nothing more, nothing less.”
My eyes turn to flaming slits as I slam my fist on the table. “You’ve just reinforced my point. Instead of giving whatever your shitty excuse is for treating me like the gum on the bottom of your shoe, you latched onto a separate issue. That’s it. I’m leaving.” I snatch my wallet off the table, but before I can escape the booth, his fingers latch around my wrist and keep me from exiting.
“No,” he growls, and I try to pull free of his grasp, but it tightens, barely loose enough not to leave a bruise but not relaxed enough to let me squeeze out of the hold.
“Maybe you’ve forgotten because of how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other, but here’s your refresher…” I lean into him so only he can hear me in this restaurant. “I. Don’t. Listen. To you.”
“You do if you have no other fucking choice, crazy girl. You only have two options. You sit your fine ass down and listen to me, or I force you to your knees right here in the middle of this restaurant. Trust me when I say you want to take the first option. If I have you on your knees, I’ll have you gagging on my cock for everyone to see, and you’ll still have to hear what I have to say. Either way, you’re not leaving.” His growl rumbles against my ear, and his next words obliterate my panties. “Do you really want sweet, old Dolly to see how much of a dirty slut you are? Don’t test me, baby.”
My body shudders, and I despise the reaction from the way he chuckles against my ear. He knows how he affects me and that it hasn’t changed one bit.
“You must really want a taste. I’m giving you five seconds. If you haven’t parked your ass by then, your decision will be made by me .” He pins my wrist to the table even as I try to pull it free of his grasp to no avail. “Five.”
I just want to leave and crawl back into my solitude. It’s better than this humiliation.
“Four.”
He can fuck right off.
“Three.”
I glare at him. I am by far the most stubborn person I’ve ever known, even though he is a close second. “Two,” I taunt.
His jaw ticks, and his icy blues darken with anticipation and anger. “One.”
It sinks in that he’s serious when he tugs on my wrist to pull me out of the booth, and I panic. “Fine, you fucking psycho.” I sure as hell don’t want anyone in my favorite Waffle House location to see me like that. I’d never be able to show my face here again. Poor Dolly might actually have a heart attack.
He watches me for a moment, checking to see if I’ll run for it if he lets me go before he releases my arm. There’s redness along the joint, but it won’t actually bruise. I rub it to get out the stiffness before glaring daggers at him. “You’re off to a splendid start, Oliver.” I stretch out my fingers and avoid his gaze that’s burning a hole in my temple.
I’ve always made it clear how pissed I was at him by what I call him. Ollie, Oliver, or asshole. It’s only ever one of the three.
Go ahead and start apologizing, dickhead. However, he doesn’t do such a thing. No, that would be too normal for him.
“You’re eighteen.”
My head snaps around at the two words, and I scoff. “Duh. So what?”
“I’m ten years older than you, Beth.”
Okaaaay? “I think I’m still missing your point. This is all stuff I already knew.” I’ve never been put off by how much older he is than me, and as far as I knew, neither was he.
He doesn’t question how I would know how old he is even though he never told me.
Instead, he says, “I had no idea how young you were until the doctor’s appointment.” The way his face morphs when he says young makes me sick, like he thinks he had sex with a literal child.
My lip starts to tremble, but I bite it to stop the action. I didn’t think Oliver could hurt me more than he already had, but I was wrong because he just did.
“Got it. Anything else?”
His brows pull together like he’s wondering why I suddenly sound meek.
Where the fuck did all her sass go? What is happening?
The thoughts are practically written across his forehead, which is odd for him.
Human emotions are such a foreign concept to him it’s almost hilarious.
“Any other excuses to share?” I grab my wallet off the table and flip it open to pull out a twenty for sweet Dolly. She’s always such a pleasure, even though I didn’t get to eat my food, and I don’t have the stomach for it now. I doubt it will still be good by the time I’ll feel up to eating again.
“Excuses? It’s not a fucking excuse.”
That’s a good enough response for me. Throwing down the twenty on the table, I climb out of the booth, but before I can dash out of the restaurant, he’s blocking my way, anger across his face.
“Stop running from me,” he groans.
I roll my eyes. “Running? No, I’m not running away from you. I’m walking away because there’s nothing left to say. I’m being the adult in this situation instead of throwing a fit. My age is a problem for you. Fine. Then, leave me the fuck alone. I’m sure Aimee will be glad to hear I’m no longer an issue.” I know that last sentence was a bit below the belt, but I’m allowed to lash out when I’m hurt. He fucking hurt me.
For a while, I felt like a total bitch because I thought I was dragging him along–dangling a steak in front of him–but it was the exact opposite. Oliver has been dragging me along, making me fall in love with him just to knock me on my ass with his you’re too young for me reasoning for abandoning me when I needed him. It’s a little too late for that. He’s already fucked me. Hell, I have the proof of it growing inside me every second Oliver stands here, breaking me.
I never fucking cared that Oliver was twenty-eight. To a reasonable extent, age is just a number. My dad was thirty-five when he met my mom, who was only twenty. Relatively speaking, our age gap is much smaller than theirs, but it’s still an issue for him.
Fine.
He has seven months to decide whether he wants to be in this child’s life or not, and until then, he can give me distance so I can work through the severe emotional pain he’s putting me through. I’ll cry some more and deal with some resentment on my end, but I’ll get over it eventually, and I’ll love this baby unconditionally.
“You’re not a fucking issue, Beth.”
I wince because, yeah, his confirmation stings like a bitch, and the last thing I want is for him to see how badly this hurts. I just want it over and done with. “Goodbye.”
“No,” he growls as he pleads with me using only his hypnotizing eyes. “This isn’t coming out right.” He takes my chin in his fingers and tilts my head up so I have no choice but to stare at him, locked in with his gaze. “You’re not an issue because I don’t fucking want Aimee or anyone else. Just my crazy girl.” His thumb runs along my cheek as my lip trembles uncontrollably. “I tried to let you go, but I was hanging on by a thread before I made my way back to you. I’m fucking obsessed with you. Everything always leads back to you. So, no matter what you do, how fast you run, how hard you push me away, or how many doors you lock to keep me out, you’ll never escape me. You’re in my damn veins, baby, and you’ll never be rid of me.”
There is no excuse or explanation good enough for what he did, how he hurt me, but he’s right. No matter how far I run, I won’t get far enough away from him that I won’t constantly think about him. It’s the same with him and Martin. They are always right there, haunting me, waking me in the dead of night to remind me how much I belong to them.
Both of them.
I am hard headed as hell, and so is Oliver. We’re at an impasse, and the only way to escape a standoff is for one person to break. If tonight has taught me anything, it’s that it won’t be Oliver.
* * *
I cry out as Oliver slams my back into the wall, and his tongue teases the length of my neck, dragging down into my cleavage where he bites the swell of my breast, embedding his teeth into my flesh.
His hand slams down on the lock to the bathroom before yanking my skirt up my thighs. “I need your pussy right fucking now, crazy girl.”
I lock my arms around his neck as he presses his hips between my thighs, working at his pants.
“Please,” I whimper, and his thick cock slides inside me, finally connecting us again for the first time in two weeks. “Give me all your depraved and demented, Daddy.”
Suddenly, he slams my hips into the counter before pulling out of me. Oliver flips me over, lifts my hips, and slams into me as I dig my nails into the laminate countertops, moaning from how good he feels.
“Are you sure you want that?” he asks, a groan on the tip of his tongue as he slams into me again and again, taking my body hard and relentlessly, just how I like it.
Lifting my eyes to look at him through the mirror, I take in the desire and depravity across his face. I know I’m fucking done for because that expression awakens the most demented parts of my soul, and they cry out for him, demanding he completely break me apart and stitch together all the shattered pieces of my psyche using the strings of his brand of psychosis.
“I fell in love with the darkest parts of who you are. The only direction you can go is up.”
His fingers leave purple impressions on my hips as he takes me hard, slamming his cock as deep as he can. My head spins as I struggle to stare at him in the mirror. The tension between my thighs amps up and coils tighter until I scream from the orgasm I’ve been denied since Martin fucked me a week ago.
“Ah!! Yes, Daddy,” I moan as I come down from the orgasm, and he pulls out of me. Nooo, it can’t be over. I need more of him.
“Get on your knees for me, crazy girl. It’s your turn to worship your God. I just finished praying to mine.”
Those words are such an aphrodisiac that I do exactly as he demands and drop to my knees in front of him. Wrapping my fingers around the base of his shaft, I suck the tip into my mouth, but I’m not going at his pace. Oliver grips my hair at the roots and thrusts straight down my throat, stretching it with his girth, and my eyes slam closed to breathe through the adjustment.
It has been too long since he’s been in my mouth.
“Eyes on me, crazy girl,” he growls, and my eyes open, taking in his nearly black eyes full of desire as his chest rapidly fills with air. “You can take it,” he whispers as his thumb teases my bottom lip, full of his massive cock. “You can handle every inch I give you, my good fucking girl.”
I moan as I work him over, sucking and teasing the underside of his cock as he thrusts into my mouth. I’m going to make sure he loves every second on my tongue and down my throat.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans as I drag my teeth down his shaft, and the man shudders with pleasure. I sputter around him as I suck up and down his length, hollowing my cheeks around him. “That’s right, baby. Suck my cock just like that. Keep it up, and you’ll make me explode.”
Reaching into his pants, I stroke his balls, and his hands fall out of my hair, gripping the counter behind me. His abs flex beneath his shirt as his balls tighten, and he spews a long line of curses, his hips bucking against my mouth.
“Don’t fucking swallow it,” he growls a moment before ropes upon ropes of his come shoot into my mouth, and I allow it to marinate on my tongue, humming at the taste of his salty goodness.
He slowly pulls out of my mouth and grips the base of my chin, guiding me to my feet.
“Show me, beautiful,” he commands, and my mouth falls open, my tongue cradling his release like its my most prized possession. Then, he spits right into my mouth. Even though I’ve had his tongue in my mouth plenty of times, the action is deliciously filthy, and my body craves more.
Oliver slams his mouth down on mine, and runs his tongue along mine until our mouths are equally coated in his release and saliva.
Nothing has ever been so hot in my life.