2. Mya
2
Condom.
Birth control.
And Oliver pulling out right before he came.
Check. Check. Check.
I could never be too cautious when it came to avoiding getting pregnant. What had started as plans of releasing our pent-up tension and having sex once wound up becoming an entire evening of making up for lost time.
Goodbye seventy-six days of restraint. Tomorrow would be the new day one. And based on how I was feeling while sitting on top of his naked, gloriously muscular body, riding him as I chased orgasm number three—I knew we’d both be in hell while waiting to do this again.
Our bodies were made to be together, to be one. We fit. Knew each other well. The two-plus months of not being together hadn’t changed a thing.
And I had every intention of making time number three for the evening last.
Oliver rarely survived long when I was on top of him reverse cowgirl, my ass pointed at him, my hands on his thighs as I lifted up and down on his cock. In this position, it’d be up to me to shift off him in time for him to come. I gave this man a lot of credit for having the willpower and strength to do that every time we’d been together.
“Fuck, Mya, you’re killing me.” He groaned, holding my hips even tighter as he thrusted right along with me. “Do you want me to come inside you or what?”
“Condoms aren’t one hundred percent. And what if my birth control failed?” I reminded him of those salient and very valid points, my voice ragged being on the edge of coming.
“Right, okay, well, I’m going to fucking blow my load in two point five seconds, or break a molar trying to hold back. So, please, please, please . . . come all over my cock, buttercup, so I don’t break your rules.”
He sat up a bit and brought his hand around between my thighs, applied pressure to my already sensitive spot, and I switched from an up-and-down movement to rocking against him while he remained buried deep inside me. “Oh God, ohhhhh . . .”
“Off, buttercup. Off,” he begged in a strained voice after I finished riding the wave of my orgasm.
I had to move and fast, or the guy might die trying to deny his own release.
I rolled over to the side in time to catch sight of his body jerking, and every muscle in his abdomen tightened as he let go. He collapsed onto his back, chin lifted to the ceiling, body visibly relaxing into the soft sheets beneath him.
“Sorry, that was close.” I slipped next to him, curling up against his sweaty body.
I knew he couldn’t stay all night, because what if someone had eyes on the security cameras in the hallway and realized we’d hooked up? I mean, worst case, we could play off the whole “oops, I slept with my photographer” kind of thing. It wasn’t unheard of when people worked so closely together. But that was a backup plan I hoped we wouldn’t have to resort to.
Part of me still couldn’t help but wonder if the reason I’d chosen my cover story in the first place was because of my commitment issues.
Was I afraid of going undercover as a couple because I was worried about how fast things were moving with us? No, I didn’t do that. Right?
Great, now I wasn’t arguing with Oliver but with myself instead, and that was one fight I could never seem to win. Damn those internal battles.
“I didn’t do that,” I muttered my messy thoughts out loud.
“I think you just did. All over my cock, in fact.” Oliver shifted to his side and brought his hand beneath my chin.
“Sorry, no, I mean, yes, I did. Our, um, cover stories, well, I’m wondering if maybe I was?—”
“Afraid of what was happening between us?” His brows pinched. “That, or you really do hate me, and you want to watch me lose my mind if we ever face Hugo and he hits on you.”
“Not that we may ever even see him face-to-face.” I had a delayed reaction to that last jab of his, shoving at his chest when it finally sank in. “I don’t hate you. And I would never want to see you in pain for any reason.”
“You did just hit me.” He let go of my chin and brought his hand to his chest. “You love hurting me.” He winked, and I nearly swatted him again just to dodge the conversation I’d accidentally started.
Because seriously, did I throw our new relationship under the bus with these cover stories because of fear? Would we have been better off going under as a couple, and then I’d never have to try and woo Hugo Soren if the opportunity arose?
Shit. Damn. A whole string of other curses flew through my head as I went to stand. “I really do have issues, don’t I?”
“Don’t we all?” His tone was both teasing and serious in a way that only he could pull off. “First step is admitting them.”
Hands on my hips, I faced the bed, finding him sitting up and tying off the condom. He rose, and I became momentarily distracted by his strong glutes as he walked to the en suite bathroom.
When he returned to the room, he stopped in the doorway, not yet rejoining me. Hands braced to the frame, he tilted his head, studying me. “I feel like we may fight, and I won’t hear anything you’re saying with you standing there naked.”
He was right about the naked thing, but wrong about the fight. The last thing I wanted to do was argue with him. I was doing enough of that internally.
“We had sex.” I went over to the dresser for my oversized Syracuse University shirt to conceal my breasts so he could concentrate.
He smiled casually. “Yes, a few times.” Arms now across his chest, he remained in the doorway, doing that casual-sexy lean that was as distracting as his strong body. The combination took it up several degrees beyond bearably hot.
Flustered, I sat on the bed, trying to process everything.
“I’m not mad.” He pushed away from the doorway, put on his briefs, and covered up before sitting next to me. The back of his hand rested on my bare thigh, open for me to take. He threaded our fingers together, converting our hands to a united fist. “What I mean is, I’m not upset with you. Even if you did choose these cover stories for other reasons.”
I gulped, unable to peer at him. “Why not?”
“Because I accept you for who you are.”
Oh my God. “I don’t deserve you.” The unexpected words fell so fast from my mouth, I barely heard them myself.
With his free hand, he cupped my chin, urging me to look at him. “Don’t say that. It’s not true. Got it?”
I wasn’t much of a crier, but there was something inside me that wanted to do that very thing. Why do I always run? What am I really afraid of? Why couldn’t I even answer those questions? What if there was no reason or root cause as to why I was this way, and I was just messed up?
“Stop. I can see the wheels turning. Your investigative brain is searching for answers, and maybe now isn’t the time for that.” He released my face, let go of my hand, and stood. “We don’t have to do this now. We don’t need to talk about why you have the tendency to run.”
Wait, did I admit that? Or do you just know me that well?
I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. “So, um, what do we do, then?”
Khaki pants back on, he left them unbuttoned while going for his tee on the floor by my sandals. “Well,” he began while putting on his shirt, the fabric stretching over his taut muscles, “I suppose we go back to playing pretend. We can’t really change things up now. Not unless someone does watch the hallway security footage of me coming to your room. And if they do, then we may have bigger problems.”
Right. Because that means the FYVM Media Group doesn’t trust us, and then Hugo never will, and the mission is over.
Pants buttoned now, he raked a hand through his hair, still mussed up from sex. I loved his features. From his chiseled, stubbled jawline, to his warm brown eyes beneath his thick brows. Everything below that strong chin of his was absolute perfection as well.
“I think you were right about our cover stories,” he said, drawing my attention back to where it needed to be—on the mission. “Whether I want to admit that or not,” he added with a small smile. “I’ll also become unhinged if we do meet Hugo and he so much as eye-fucks you, regardless of our cover stories.” He lifted one shoulder as if trying to play off the whole, Hey, can you blame me? thing. “But it’d be ten times worse if we’d been sleeping together this whole time, trust me.”
I slowly stood. “And what will it be now after what we just did?”
His hand fell to his side. “I suppose three times worse?” He shot me a lopsided grin, and I knew he was trying to ease my concerns. This whole spiel was also so I didn’t feel guilty about anything. So typical of him. I wanted to be mad at him for that, but how in the world can you be mad at someone working so hard to alleviate someone else’s guilt?
“So, no more of this giving-in-to-tension stuff”—I pointed back and forth between us—“until the op ends, then?”
“It needs to end soon.” His shoulders fell, and he frowned. “I don’t think I can go another seventy-six days without touching you.”
He kept count, too . . . “Oliver?”
“Yeah?” He shoved his hands into his pockets as if working to restrain himself from touching me again.
I did the opposite and looped my arms over his shoulders, drawing myself against him while whispering, “Don’t ever change.” I need to change, but not you.
“Even if I drive you crazy?” He slanted his mouth over mine, preparing to kiss me, but pulled back ever so slightly when my cell began ringing in the other room.
“That’s my dad’s ringtone, ignore it.” Thank God they didn’t know what I really did for work, or they’d blow up my phone even more regularly than they already did.
“Maybe it’s important?”
“Everything’s important when it comes to the judge,” I scoffed, still a bit angry at learning of Dad’s indiscretions last year. He was no one to give me advice, that was for sure.
“Hey, at least your old man calls,” he joked.
Where’d that come from? He never talked about his father. I opened my mouth to ask him about it, but he tightened his lips into a thin line and grimaced as my cue to drop it.
“Let’s finish the kiss we’ve yet to start.” He smiled, a fake one, but I didn’t want to press him on his dad issues. I had my own to deal with, so I could relate.
He leaned in and gave me what I wanted and then some. Soft and sweet that became hot and borderline sinful.
A groan left his mouth before his tongue dove inside mine as he fisted my hair.
“Ugh. I should go,” he said a few heated moments later, “or we’re going to have to reach out to the team to alter the security footage to hide the fact I was in your room for so long. And on Valentine’s Day, of all days.”
I closed my eyes and bowed my forehead to his while noting the annoying ringing had finally stopped in the other room. “No one knows about us back home yet, so I guess you’re right.”
At his subtle throat clear, I forced open my lids and lifted my head. “What is it?”
He let go of me and backed up. “I overheard Carter on speakerphone with his wife back in Pennsylvania before we left for this op . . . she was tipsy or something, and she admitted to overhearing us going at it like rabbits in the laundry room in Ireland.”
“Ohh.” Now my head was firmly placed in Ireland, and to that particular memory of Oliver banging me on top of that washing machine like I’d begged him to do. That’d been one hot night. One of many. “Now my cheeks are warm.”
“Does it bother you that Carter knows about us?” He angled his head, hands returning to his pockets.
Since Carter was one of our two bosses, Gray Chandler, son of the Secretary of Defense, being our other one, it probably should’ve turned me a few shades of pink in embarrassment. But my cheeks were heating more from the sizzling memory of that night than from worries about repercussions from up the chain.
“No, I’m not upset,” I finally relented. “And after this op, I want everyone else to know.” It was time I stopped running.
“Wait, what?” Narrowed eyes met mine. His reaction was doubtfully from fear, more so from shock.
I nodded as my answer, despite that not really being the proper response. “I don’t want to run anymore. When this is over, will you help me stop running?” I wasn’t sure if it was fair to ask him that, but I didn’t want to take any chances and lose him. Here goes, the words I’ve never officially said since the night I dropped my clothes in Ireland. “I want you, Oliver. I want to be all in with you.”
His lips stretched into the most handsome, genuine smile I’d ever seen from him, and he closed the space between us and pulled me into his arms. “Absolutely. Yes.” He nodded eagerly. “I can wait as many days as this op takes to be with you, knowing that when this is over . . .” His voice broke with emotion, and he paused for a beat, which had me equally choked up. “I’m not going anywhere, Mya. I’ll never leave unless you truly want me to.” Leaning in, lips near mine, he murmured, “Even then, jury is still out, since I can be a stubborn pain in the ass.”