Chapter 16
Olivia
A fter dinner, we decide to forgo dessert and head straight to Alex’s place.
It’s not a wise decision on my part, because I’m a weak, weak woman when it comes to Alexander Hawthorne.
His very presence seems to unravel me, pulling at threads I’ve spent years carefully stitching together.
But he agreed to help me, so I need to learn to spend time with him without losing my head, or even worse, my heart.
In the elevator, I stand pressed against the mirrored wall, hands folded over my purse to keep them from shaking. Alex’s apartment is in the same building as the rooftop, the whole penthouse floor to himself.
The doors open into an entryway that’s all white marble and black lacquer, with bold modern art splashed across every spare surface. I take a moment to breathe in the scent: leather, books, a hint of cedar, and the cologne I’d caught on his skin earlier.
Alex sheds his jacket and tosses it onto a midcentury credenza. His hand brushes against the small of my back as he guides me toward the living area.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
Part of me wishes for a strong drink to make this awkward encounter easier, but I know better than to get intoxicated in this man’s presence.
“Water,” I say, because it feels like the safest answer in a room where my brain is already threatening to short-circuit.
He heads for the kitchen, sleeves rolled and forearms bared, muscles flexing in an infomercial-level display of casual masculinity.
I stare at the skyline outside the window and count to five, trying to slow my heartbeat.
He returns, hands me a glass, and sits on the nearby arm of the couch. “We have a lot to cover,” he says, like we’re prepping for a board meeting, not plotting out the rest of our lives. “So. Where do we start?”
I set my water down, smooth my skirt, and force myself to meet his gaze. “First, we have to convince everyone that we’re actually in love. Not just our families—the entire city will be watching us. These people are obsessed with scandal.”
“Scandal, I can handle. That’s half of what Hawthornes do.” The sideways glance, the crooked smile—I’m reminded again of how dangerously attractive he is. “What about Tiffany?”
“She can’t know. Not yet. I have to find a way to break it to her gently.”
“And Dean?”
“Uncle Dean is going to be livid with me ruining his plans, but he wants your family’s reputation more than he wants my obedience, so he’ll act like everything is going according to plan. We have to make everyone else believe that we’re in love. How about your father?”
Alex knits his fingers together. “My father will barely need convincing. He’s been orchestrating my love life since I got my first credit card. He’ll be pleased, as long as the headlines are clean, the wedding tasteful, and the vows ironclad.”
“So, performative devotion,” I say, lips quirking.
A little at ease now, we bang out the parameters.
We’ll need to be seen in public—dinners, mixers, charity galas.
PDA, but not gross. Enough for social media to drool over our ‘chemistry.’ No slip-ups, no trash talk, no cold feet, not even in private, because in this world ‘private’ is just a synonym for ‘not-yet-public.’
“Cassandra will help us with paparazzi and events. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. I know this is a lot of work, but it’s just for one year. After that, we can taper off, set the stage for a respectable break, say it was mutual and amicable. If that’s what you want.”
“Twelve months,” Alex muses. “That’s how long you want us to be married?”
“I can’t ask you to lose even more time in this arrangement. A year should be enough for me to negotiate with Dean and convince him to drop the idea of arranged marriages for Tiffany.”
Or to plan an escape with Tiffany if Dean doesn’t agree.
Alex’s gaze is intense, searching. “And then what? We shake hands and walk away?”
“That’s the plan,” I say, ignoring the tightness in my throat. “You and I get divorced, and we both move on with our lives.”
“Well, Olivia,” his voice lightens, “there are worse ways to spend a year than with a friend.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Is that what we are, Alex? Friends ?”
The playful glint in his eyes dims. I watch as a myriad of emotions flicker across his face—confusion, desire, conflict- before he leans in, closing the distance between us.
Alex’s hand cups my cheek. The touch is feather-light, tentative, as if he is afraid I might shatter under his fingertips. I gasp.
In one fluid motion, Alex’s lips crash into mine.
The kiss is savage, filthy. His tongue is inside my mouth before I even remember how to breathe.
My body burns, and every ounce of reason flees.
Heat radiates down my neck, along my arms, pooling in my core.
He tastes like champagne and secrets. I kiss him back, hungry and starved at once, until we’re both gasping against each other’s mouths.
Then I straddle his lap and wrap my hands around his neck. Alex’s hands splay across my hips, rough and possessive, thumbs tracing the curve of my waist. The friction between us is exquisite—a near-painful ache I’ve denied for too long.
I can feel how hard he is, his erection pressing against his thigh. It’s almost embarrassing how badly my body responds, how I grind down on him with a needy shudder, sparks skipping up my spine.
“Olivia,” he groans, breath ragged as he shoves my skirt up around my waist, exposing my red lacy underwear. “Jesus, how are you real. I’ve been craving the taste of you for days.”
I blush but can’t resist pulling him into another kiss. “Is this your definition of friendship?”
This time, his mouth is more aggressive, his tongue plunging deep into mine.
“We would be very close friends.” He lifts me onto the table and pushes my panties aside to reveal my drenched pussy. “So pretty.”
His breath is hot against my inner thigh, and I shudder as he kisses my skin, his lips trailing lower, closer to where I need him most. My pussy’s dripping, my arousal coating my thighs, and I can’t stop myself from spreading my legs wider, begging him without words to take me, to devour me.
His tongue flicks against my clit, and I gasp, my back arching off the table.
“Alex!” I cry out, my hands clutching the edge of the table so hard my nails dig into the wood.
He doesn’t stop—his tongue laps at me, slow and teasing, before he sucks my clit into his mouth, swirling it with a skill that sends lightning bolts of pleasure shooting through my body.
I’m writhing, my hips bucking against his face as he eats me out like I’m the last meal on earth.
“Harder,” I whisper. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him to go deeper, to make me feel it.
He groans against me, the vibration of his voice sending shivers up my spine, and then he plunges two fingers inside me, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot.
His thumb circles my clit, relentless and perfect.
I’m close, so close. I can feel it building up inside me, a pressure that’s about to explode into a million pieces.
“I’m going to come,” I sob, my body tightening, every nerve on fire.
“Fuck, Olivia, you’re so tight.” Alex’s fingers are buried deep inside me. His tongue is relentless on my clit, flicking and sucking in a rhythm that’s driving me insane. I can feel my orgasm building, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to drown me whole.
“Alex, I—oh god—” I moan, coming undone.
It’s like an earthquake ripping through me, my pussy clenching around his fingers as I explode.
Stars burst behind my eyelids, my thighs shaking uncontrollably.
He doesn’t let up, his tongue still lapping at me, milking every drop of pleasure until I’m trembling and gasping for air.
My legs give out, and I collapse back onto the table, utterly fucking wrecked.
Alex pulls back, his lips glistening with my juices, and I’m done for.
My panties are still tangled around one ankle, my skirt bunched up around my waist. He stands, his cock straining against his pants, hard and thick and begging for attention.
My eyes drop to it, and I swear my pussy clenches in anticipation.
“Is this...” I pause, swallowing hard. “Is this how all your friendships are?”
Alexander’s smile is predatory, his eyes dark with hunger. “You’ve been the exception to my rules since I first laid eyes on you, Olivia.”
I want to believe him, to let myself fall into this moment completely. But the rational part of my brain is screaming caution, even as my body begs for more.
“What does that mean?” I ask, hating how weak I sound. “For us, for this plan?”
“I don’t know. But we can’t pretend that this is a simple business arrangement—not with you.”
I nod, understanding all too well. This weekend at the beach house has complicated everything, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy, between right and wrong.
Part of me wants to run, to protect myself from the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
But a larger part wants to stay right here, in the warmth of Alex’s arms. Consequences be damned.
“We should talk about this,” I say, leaning closer to him. “Figure out what it means for our plan.”
“We should.” Alexander’s eyes drop to my lips, and I can see the hunger in them, raw and unfiltered. “But not right now.”
As he leans in for another kiss, I know I’m treading dangerous waters. But for once again, I silence the voice of reason and give in to the moment. His lips collide with mine, bruising and desperate, his tongue claiming my mouth like he owns it.
Alexander pushes me back onto the table, spreading my legs wide, and I’m so wet, so ready for him, that when he thrusts inside me, it’s like fireworks exploding behind my eyes.
He’s big, so fucking big, and he fills me completely, stretching me in the best way possible.
He fucks me hard, his hips slamming into mine, and I’m screaming, clawing at his back as he pounds into me like he owns me.
“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough and possessive, and I nod, too lost in pleasure to argue.
His hands grip my hips, holding me steady as he drives into me over and over, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside me.
I’m coming again, my pussy clamping down on his cock, and he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release.
When he finally comes, it’s with a roar, his cock pulsing inside me as he fills me with his cum.
We collapse onto the table together, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat.
Alex’s arms wrap around me, pulling me close, but I lift my head and glance around, looking for my clothes.
There are so many things to plan, yet so little time.
But as I try to slip away from Alex’s arms, he pulls me back into his embrace, his strong hands cradling my face.
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” I say. “My to-do list is a mile long.”
“Stay,” Alex insists. “You’ve done enough for one night.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to spend more time getting to know my future wife.”
“Future wife?”
“Yes, my future wife,” he murmurs, leaning in for a slow, tender kiss.
With each passing second, the idea of marrying Alexander Hawthorne becomes more and more appealing.