Chapter 11 #2
Desperate, I squeeze my pussy muscles around his cock. He pulls my hair back, and I know it’s payback. “Olivia. You’re not in charge here, darling. Behave.”
I meet his gaze over my shoulder and glare at him. “If you want to fuck me, don’t be a slowpoke about it. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise, what?” His eyes turn dark, his voice low. “What will you do? Will you use your fingers on yourself to come? Will you make me watch? Should we do that?”
He begins to pull out, and I cry out, defeated, “No! No, I’m sorry!”
His lips press against my jaw, and my eyes flutter shut. “Ask me nicely.”
When I don’t respond immediately, he pulls out a little more.
“You’re a bully in bed,” I gasp. He laughs now, and the sound undoes me. “Alexander…” I plead.
“What was that?” He sounds patient.
“Can you please fuck me?” My voice shakes, and for a moment he says nothing, and then he shoves my head down into the comforter, my cheek against the soft fabric as he drives the rest of his cock into me. Over and over again.
“You’re so wet,” he groans. “So perfect.”
His praise makes me tighten around him, and he makes a strangled sound, and then he releases his grip on my head, and he’s yanking my hips in the air, going so much deeper, hitting spots I didn’t know were possible.
His hands come down on either side of me, and he slides one to touch my clit, pinching it.
I gasp out his name. His teeth sink into my shoulder in response.
I can feel myself on the edge, and when he presses my clit again, I see white.
The pleasure is sharp and aching, and I’m moaning his name over and over again, my eyes rolling to the back of my head with the force of my orgasm.
He’s still moving, riding it out, and when I feel him about to pull out, I gasp, “I’m on the pill. ”
He doesn’t hesitate, releasing inside me. His groan is quiet, and I collapse forward, exhausted.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. I’m collapsed forward on the bed, my body still trembling with aftershocks, my breathing ragged. Alexander’s weight is partially on me, his forehead resting between my shoulder blades, his own breathing harsh and uneven.
Then slowly, carefully, he pulls out. The loss makes me whimper softly, and I feel his lips press against my spine in response—a gentle kiss that feels at odds with the intensity of what just happened.
“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice rough and sated.
His hands are gentle as he helps me turn over, positioning me so I’m facing him. My limbs feel like jelly, boneless and heavy, and I’m grateful when he pulls me against his chest. His skin is warm and slightly damp with sweat, and I can hear his heart thundering beneath my ear.
He reaches down and tugs the comforter up over both of us, cocooning us in warmth. The soft fabric settles over my cooling skin, and I burrow deeper into his embrace without thinking about it.
“Are you alright?” he asks quietly, one hand coming up to stroke my hair back from my face.
I nod against his chest, not quite trusting my voice yet. My body still feels like it’s humming, little sparks of pleasure dancing along my nerve endings. I’ve never felt anything like that. Never knew it could be like that.
His arms tighten around me, pulling me impossibly closer. “Look at me, Olivia.” I tilt my head back slowly, meeting his gray eyes. They’re softer now, the fierce hunger replaced by something gentler but no less intense. He’s studying my face carefully, as if he’s searching for something.
“Are you okay?” he asks again, his thumb brushing along my cheekbone.
“I’m—” My voice comes out scratchy, and I clear my throat. “I’m more than okay.”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a satisfied smile, making my lower muscles tighten despite my exhaustion. “Good.”
I should probably feel awkward right now. Should be panicking about what this means, about how we’ve completely obliterated every professional boundary between us. But wrapped in his arms, my body still singing with pleasure, I can’t bring myself to care. Not yet.
“That was—” I start, then stop, not quite sure how to finish.
“Incredible?” he supplies, his voice holding a note of smug satisfaction. “Earth-shattering? Life-changing?”
I huff out a laugh despite myself, swatting weakly at his chest. “Your ego doesn’t need any more inflation.”
“My ego is perfectly healthy, thank you.” His hand slides down my spine in a soothing caress. “But I do need to know—Was it good for you?” The vulnerability beneath the question surprises me. I look up at him again, seeing genuine concern in his eyes despite the teasing tone.
“You have to ask?” I murmur. “After the way I—” I feel the blush crawl over my neck at the memory of how I’d begged, how I’d completely fallen apart in his hands.
His smile turns wicked. “I like hearing you say it.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re beautiful.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, then my nose, then finally my lips—gentle and sweet, so different from the consuming kisses earlier. “Especially like this. All soft and satisfied.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just bury my face against his chest again. His hand continues its soothing path up and down my spine, and I feel myself starting to relax, the last of the tension draining from my body.
“Your heart is still racing,” he observes quietly.
“Whose fault is that?”
I feel his chest vibrate with silent laughter. “Mine, I hope.”
We lie there in comfortable silence for several minutes. The house is quiet around us—Mom and Sophie still at the shop, Dad presumably still at his plumbing job. It’s just us, cocooned in my childhood bed under the pale purple comforter I’ve had since high school.
The absurdity of it hits me suddenly. I just had sex with my boss. In my parents’ house. In my childhood bedroom.
“Stop thinking so loudly,” Alexander murmurs against my hair.
“I’m not—”
“I can practically hear your brain spinning.” His hand slides up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair. “Whatever you’re worrying about, stop.”
“This is going to make things complicated,” I say quietly.
“Only if we let it.” His tone is unconcerned, like sleeping with his executive assistant is just another business decision he’s made. “We’re adults. We can handle complicated.”
“Alexander—”
“Olivia.” He tilts my face up again, his expression serious now. “Do you regret it?” The question hangs between us. I search his face. He’s trying to appear casual, but his body has gone tense beneath me.
“No,” I say honestly. “I don’t regret it.”
His shoulders relax slightly. “Good. Neither do I.”
“But we should probably talk about—”
“Later.” He presses another kiss to my forehead. “Right now, just rest. Let yourself come down from the high. We’ll figure everything else out later.”
I want to argue. Want to hash this out now, set boundaries, establish rules. But my body is heavy with exhaustion, sated and warm in his arms, and my eyelids are growing heavier by the second.
“Just for a few minutes,” I murmur.
“As long as you need.”
His hand continues its soothing path along my spine, and I feel myself drifting. The last thing I’m aware of is the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear and the warmth of his body wrapped around mine, solid and real in a way that makes everything else fade to nothing.
* * *
Two hours later, I’m standing in the kitchen in fresh clothes—yoga pants and an oversized Christmas sweater with a reindeer on it—my hair still damp from the shower. Alexander’s in the living room, and I can hear him moving around.
My eyes go to the keychain attached to my phone. I once thought it was cute that Chase made this for me. The leather once gave me comfort, rubbing it between my fingers, brushing it against my palm. But why did I still have it now?
I should have thrown this away the moment we broke up. Or at the airport. Or even when I saw him with Amber when I returned to town. What was I holding onto it for?
I look at the keychain for a moment longer before unlinking it from my phone.
Without hesitation, I throw it in the trash where it lands on top of pictures of Chase, the one that’s been in the kitchen since forever and the one I ripped down from the corkboard on my bedroom wall.
Tossing them was the first thing I did after showering.
Washing my hands, I wonder why I feel nothing about throwing away the remnants of the relationship that defined my younger years. My eyes flick towards the doorway leading into the living room and my lips curve.
The hot water didn’t do much to wash away the pleasant ache between my thighs or the flush that keeps creeping up my neck every time I think about what Alexander and I did upstairs.
What we did in my childhood bedroom.
The only other man I’ve been with is Chase, and what Alexander did to me today, I’ve never experienced anything like it. It made me realize how selfish of a lover Chase really was. It was only ever about his pleasure. I was never a priority. I always thought that’s how it was supposed to be.
Recalling how Alexander held my legs apart as he dove in like a man starved has me blushing.
I press my hands to my flushed cheeks, trying to calm down, when the man in question appears in the doorway.
Alexander’s hair is damp, too, pushed back from his face, and he’s wearing dark jeans and a navy sweater that makes his gray eyes look almost silver.
He looks good. Unfairly good.
“What were you doing?” I ask.
“Your mother said she had extra wrapping paper in the bookshelf. I took it upstairs. Thought we could wrap up the gifts we got your family.”
“We can do that tonight,” I say thoughtfully, taking out a dish.
“But Mom gets really old fashioned wrapping papers. They’re cute, but I like getting my own.
Mine are a little more flashy. You know, sparkly.
” I grin at him. “And I want to get ribbons and stuff. We can go pick them up later today. We’ll have a whole arts and crafts session tonight. ”