Chapter 12
It had been a long time—she’d have to go back to her student days—since Olivia had sat in a guy’s kitchen while his flatmates
wandered in and out in various stages of undress.
“Christ, Luca, put a shirt on.” Connor waved a spatula at the man who’d just pinched a handful of grated cheese neatly laid
out on the table. “I’m trying to impress a lady here.”
Luca grinned, a flash of white teeth against an olive complexion. “By making her an omelet? Seriously, man, have you learned
nothing from Chef Felix?”
Connor gave him the middle finger before turning back to focus on the sizzling pan. “I’d have fried some sea bass, but someone
raided the fridge and didn’t replace it.”
“Ah.” Luca gave her a sheepish look. “How was I supposed to know you were planning on bringing a beautiful woman back here?”
Connor turned and leveled a hard stare at Luca. “You’d better not be coming on to my date.”
Olivia couldn’t help it—she started to laugh. Sitting here in this cramped kitchen with two guys in their twenties arguing
over her. It was utterly ridiculous.
“Hey.” Connor caught her eye. “There’s nothing amusing about this. Tell Luca to sling his hook because he won’t take it from
me.”
It was said with humor, but there was a possessive edge to his voice that sent an unexpected frisson of arousal through her.
Luca must have heard the silent warning because he dipped his head. “No worries, I’m going out.” As Connor turned back to
the stove, Luca winked at her. “Me and the lads will be out late. Very late. So you can be as noisy as you like.”
Oh God. This was about as far from how she’d imagined her solo week going as it could get. She’d been planning on strategizing
for the promotion battle with Stuart, reviewing finance reports, and working out what she needed to do on her first week back.
In between eating out in the best restaurants Nantucket had to offer.
Yet here she was, preparing to eat an omelet and then have sex with a hot young chef who was her polar opposite. And who had
the best bum she’d ever had the good fortune to stare at, she thought appreciatively as she watched Connor shift between the
stove, the table, and the fridge with the grace of a dancer, his movements easy, unhurried. Sensual.
“Ready to eat?”
Guiltily she jerked her head upward to find herself staring into a pair of highly amused blue eyes. She cleared her throat.
“Yes.”
He spooned some green salad tossed in a dressing she’d watched him make from mustard, garlic, red wine vinegar, and olive
oil onto two plates. Then he added the omelets, sprinkled fresh herbs over them that he’d brought in from outside, and slid
the plates onto the table.
He sat down across from her. “I can do better than an omelet,” he mumbled as he watched her tuck a fork into the fluffy cooked
egg.
“I know.” She smiled. “I remember your starters. And your doughnuts.” He looked slightly mollified and then pleased when she
took a bite and let out a moan of pleasure. “Wow, that’s not just an omelet. How did you get it to taste like that?”
“I’ll show you sometime.” His eyes pinned her with a heated look. “When my mind isn’t full of what I want to do to you as
soon as you’ve eaten.”
Thankfully the omelet was soft and almost dissolved in her mouth, otherwise she might have choked. She’d never been stared
at with such blatant, unapologetic desire.
“You’re watching me eat.”
“I’d watch you do anything.” He gave her crooked smile. “Do you know you eat like you do everything else? Deliberately, carefully,
precisely.”
She nodded toward his loaded forkful. “Whereas you attack your food with carefree gusto.”
“That about sums us up.” His eyes darkened. “But I can be careful and deliberate when needed.”
It became harder and harder to keep eating, to ignore the pulse between her legs, the brush of satin against her sensitized
nipples every time she moved. Especially as he wolfed his meal down and was now looking at her like he was ready to eat her
alive.
She swallowed another mouthful and tried to keep her voice steady when she said, “Where are we going after this?”
She received another intense look, loaded with so much heat her skin prickled. “I want to say your room, because that’s where you belong, in five-star luxury, lying on sheets with a thousand thread count.” He exhaled heavily.
“But fuck, Livvy, I don’t think I can wait that long.”
The need in his voice matched hers and she pushed her plate away. “Me neither.”
“Thank Christ.” He shot to his feet, upending the chair, which clattered to the floor. He marched around the table and lifted
her in his arms.
Automatically, her hands went around his neck to steady herself.
She wanted to protest, to tell him she had legs, she could walk, but she was afraid if he let her down, her knees would buckle
under the weight of her arousal.
Instead she studied his profile as he strode down the hallway, gaze fixed ahead, his shoulders set. A man on a mission. And
his mission was her.
Panic slithered through her. Would she be able to have sex with this man and then go back to a life without it? Would he ruin
her for sex with anyone else?
Her pulse rocketed as he kicked open the door to his room. She had a moment to notice it was basic but tidy before he placed
her carefully on the bed and lowered his big body over hers. Then all she could see was him.
“You’re a strong, independent woman,” he whispered, gaze locked on hers. “I get it, respect it. But right now, I’m the one
in charge, the one responsible for your pleasure.” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “Is that going to work for
you?”
The instinct to disagree, to fight him for control, died as she stared into his stormy blue eyes. “Yes.”
A slow, sensual smile spread across his face. “Then turn off your brain for the next few hours and let me take care of you.”
Before he’d even undressed her, Connor knew that this moment was going to live forever in his memory. What he hadn’t expected
was her utter capitulation, her readiness to let him take the reins. Nor had he factored in how responsive she would be to
his touch and how much that would turn him on. Yeah, he knew how to please a woman, had learned how to hold back his own needs
to make sure hers were fully satisfied.
But his body had never been tested to this level before.
“Fuck, Livvy, you’ve got to stop making those noises.” He grunted as he feathered kisses along the tops of her breasts. He’d
removed her trousers and top, left her bra and underwear in place deliberately to keep himself in check. When he revealed
her breasts, currently hiding behind a plain black bra, he knew he’d be toast. “You’re killing me here.”
“Then stop touching me like that,” she mumbled, letting out another sexy whimper as his fingers slid beneath the silky material
between her legs and into her moist heat.
“You think I can stop?” He exhaled harshly, biting back a groan at how perfect she felt. He was desperate to yank off the rest of her underwear
and plunge into her, lose himself in her, but he’d promised to take care of her. Emptying inside her after a few good pumps—which
was all it would take—would be letting her down. No fucking way was he doing that. “I wish you could see yourself, laid out
like a feast to be savored. All any man would want to do is devour you.”
“Oh God.” Her back arched as his fingers began to work.
It was no good; he had to take off the rest of her clothes, had to see all of her.
And heaven help him, it was almost too much. He clutched his groin, unable to stop the guttural noise that left his throat
the moment she was naked before him. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.” Worshipfully, he smoothed his hand across
her breasts, squeezing, rubbing. Small, pert, with rose-pink nipples that begged for his tongue. “I’m going to dream of these
for the rest of my life.” He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to the right one, licking, savoring, twirling his tongue
around the stiff peak while his fingers continued to thrust in and out of her heat.
Her breathing became heavier, her noises louder. “More, please. I . . . oh my God, I’m going to come.”
A shudder rolled through her, and then another, and another, until finally her whole body went boneless and she sank into
the mattress.
Stretching out alongside her, he ignored the ache between his legs and smoothed a hand down her chest, sliding it over her
soft, dewy skin, in awe of how gorgeous she looked. Eyes closed, pink blush on her cheeks, a soft smile. If the evening stopped
here, he’d be okay with it, he realized. Just knowing he’d put that look on her face.
Slowly her eyes blinked open. “Before I met you, I’d forgotten how good an orgasm could feel.”
He wanted to ask how long it had been and who it had been with or if she’d been alone, but he realized he might not like the
answer. “I’m glad I could remind you.”
She stretched, fluid like a cat, before shifting onto her side so they faced each other. “Do you think you could remind me
again in a few minutes?”
“Absolutely.” He kissed her lips, then again, and again, deepening it each time as she began to kiss him back. “How far do
you want to go?” he whispered, shifting from her lips to kiss down her neck, nuzzling, inhaling the scent of her.
Her eyes fluttered closed. “Do you want it in baseball terms?”
He smiled against her neck. “Like first base, second base?”
“I think we covered third base already.” Her breathing shifted as his fingers slid over her nipples. “Now I want a home run.”
“Thank fuck.” Smiling, he rested his head on his elbow and skated his free hand over her breasts, down her flat stomach, then
back up again, all the way across her collarbone and up to her face, taking a mental inventory of her.
“I’m not soft.” Hazel eyes stared right back at him, unapologetic. “I have angles, not curves.”
“Turns out I’m a fan of angles.”
She gave a little shake of her head, then flopped onto her back, a smile tilting her lips. “I’ve said it before but I’ll say
it again: You’re good for my ego.” Her face turned toward him. “What about wrinkles and cellulite? Don’t tell me you’re a
fan of those too.”
He ran his gaze deliberately down her body. “I see only the strong, sexy body of a disciplined woman who takes care of herself.”
Her expression softened and a moment later her hands reached under his T-shirt. He hissed, hardening impossibly further as
her fingers touched his overly heated skin. “I see a T-shirt covering a body I’d like to explore.” She cocked her head. “Can
I?”
“Hell yes.” He threw off his shirt. “You can do anything you like to me.”
Her eyes rested on his chest and his heart pounded against his ribs as he waited for her to touch him again. But she took
her sweet time, studying him carefully, as if he were an exhibit. Or . . . “Livvy?” Her gaze jumped to his. “You prefer a
hairy chest?” He looked down at his ink: his daughter’s name, a chef’s hat, a cocktail shaker. “You don’t like tattoos?”
She seemed to shake herself. “Oh, no.” She searched his expression. “You can’t seriously think you’re anything other than
utterly beautiful?”
The air went out of his lungs in a rush, relief swamping him. “Then touch me, please.”
Finally those hands rested on him, and he drew in a breath, willing his body to calm as her fingers ran over the ridges of
his abdomen, curious, testing, their mission to explore rather than titillate. “Lie down,” she whispered, pushing him onto
the mattress, her hands now undoing his trousers, pulling down his zip, grazing against the part of him that was swollen and
throbbing with need. Aching to feel her hands on him, he helped her drag his trousers and boxers off, letting out a moan of
desperate pleasure as her fingers finally curled around his dick.
She took her time to feel him, to slide her hand up and down his length.
“Yes,” he hissed. “Tighter, harder.” When she began to pull him just like he needed, he grunted, head back on the pillow,
thrusting into her grip.
“Chloe was right,” she murmured.
His hips gave another pump. “Right how?”
She gazed up at him a moment, hazel eyes glinting, before lowering her head between his legs.
“Fuck. Forget it, I don’t care. Just keep . . .” She swallowed and he nearly exploded right there and then. “Christ, just
keep doing that.”
He managed another minute, but his control was shredded and he had to push her away. “Need to be inside you,” he whispered
hoarsely, grabbing a condom from his bedside drawer and covering himself before moving over her; his fingers slid into her
core and found her drenched.
She widened her thighs and he needed no further encouragement, sinking into her in one deep thrust.
As her tight heat surrounded him, he let out a torrent of swear words. “You feel too good, Livvy. I can’t go slow, have to
move.”
“Yes.” Her hands clutched his buttocks, nails digging in, urging him on. Mindless with need, aching for release, he began
to hammer into her, finesse out the window. It was raw, intense, the desire to worship, to savor, drowned out by the need
to mate, to claim her.
Her body stiffened, then shuddered beneath him, a moan of pleasure leaving her lips, and he let himself go, following after
her, his release so long, so strong, he saw stars.