22. Maya #3
“Fair enough.” He reaches down and takes my hands, pulling me to my feet. “But I think you’ve worked hard enough for one day. And I think we should christen this room properly.”
“Oliver.” I glance at the desk, the chair, the carefully arranged space. “This is my writing studio. It’s supposed to be a sacred creative space.”
“It can be a sacred creative space that’s also been thoroughly defiled.” He backs me toward the desk, his hands finding my hips. “I tested it, you know. The desk. It’s sturdier than it looks.”
“You tested it how?”
“I sat on it. Aggressively. Multiple times. Different positions. Very scientific.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m thorough.” He lifts me onto the surface, it holds, wobble and all, and steps between my thighs. “I love you. Have I mentioned that today?”
“At least four times.”
“Not enough.” His mouth finds my neck, that spot behind my ear that makes me shiver. “I love you. I love who you are and who you’re becoming. I love the way you looked at that room this morning like I’d given you the whole world.”
“You did give me the whole world.”
“I gave you some badly constructed furniture and a stack of legal papers.” He pulls back to look at me, his dark eyes intense in the lamplight. “You gave me a second chance when I didn’t deserve one. You gave me my family back. You gave me a reason to be someone worth being.”
“Oliver…”
“I love that you’re going to write again.
I love that I get to watch you remember all the pieces of yourself you set aside to make room for my ambition.
I love that we’re building a new thing together.
Not my thing, not your thing, but ours.” He presses his forehead to mine.
“I love you, Maya. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt that. ”
“Show me,” I whisper.
He does.
I’m already on the desk he built with his own hands, his body warm between my thighs, the lamplight catching on the framed byline behind us.
He kisses me like we have all the time in the world, then drops lower.
His mouth traces my jaw, then my shoulder, then the inside of my thigh when he pushes my dress up.
He pulls my panties off and settles between my legs. His tongue is slow and playful at first, licking long stripes before focusing on my clit. I laugh when he nips lightly at my inner thigh.
“Careful,” I say. “The desk might not survive.”
“It survived testing,” he answers between licks. “This is the final exam.”
I laugh again until he sucks on my clit and the sound turns into a moan. He slides two fingers inside me and works them in time with his mouth. I come fast, one hand braced on the desk, the other in his hair.
He stands and frees himself. I reach for him and guide him in. He pushes deep and we both groan. The desk creaks under us.
“Holding,” he says, grinning. “Just like I promised.”
He thrusts in steady strokes, one hand on my lower back to keep me close. I lock my ankles behind him and pull him deeper. We kiss between thrusts, laughing when the desk wobbles harder.
“You’re everything,” he breathes when I start to tighten again. “You know that, right? Everything.” And then, because he can finally say the rest, “And I love you.”
This is real. This is permanent.
I come with his name on my lips. He follows, hips stuttering, face buried against my neck. The desk gives one final loud creak and we both freeze, then burst out laughing.
After, we end up on the floor, because the desk really does wobble and we decided not to push our luck, tangled together on the blue rug Chloe picked out.
“I have an idea,” Oliver says, tracing patterns on my shoulder.
“Another surprise? I’m not sure I can handle more surprises today.”
“Not a surprise. A proposal.” He shifts to look at me, propping himself up on one elbow.
“I’ve been researching foundations. Organizations that help underprivileged kids get into journalism and writing programs. There’s one that’s been mismanaged for years.
Great mission, terrible execution. They’re hemorrhaging donors and losing impact. ”
“Okay…”
“What if we took it over? Your journalism background, my connections and operational experience. We could build a real thing here. A foundation that actually helps people.” His eyes are bright with possibility. “We could do it together. As partners.”
“The apartment could be the first office,” I hear myself say, already three steps into the idea. “It’s just sitting there, and it’s in my name.”
I stare at him.
“You’ve really thought about this.”
“I’ve had three months of not running a company to think about a lot of things.
” He laughs softly. “I’m never going back to being a CEO.
That life almost destroyed everything that mattered.
But I still want to build things. I still want to make a difference.
I just want to do it with you this time. ”
“Partners.”
“Real partners. Fifty-fifty. You handle the editorial vision: mentorship, curriculum, connecting young writers with opportunities. I handle operations and funding. We make every major decision together, right here at this wobbly desk, arguing about strategy and compromising on tactics.”
“That sounds like a recipe for a lot of fights.”
“Probably.” He grins. “But we’re good at making up after fights. I think we just proved that.”
I think about it. About using everything I learned in my journalism career to help kids who never had the opportunities I did.
About building something meaningful with Oliver instead of just supporting his ambitions from the sidelines.
About being partners, real partners, with equal say and equal stake, in a way we have never once managed before.
“Yes,” I say. “Let’s do it. Let’s build something together.”
His smile is the brightest thing in the room.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I pull him down and kiss him softly. “Partners. Finally.”
“Finally,” he echoes against my lips. “I love you, Maya.”
“I love you too.” I settle against his chest, my ear pressed to his heartbeat. “Morning and night. Every day.”
“For the rest of our lives.”
“That sounds like a promise.”
“It is.” He presses his lips to my hair. “And this time, I’m keeping it.”