15. Olivia #2
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Nicholas answered it. Olivia cracked the bathroom door, turned on the water, and stepped into the massive marble shower. Steam curled around the rain head and wall jets, the water cascading over her in a warm, heavy curtain behind the glass.
She heard him come in.
She didn't turn around. She reached for the shampoo, aware of his eyes on her back, aware of every inch of the space between them narrowing.
Then he stepped into the spray behind her.
"Can I help you with that?"
She turned her head, her eyes finding his through the mist. "I have been waiting for you."
He wrapped his arms around her from behind. His mouth found her neck—warm and unhurried—and then he spun her around, his kiss immediately hungry, backing her against the cold marble wall. The contrast of the chilled stone against the hot water made her gasp into his mouth.
He moved lower.
His mouth and hands found her breasts, his tongue circling her nipples until her moans rose above the sound of the water, until she forgot what silence felt like.
"Oh, Nicholas. What you do to me?"
Her nipples were tender from the night before, over-sensitized and aching—and she didn't want him to stop for a single second.
He dropped to one knee.
His mouth moved to her thighs, kissing slowly inward, his tongue sliding through her folds until he found her sweet spot. Olivia screamed. Her fingers gripped the back of his head, pulling him in, her hips rolling forward as she lifted one leg onto the marble bench, opening herself fully to him.
The climax hit her like a physical blow. "Oh my God, I'm coming again!"
Her body shook. Her knees buckled. Nicholas held her steady with both hands firm at her hips, keeping her upright through every wave until she finally stilled against the marble, breathless and undone.
She looked down at him through the steam. "Nicholas, I didn't think I had anything left to give—and yet you pull more from me. No one can make me feel the way you do."
He stood and pulled her against him. He kissed her lips, then her forehead. "Let's clean up and go have breakfast."
"What about you?" she asked.
He smiled—patient and easy. "You killed me last night. I need food and energy. Then we can talk about me again."
They finished the shower together, stepped out, and dried off. Nicholas retrieved her bag from the door, and they dressed in a comfortable, unhurried silence that felt more intimate than words.
The lobby was quiet when they came down.
Nicholas looked at her, his eyes easy and searching at once. "Do you want to have breakfast here in the hotel, or do you feel like walking and finding somewhere nearby?"
Olivia needed air. Needed the sun on her face and the feeling of open space around her. "Something new and some fresh air would be nice."
They stepped outside. The Tampa heat was already building, but a steady breeze moved through the street, making it bearable.
Nicholas took her hand—his palm warm, his grip steady—and she squeezed back, grounding herself in the simple, solid fact of him.
A block away, they found a small café tucked into a corner, smelling of coffee and toasted bread and the particular comfort of a place that hadn't been discovered by anyone who mattered.
They sat. They drank their coffee. The real world filtered back in slowly, like light under a door.
"What are your plans today?" Nicholas asked.
Olivia checked her phone. No messages. No threats. Not yet. "Well, no one is looking for me, so I'm free for a bit. I should probably get home by early afternoon."
They walked back at an easy pace, unhurried, letting the morning stretch. Nicholas stopped in front of a boutique with shining glass windows, his attention caught by the mannequin inside.
"That would look amazing on you," he said.
Olivia followed his gaze. The dress was a black wrap style—sharp and elegant, a silver sash running from the shoulder to the waist, the hem stopping just above the knee with a slit that hinted at something deliberate. She felt the pull of it immediately.
"It is a gorgeous dress," she admitted. "I've never seen anything quite like it. Certainly too fancy for work."
"Try it on. Let's see how it looks on you."
Nicholas was already heading inside before she'd finished considering it. She found her size and slipped into the dressing room. When she checked the price tag, her stomach turned.
She poked her head out from behind the curtain. "I don't care how sexy this dress is. It's way too expensive."
Nicholas just smiled. "Go try it on. At least let me see how it looks on you."
She smirked. "Okay."
The fabric felt like water against her skin—smooth, cool, and perfectly weighted. It fit every curve as if it had been cut specifically for her body and nothing else. She stepped out of the dressing room.
Nicholas went quiet.
He just watched her for a moment, his eyes taking a slow inventory, growing unmistakably hungrier by the second.
"Wow," he finally said. "That dress was made for your body. You look incredible—so much better than the mannequin. The designer should pay you to model it." He glanced down at her feet, and his mouth curved. "Imagine it with heels instead of sneakers."
They both laughed, the sound carrying easily through the quiet shop. Olivia turned back to the mirror and saw something in her reflection she hadn't expected—a woman standing straight, taking up the space she was in without apology.
"I love it," she said quietly. "But I can't afford it. And it's not something I can wear to work."
"Okay," Nicholas said simply. No argument. No pressure.
They returned to the hotel. The elevator ride up was silent, but the air between them was charged with the particular awareness of two people who knew exactly how the next hour could go.
The moment they stepped into the suite, her phone chimed.
The sound was harsh and flat and wrong in a way that landed in her stomach immediately.
Olivia read the text. The weight came back—settling over her chest like something physical, like a hand pressing down.
"Problem?" Nicholas asked.
She kept her voice even. "I don't think so, but I'd better reply and get going."
His disappointment was immediate and unguarded. He crossed the room and pulled her into a tight hug—his arms wrapping around her fully, his chin dropping to the top of her head, holding her the way you hold something you're not ready to let go of.
"It was a wonderful trip," he said against her hair. "I'm not used to feeling like this. Nor am I sure it's good for me."
Olivia looked up at him. Behind the Moretti composure, behind the easy authority and the quiet command he wore like a second skin, she saw something unguarded. Something real. "I don't know what's good or not," she said softly. "I just know you made me feel things I never knew were possible."
He kissed her.
Not a farewell—a promise. Deep and unhurried and desperate in the specific way of someone who knows the clock has run out and is choosing to ignore it for ten more seconds anyway. She kissed him back with everything she had.
"I know you have to leave," Nicholas said when they finally broke apart, his voice rough. "But that bedroom looks awfully inviting."
The pull was real and immediate. She wanted to stay. She wanted to lock the door and let the whole world burn down quietly outside while they stayed exactly where they were.
"There is nothing I want more," she said. "But I know I have to go. Just know I don't want to."
"Let me walk you to your car."
He called the valet. By the time they reached the front entrance, her car was already idling at the curb. Olivia reached into her purse for a tip, and Nicholas caught her hand gently.
"I have it."
She didn't think about who might be watching—not the staff, not the guests moving through the lobby, not the cameras. She turned and kissed him in plain view, unhurried and unapologetic, a small deliberate act of claiming something that was hers.
Then she got into the car.
She rolled the window down before pulling away. Sunlight fell across his face, and for a moment, he looked like something she'd invented—too good and too real at the same time.
"I will miss you, Nicholas," she said.
And she pulled away.