Chapter 30 – Vale
YOGA SHORTS AND JUMPING A FERRARI
VALE
I’m deep in thought, unable to get out of my own head.
It’s been two difficult days since I’ve seen Oliver.
I’m lying on a mint-green yoga mat, eyes closed under dark sunglasses even though I’m hiding in the shade.
I’m on the wooden deck behind Gramps’s house.
The sun is shining brightly overhead, heat and humidity a burdensome weight against my sensitive skin.
The sunlight is so strong today, the shade isn’t much cooler than being out directly under it.
But I have to do it to protect my pale skin.
If I don’t, I’ll be forever known as the lobster woman of South Georgia.
I contemplate, not for the first time, why I’m out in the heat. Why am I out here half dressed, wearing sticky sunscreen that smells like coconuts and absolutely fucking miserable? I could have been miserable in the house with air-conditioning. My misery deserves air conditioning at the very least.
When I came outside in my tiny pink shorts and my charcoal gray sports bra, I’d planned on doing yoga. I was moving slowly, but efficiently through the poses I’d only learned this morning. For two days, I’d searched the internet for methods to deal with my constant, painful state of arousal.
I was delirious at this point.
I had good intentions, tiny shorts not included. Honestly, that’s for Oliver. I hope he sees me. I want to get his attention somehow. I miss him. Absence, or is that abstinence, really does make the heart grow fonder.
I’ve texted him, telling him about what I was reading, what I was doing.
I’d flirt and send cute emojis. Sometimes I’d send pictures.
Oliver always replied, but his answers weren’t the heated replies from before.
He was suddenly so distant, a million miles away, even though I felt his presence right next door.
I hope he’s okay. Would he tell me if he wasn’t?
The first day we went without seeing each other, I questioned if I had done something wrong. I thought maybe what happened in the pool house had upset him. He had told me the truth about what he was and maybe he was regretting it. I don’t want him to regret anything with me.
I wish I could control myself the way he can.
It seems he’s able to ignore the draw altogether.
Whereas I’m over here with wet shorts, wishing he’ll find me, throw me up against a wall, and destroy me for all other men.
Oh, how I want to be destroyed by Oliver Byron.
I bet it’d be worth every bit of heartbreak when it was over.
Yeah, Oliver did that to me. The attraction was intense before he kissed me, but after .
. . I find myself in a perpetual state of arousal, daydreaming about how he’d fuck me.
No joke. Just now, downward dog, has me thinking about Oliver propping himself up against a wall to gain leverage while he pounds into me. That visual just pops in to say hello.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’ve never been so desperate as I’ve been with him.
It takes a lot of mental and physical energy to stay aroused all the time.
I feel drained. I find myself dehydrated, constantly craving water so my body doesn’t turn to dust. Here it goes again.
I imagine riding him in a huge bathtub, then how I’d lick the water droplets from his cheeks while he smiles with those sexy, bedroom eyes.
“Goddammit!” I yell as I lift my hips, trying to release the tension in my lower spine.
“Was it a bee?” Oliver asks.
I open my eyes, looking for him as he laughs.
“What bee?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.
He squats down at my left side. “Were. You. Stung. By. A. Bee?” he asks slowly, spacing each word out as if I’m some sort of nitwit who only exists to agitate him.
Ugh! He makes me as angry as I am turned on.
I give him a scathing look I hope he can see through my sunglasses. He seems to be getting what I’m putting down. “No! Why would you think that?”
“Oh, you know, the fact that you’re screaming goddammit at the top of your lungs while you’re doing your pelvic thrust exercises.
I figured one might have crawled under those teeny-tiny shorts.
You know maybe it stung you somewhere very private,” he explains, his green eyes focused on me, a dark eyebrow cocked up and that kissable dimple in his cheek showing his amusement.
What the fuck is he talking about? Pelvic thrust exercise? Is everything about sex with him? I like Oliver, but he’s a perv. In truth, it’s one of my favorite things about him. That and the stop-you-in-your-tracks, make-a-woman-drool sexiness.
He’s so sexy. The thought makes my cheeks flush as if it’s not hot enough out here, over a hundred degrees. I’m so frustrated I take it out on him, but he deserves it. That’s what I tell myself at least. I have to justify my crazy somehow.
He’s still squatting beside me, and I want to knock his arrogant ass over. He doesn’t even see it coming. I jerk up off the yoga mat, grabbing his ankle and pulling his leg out from under him before he can stop me. Yes!
His eyes get big and his sunglasses fly off the top of his head as he topples over onto his back with a loud, hollow thunk. He lies there, blinking up at the sky like he doesn’t know what happened.
I laugh so hard, tears well in my eyes. I hold my ribs when they start to ache because I can’t stop the laughter bubbling up. I don’t think I’ll survive it. Best day of my life!
“I got you, you little bitch!” I yell like a championship wrestler while I bend my arm, showing off my fabulous muscles, of which there are none. I’m a strange person, but I won’t let it get me down.
He lies there while I cackle like a cartoon witch. “What’s wrong, don’t like being beaten by a girl?” I say with my best pouty voice. I’m still snickering. This is the most fun I’ve had in two days. I’m desperate for a good time.
“That’s not it,” he groans like I actually hurt him.
“Oh, my God,” I shriek and jump off the mat, crawling over to him to check if he’s okay.
“Are you alright? I’m sorry. I was joking around, I didn’t mean to hurt you.
” I reach my hand out, not knowing where to check him for damage.
I cup his man bun in my hand, patting his head lightly with an awkward smile.
Why the fuck am I patting his man bun? I’m such a weirdo. I also hurt him. Shit!
“Should I go get Gramps? I’m so sorry.”
I bend forward, leaning over his chest, checking the other side of his head. That pained mouth perks up in a devious smile, and his eyes show his delight of this outcome. He grabs me around the waist, pulling me hard against his chest.
“Apologize,” he demands with a huge, shit-eating grin. I want to punch him in that gorgeous mouth.
“No! I will not. You’re an asshole,” I yell at him as I struggle to push away from his chest. His grip is so tight I can’t get my legs underneath me.
“Apologize or I’ll do something very bad, Vale.” The way he threatens me makes me wet all over again. That’s not the reaction a normal person would have. I like it when he threatens me, at least he’s showing desire again, and not that horrible aloofness from his text messages.
I stop fighting, my muscles lax but for the strength it takes to stay up on my knees. He looks confused. I get in his face, so I’m all he can see. No more than an inch separates our lips. I smile at him with all the menace I can muster. Can you feel my flames, Oliver? I want to say, but I don’t.
“Fuck you,” I growl between clenched teeth, drawing each word out in agitation. I smile down at him with bright, hungry eyes, then I flip him the bird with both hands—double the fun.
The laughter that suddenly escapes him is some of the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard.
This man, every part of him, is gorgeous.
His voice is sexy. His hair is sexy, even in that silly man bun.
Those kissably soft lips are sexy. Even the deep, shadowed grooves of his abs, hidden under that plain white T-shirt are sexy.
I look around, searching for something to slap him with, maybe a stick. But there it is, woe is me, my one weakness! He’s wearing those heather-gray exercise pants again. How many fucking pairs of these things does he have? Someone should burn them because he’s a danger to all when he wears them.
I should have said fuck me instead of fuck you.
I tense in his arms as I look down at that bulge between his legs.
He’s turned on. He so hard the outline of his cock is detailed in those cursed pants.
I don’t know what to do, but I can’t start making sexy eyes at him out here on the deck. It’s daytime! Anyone could see us!
“So, you’re not gonna apologize, pretty girl?” he asks, his voice cutting like a razor’s edge, deep and dark. Lustful. I’m screwed.
He called me pretty and, under any other circumstances, I would have been shocked by it, but I was in some type of strange mood. I’m fierce and insolent. I’m full of flames. That fire burning inside me is making me unafraid. It’s likely heatstroke-induced insanity.
I shake my head, then start tickling him, hoping it loosens his grasp.
Yes! He jerks at my touches. I have to get away from those gorgeous dick pants.
I mean cock pants. I mean . . . I mean .
. . um . . . oh, yeah, exercise pants. Fuck my brain that only wants to focus on his dick! It really is a great dick though.
The minute I try to tickle him under his arms, he releases my waist. I take no time to think about it. I bolt off the deck like a jaguar into the rainforest. I don’t know if I’ve run so fast or jumped so far in my life.