Chapter Twenty-One
THE OWNER’S SUITE is massive. It’s beautiful, yes, with a bay window dressed by cream-colored curtains that overlooks the back deck and acres of land beyond it, pale-blue walls, and a big bureau made out of real, shiny wood.
There are more doors up here; I can tell one leads to a bathroom because it’s cracked enough that I can see the black-and-white tiled floors and a bit of a claw-foot tub.
The centerpiece of the whole thing is an enormous king-size bed against the wall, complete with a sleigh-style frame, overflowing with pillows and blankets.
I drop Oliver’s hand and walk into the center of the room. It’s big enough that I could spin in circles with my arms out and not hit anything. I turn to look at where he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, that intense look on his face.
“Well, you certainly got the best room of them all,” I say. “My entire apartment would fit in here.”
“I would have taken one of the guest rooms. I offered this one to you.”
“It’s only right you got this one. It’s your family’s house.
” I shake my head and glance around at the walls, which are devoid of any evidence that this place belongs to any family.
No photos, no mementos, nothing—only framed paintings of stuff like boats and trees.
“Is it weird for you to stay in your parents’ room? ”
He shrugs. “Not really. I don’t think I set foot in here until I was sixteen.”
I have to keep myself from frowning. I don’t understand how that could be true—how could the only child of two functional adults never even see his parents’ room? Where did he go when he had bad dreams or a stomachache? Who was there for him at night?
My skin grows hot under the weight of his stare. Before I can ask him any of the questions running through my mind, Oliver crosses the room in long strides, grabs my face, and kisses me. All my thoughts, fears, and worries evaporate the second I feel his lips against mine.
I wind my arms around his neck and melt into him. At the feel of his tongue, I open for him and tug at his hair. He groans in response. Something hard and insistent presses into my pelvis and it’s as if that spark in my belly turns into a raging wildfire, hungry and needy for more, more, more.
Before I realize what’s happening, he bends enough to scoop me up by the ass. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct as he carries us to the bed. My back hits the blankets and I bring Oliver down with me, unwilling and unable to let go of him with my legs.
Before, in the studio, we were slow with each other.
Careful not to miss anything. This time, it’s the opposite—we’re frantic, chests heaving between hot, hungry kisses, hands scrabbling to remove articles of clothing.
His sweater is the first to go. My shirt is next.
Before I can even lean back onto the bed, my bra is off, the cool air rushing over my exposed skin in a wave until the heat of Oliver’s bare chest presses against me.
He marks a trail down my body with his tongue and his lips.
I wind my fingers through his hair and shiver from all the sensations zinging across my skin: the warm swipe of his tongue between my breasts, his mouth clamping over my nipple, his deft fingers making quick work on the button of my jeans.
They’re off in a flash, but before he can do anything with my underwear, I sit up and put a hand on his chest.
“Wait.” I’m panting, my heart racing. “You first.”
The way he looks at me, with every emotion on display on that gorgeous face of his—it cracks my heart wide open, to see him so bare like this.
His eyes hold everything right now. Every feeling he never talks about, everything he sees and keeps and stores in that brilliant brain, it’s all right there.
Reflected back at me as he holds me captive in his stare.
He stands to let me undo his belt, then the button and zipper of his jeans.
I fall to my knees on the plush rug and hook my fingers on his waistband.
How much he wants this, wants me, is right there in front of my face, straining against the denim.
My mouth waters and I swallow hard as I look up at him.
He runs a hand over his face as he looks down at me. The intensity behind his eyes could burn a hole right through the floor. My fingers tremble slightly as I pull down, and then Oliver is stepping out of his pants, and there he is, fully nude in front of me.
That ache between my legs throbs when I take him in my hand. I hear him mutter an “oh god” as he throws his head back. I stroke the length of him, slow at first, reading his body for cues, watching for what he likes best.
Me, on my knees, in front of Oliver Barlowe, thoroughly enjoying it—who would have thought?
His hands find their way to my hair as I settle into a rhythm that seems to do a lot for him. His hips buck and his breaths grow more sporadic, but his touch remains light. Not pushy, not demanding, just letting me know he’s here with me, that he likes this.
It’s only when I press my mouth to him that his grip in my hair tightens. He’s holding me in place. I look up at him, my hands still full, my brows raised in question.
Our eye contact never breaks when he bends just enough to haul me to my feet.
With my hands still full of him, he cups my face and kisses me with such passion that my eyes flutter closed.
I can feel myself being inched backward until the back of my legs hit the bed.
He guides me down with his hands until my back is flush with the soft duvet.
Then I’m shimmying up onto the bed and out of my pink underwear as he climbs over me.
I’m kissing him everywhere I can reach—his arms, his shoulders, his neck—until he settles in the cradle of my pelvis.
There we are, skin to skin, just the two of us, the press of our bodies and friction of it all driving that ache between my legs higher and higher.
He props himself on one elbow so that he can angle himself and snakes a hand down my body.
His glasses are long gone now; there’s nothing to hide how dark his eyes are as he slips his fingers just where I want them.
My back arches on a gasp that he swallows when his lips find mine.
My legs writhe as I rake my nails down his back, but it’s not enough—I know what this tastes like, and I want more.
“Oliver.” I slip my arms under and up so I can push the hair out of his face. His fingers pause their torture of me as I cup his face with trembling fingers. “Are we…?”
I don’t even know what I’m asking him. Are we going to sleep together? That seems obvious because he’s right there, I can feel it, but it’s not enough; I might just explode from the anticipation. But what are we if we do this?
“Day by day,” he says, his voice rough as he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against mine.
“Day by day,” I echo, chest heaving. “Together.”
“I have condoms.”
I swallow hard. “I was tested recently. The results are on my phone. I have an IUD, too.”
“I was tested, too,” he says.
He climbs off me and finds our phones on the floor.
It only takes a second for us to show each other the latest negative results on an app and then our phones are who knows where and he’s back between my legs and my hands are in his hair and his are cradling my face and we both know what’s going to happen.
Today, this day, it really is just us, and that’s all that matters for now.
“Is this okay?” he asks between kisses, and I know that he’s referring to the press of him against my pelvis. “I can get a condom—”
“It’s okay. No condom.”
As soon as I say it, I know how much I mean it. Somehow, we grew to trust each other this much. Enough to hand over all of ourselves to each other.
His lips find mine, then he’s there, inside, and I’m gasping and he’s panting and we’re rolling and writhing and moaning.
Every fiber of my being zeroes in on where we’re touching, which is practically everywhere, but especially there, where I can feel that pleasure climbing higher and higher.
Nothing in my life has ever felt as good as Oliver’s hand gripping the curve of my waist as my teeth nip at that full lower lip of his, eliciting a throaty groan from him that ripples through me until it settles at that place deep in my core.
His name tumbles out of my lips just as he whispers a heavy “wait” and slips out of my grasp.
I’m turned on my side and then he’s stretching out alongside me, his chest to my back, the heat of him so overwhelming that every inch of my body sparks with sensation.
One of his arms sneaks under to band around my chest as he lifts my top leg up, over, and back, so it’s draped over his and I have barely a second to think that I might detonate right there, at the way he’s handling me, before I feel him again, and it starts all over.
Except this time, his hand slides down my torso, until it finds the place he knows I need to be touched. And then I’m overwhelmed.
“Like that?” His words are a caress across my neck.
The only answer I can give him is to moan his name.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Those noises, when you say my name. You have no idea what it does to me.”
It hits me all at once, an orgasm so powerful it takes my breath away and ruins me for life. Those long, skilled fingers of his are relentless through it all and I know, distantly, that he’s close, too, because his breath is rougher and the rhythm of his hips gets more and more frantic.
“Oliver,” I whimper.
And then he comes undone. Completely.
I slide my hands over his—one on my pelvis, the other on my chest—and thread my fingers through his. He holds me so close to him it almost hurts, but I don’t care. I’ll hold on to him until I can’t anymore.
TMZ EXCLUSIVE:
EMOTIONAL MOMENTS ON THE SET OF CHRIS ROSS’S NEW TV SHOW LINEAGE—ARE VIEWERS READY FOR THE DRAMA?
PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 28TH
AT 10:41 PM
TMZ has obtained exclusive photos from the set of Chris Ross’s first television show, Lineage. Filming for the project has been kept tightly under wraps, with production spanning across multiple countries—until now!
Luke Tudor (pictured here) has a tense moment with costar Erica Stewart (also pictured) during an evening shoot earlier today.
Despite the production crew’s best efforts to keep them out of public eye for the scene, they were no match for New Yorkers.
Luke and Erica were seen sparring for the cameras before Erica stormed off in tears. Someone get that girl some tissues!
Chris Ross (seen here in a black coat and black hat) is known for melodramatic films that are often awards-show darlings.
From the looks of it, he’s bringing that signature drama to the small screen.
Will he be able to pull off this new venture?
Only time will tell. Lineage is slated to stream as a Limelight exclusive in spring of next year.
Read more about Erica Stewart’s rumored new beau, Haven Fitness founding instructor and star Mike Davis, HERE.