Chapter 2 Oliver
Oliver
Warm sunlight streams through the blinds and sweeps across my bare back.
For a second, I think I’m dreaming.
Rina’s skin.
Her voice.
The way she moved beneath me, soft and wild.
In real life, Rina Reynolds can barely tolerate my presence. Half the time she looks at me like she’s imagining how deeply she could bury a stiletto in my chest. The other half, she acts like I don’t exist at all.
I press my face into the pillow, trying to hang on to the hazy remnants before reality fully catches up. The sheets smell faintly of her. Something warm and feminine beneath the hint of whiskey and sweat. It hits low and deep, an ache I’m reluctant to name.
I’d much rather stay here, trapped in that in-between space where nothing feels real and everything still could be.
But the images won’t stop coming.
Her at the bar with that Wall Street wannabe talking her ear off.
The way her eyes locked on mine when I pulled her onto the dance floor.
The cab ride to her apartment.
Bare skin and heat.
The memories hit harder now. They’re less like a dream and more like proof of what transpired.
My eyes snap open, and I turn to find Rina beside me.
Her dark hair is draped across the pillow, tangled from sleep.
Her face is angled toward me, thick lashes resting against flushed cheeks.
Her lips are still swollen, and there’s a faint mark on her neck.
The sight sends a kind of primal satisfaction roaring through my blood.
That’s my mark on her skin.
She looks so damn beautiful like this.
Unguarded and heartbreakingly real.
More memories crash through me. Her nails raking down my back, the rough sound of my name on her tongue, and the way she shattered beneath me.
Holy hell.
It wasn’t a dream at all.
I drag a hand over my face, grinning before I can stop myself.
She stirs beside me, lashes fluttering as her dark eyes blink open. The second her gaze meets mine, her expression freezes. Sleepiness gives way to dawning horror.
“Oh my God.” She bolts upright, clutching the sheet to her breasts. “We did not just—”
“Oh, we definitely did.” My grin widens as I lace my hands behind my head.
Her cheeks flush a gorgeous shade of pink. “That was a mistake. One that can’t ever happen again.”
“Oh, it’s happening again, sweetheart.” I stretch lazily, knowing she’s trying not to stare. Her gaze flicks down my torso before she jerks it away.
“Oliver—”
“You can deny it all you want,” I say, rolling onto my side and catching her wrist before she can escape. I tug gently until she’s sprawled against me, her hair spilling over my chest, warm and messy against my skin. “But we both know what this is.”
As she opens her mouth to argue, my hips lift, and whatever she was about to say dissolves. Her thighs part around me in reflex, and that’s all it takes for me to push into her with one deep thrust that pulls a gasp from both of us.
“Oliver…”
I brace my hands on her hips and move. Slowly at first, then deeper and harder until every sound she makes goes straight to my head. The slide of her body and the helpless noises that escape from her. It’s all heat and friction and the dizzying realization that I’ve never wanted anyone more.
She clings to me, fingers digging into my shoulders as the world narrows to this single point of connection.
It’s rough, needy, and addictive.
Just like I knew it would be.
When she comes, it’s with my name on her lips, and that sound alone nearly undoes me. I follow with a primal growl, thrusting deep before losing it completely.
For a few seconds, there’s only the sound of our ragged breathing, as if we’ve both run a marathon. She collapses against me before burying her face in my neck.
There’s nothing but stillness.
That fragile, perfect quiet after the storm. For one moment, I almost let myself believe it could mean the start of something new.
“Oh fuck,” she whispers.
“Yes, we did.” With a grin, I drag my hand down the curve of her spine. “Give me ten minutes, and we can do it again.”
Her head lifts, eyes narrowing as the weight of reality hits. “Get out.”
I blink, still half-drunk on her scent and the feel of her. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. This was a mistake. All of it.” She slides off me, wrapping the sheet tightly around her body like armor. “We work together, Oliver. If anyone finds out, it’s my job on the line, not yours.”
The simple truth of it should be like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head. It should remind me what we’re risking—the PR director sleeping with the team’s biggest tabloid nightmare.
One rumor and she’s finished.
Instead, the way her voice cracks only makes me want her more.
I push myself upright, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed before bracing my elbows on my knees and watching as she paces the room. The sheet slips dangerously low with every step, teasing me with flashes of bare skin she doesn’t realize she’s showing.
“You’re serious?”
Her glare could cut through glass. “Dead serious.”
“Funny. It didn’t feel like a mistake a few minutes ago.”
For half a second, she falters. I see the tremor in her fingers and the flicker of something in her eyes before her walls slam back into place.
“It was. Probably the biggest mistake I’ve ever made,” she mutters.
I drag a hand through my hair and push off the mattress, allowing the covers to fall away as I stand. The air between us thickens again, heavy with the intimacy we just shared and everything she wants so desperately to deny.
“And yet…” My jeans lie in a heap near the dresser.
I step into them leisurely, pulling them up while her eyes betray her with one quick glance.
The zipper slides, the grind of metal breaking the quiet.
“You still ended up riding my dick.” I pause, pretending to think.
“What was that—four times?” I shrug into my shirt.
Her jaw drops as color floods her cheeks. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Pretty sure you said something similar last night.”
She snatches a shirt from the floor, yanks it over her head, and all but shoves me toward the door. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
I look down at her and take in the wild hair, the kiss-bruised lips, the faint marks on her throat. She’s furious and flustered, and painfully beautiful.
“Sweetheart,” I say, leaning in close enough to pull a small hitch from her, “you haven’t even seen hard yet.”
Her eyes flash with warning. “Out.”
With a smirk, I grab my jacket from the chair, and head for the door. “Whatever you say.”
Even though the response comes easily, my chest feels tighter than it should as I step into the hall. She slams the door behind me hard enough to rattle the frame.
I stand there for a beat. The hallway smells faintly of coffee and cleaning polish. It’s too bright after the night we just shared. The contrast almost makes me laugh.
The delicate scent of her perfume clings to my skin like a secret I don’t know how to keep. I slip my jacket on, drag a hand through my hair, then pull out my phone. The grin creeps back before I can stop it.
Instead of texting something real, something that matches the ache that has settled deep, I do what I always do, and turn my feelings into a joke.
Me: FYI—I just slept with the future Mrs. Van Doren.
I stare at the message to my brother for a moment before hitting send.
Rina thinks this was a mistake.
And maybe she’s right.
It probably was.
But I can’t remember the last time a mistake felt this right.
Or this real.
She thinks she can walk away.
But me?
I’m already in too deep.
Rina Reynolds has no idea what she just got herself into.
Then again, maybe I don’t either.