Chapter 20 Oliver
Oliver
I’m done pretending I can keep my hands off her.
The second my tongue slides past her lips, her resistance crumbles, melting into a groan that vibrates straight through my bones.
It’s the exact balm I was in search of.
It’s been seven days since I’ve been buried deep inside her, and every single one of them has been torture.
Nights spent lying awake with her voice playing on repeat in my head like a ghost I can’t outrun.
Days haunted by the taste of her still lingering on my tongue and the phantom memory of her body wrapped tightly around me.
I can’t breathe without this woman anymore.
And the truth is—I don’t even want to try.
My grip tightens around her jaw, thumb pressing lightly against the delicate column of her throat, forcing her gaze to mine.
Her pupils are blown wide, drowning out the color of her eyes, as her chest rises and falls in shallow bursts.
I grind my cock against her lower belly.
There’s nothing more than a thin barrier of fabric separating us, and it takes all my restraint not to rip it away.
“I can’t do this anymore, Rina,” I rasp against her mouth, every word fractured between fevered kisses. “I can’t go another fucking minute without you.”
My hands shake as I tear at my pants, the drag of the zipper slicing through the charged silence of the bathroom.
The clink of my belt buckle echoes like a gunshot, the sound ricocheting in the space between us.
My other hand fists her dress, yanking it up with urgency as desperation frays the edges of my control.
She gasps when I shove her panties to the side and then the slick heat of her wetness coats my fingers.
“Christ,” I groan. “You’re already wet for me.”
My voice isn’t just rough with need, it’s laced with something that’s both raw and deeper.
Fear.
Not of her.
But of what she means to me.
I press my forehead to hers, struggling to steady myself against the ache ripping through me.
“Say you don’t want this,” I growl. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”
Her lips part, but nothing comes out.
She’s still fighting herself.
I see it in the small tremor at the corner of her jaw and the way her body betrays every protest. The tilt of her hips. The way she sways closer, searching for contact even as her mind screams not to.
This woman is mine in the moments she tries hardest not to be.
I catch her thigh and guide it over my arm, drawing her closer until there’s nowhere left to hide.
The silken skin against my forearm sears as she lets out a startled gasp that trembles through both of us.
Instead of allowing her to pull away, I steady her hips, aligning us.
Every muscle tightens with the effort it takes to stay in control.
For a moment, it feels like time stands still as I slowly push forward, wanting her to feel every damn inch of what belongs to her. The first glide steals the sound from my throat. I sink deeper until there’s nothing left but the undeniable truth of my cock buried inside her body.
She gasps, the noise splintering between us, and I bite back my own groan as the rush hits. Every muscle goes taut with the need to hold on.
She feels too damn good.
Almost like she was built to fit around me, built to destroy every rule I ever set for myself.
“Do you feel that?” My teeth graze the tender edge of her ear as my hips press forward, pinning her hard against the wall. “The way you tighten around me?”
Her head tips in denial as her nails dig deep, dragging down my shoulders. She grips me with every pulse of her body. Every desperate tremor gives her away.
Words can lie.
Bodies don’t.
And hers is screaming the truth.
Whether she wants it to or not.
I ease back, until only the blunt head rests against her entrance, poised and waiting.
The tension between us stretches, a rubber band straining to the snapping point.
She sighs against my mouth, and the faint sound goes straight through me.
Every part of me screams to move, to bury myself in her again, but I hold still because I need her to feel every second of this.
To know who’s guiding it.
Who’s fighting to keep control even as it slips away.
I want her desperate enough to finally crack.
Maybe then she’ll understand it isn’t power I’m after.
It’s her.
She’s the only thing that’s ever quieted the noise in my head.
“Beg for it, Rina.” What spills out of me is rough and edged in demand. “Beg for my cock.”
I need to hear her surrender, proof she’s still mine even after a week of pretending she’s not.
A small, broken sound leaves her as her fingers catch the tile behind her. Watching her fight herself is almost unbearable. Every second she resists feels like a test I’m about to fail.
For a moment, I almost take it back.
“Oliver—”
“Not good enough,” I growl.
It’s not cruelty that drives me. It’s the need to see her drop every wall she’s ever hidden behind. To know I’m the only one who can pull the truth from her lips.
I thrust just enough for a moan to break loose from her before stopping again and watching as she unravels in front of me. The sound cracks through the space as every muscle in my body strains to stay still. Holding back feels like tearing skin, but I need her words more than my next breath.
“Rina…” Her name slips out, equal parts warning and prayer. “Beg like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.”
Her whine is laced with desperation as it shreds the thin wall of her pride. Her eyes flutter shut, the last of her defenses collapsing, and the sound she makes lands somewhere between defiance and surrender.
“Please, Oliver. Please, I need you.”
It isn’t the plea that undoes me. It’s hearing my name caught in her need. It’s knowing she’s finally stopped pretending this doesn’t burn her the same way it does me.
I push back inside her. It’s measured enough to feel the way her body yields and takes me in, inch by inch, until there’s nothing left between us but this shared moment of honesty.
Every push feels like a confession. Every sound she makes is an answer I didn’t realize I was waiting for.
This is what it’s always been about.
Her.
Me.
Us.
And the truth neither of us can fight.
We hover there, caught between control and collapse, her nails biting into my shoulders as my vision tunnels down to nothing but the expression on her face.
My thrusts are deliberate, restrained punishment. Another inch, slow enough to make her feel every heartbeat of it. My gaze stays locked on hers.
I want her words.
All of them.
“What do you need?”
Her answer hits like a lightning strike.
“Your cock. I need you to fill me… stretch me until I can’t think anymore.”
A surge of dark satisfaction rushes through me, heavier than lust, hotter than anger. My hand tightens around her thigh, holding her open, grounding us both in the moment.
The one where she finally stops running.
“You’re right.” My growl vibrates against her lips. “That’s exactly what you need.”
I push forward. Every inch sliding home until we’re pressed together. She cries out, her hands locking around me as if she’ll drown if she lets go.
The sound fractures the last of my control, ripping me open from the inside out. I give her everything I’ve been holding back. Every ounce of restraint, every piece of myself I swore I’d keep buried.
I thrust into her with a relentless, punishing pace, each stroke driving deeper until the shock of it reverberates through both of us.
The slap of skin cracks through the air, it’s a harsh pace that drowns out everything else.
Her head bumps the wall with every roll of my hips as her dark hair spills around her like a halo.
She continues to meet me, matching every movement, her body greedy for more. She clenches. It’s a slick claiming that feels less like motion and more like recognition. As if her body remembers me even when her mind tries not to.
Every contraction pulls me in deeper, tighter, until heat licks up my spine. Even when my muscles burn, the strain vibrating through my legs, I don’t stop. The room disappears, becoming nothing more than friction and sound. The wet slide of skin and the low grind of my voice against her ear.
I rest my forehead against hers, sweat sliding between us, our mouths a whisper apart.
I can’t stop.
Not when she’s wrapped around me like this, holding on as if letting go might break her in half.
“This isn’t just your body giving in,” I grind out as every thrust goes deeper, harder, turning ruthless. “It’s you, Rina. All of you. And I’m done letting you pretend otherwise.”
The command comes out like a vow.
It’s half threat, half confession.
Her moan is caught somewhere between protest and surrender as she arches into me, every shudder stripping away the distance she’s tried to keep between us.
Her body seizes, convulsing in greedy, involuntary waves that drag me straight over the edge with her.
It’s not just release.
It’s obliteration.
A white-hot detonation that rips through my soul until there’s nothing left.
I roar her name, spilling deep inside her, the burn of it searing through every nerve ending. She tightens, every muscle gripping me like a trap, and for a heartbeat the world explodes.
It’s the fierce, blinding joy of claiming what I already know is mine.
The aftershocks hit hard.
My hands lock around her as I ride them out, throat burning from the shout that tore free. She trembles beneath me, her pulse fluttering against my skin, and I know—whether she says it or buries it under a thousand denials—that she belongs to me.
The world fades beneath the sound of shallow pants and the faint drag of fabric against tile.
Still joined, I slump forward until our foreheads meet, sweat slicking the fine line of her hair, the scent of her perfume clinging to me like a mark I’ll never wash away.
My grip doesn’t loosen. The possessive hold is the only thing keeping me steady in the wreckage we’ve made.
Still buried deep inside her, I let the silence settle. It’s thick and charged, the kind that makes every sound feel louder than it actually is. The aftershocks roll through us in slow, uneven waves until there’s no way to deny what just happened.
There’s no pretending it can be undone.
I want her to sit in it.
To feel the truth of us in every inch of our skin still pressed together.
There’s no escaping this.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
“There’s no more running, Rina,” I rasp. “Tomorrow, we’re going to sit down and talk.” My tone drops lower. “But right now, I needed you to remember who you belong to. And we both know it’s not the guy out there. It’s me.”
The claim hangs heavy between us. It’s blunt, possessive, and impossible to take back. I want her to taste it in the air and know I mean it all.
Her lips part and her throat works around a reply that never comes. A tremor ghosts through her fingers, and I can see the battle still being waged in her eyes.
The urge to fight for control even though it’s already slipped away.
My hand trails up the curve of her hip, thumb brushing the hollow of her waist before sliding higher until I can cradle her cheek.
Her skin is warm and damp beneath my palm.
Her pupils are still wide and cheeks flushed with color.
But it’s her eyes that undo me. They’re vulnerable and unguarded in a way I’ve never seen.
“You have feelings for me.” The statement is rough and certain, carved from a place I can’t hide. “Stop trying to deny it.”
She says nothing. Only blinks once as her throat works like she’s trying to swallow down the truth.
Even now, after everything that just happened, she won’t admit it out loud.
Not yet.
But it’s written in every look, every crack in her composure.
And it’s enough to keep me coming back.
The way her fingers bite into my shoulders says more than any confession ever could.
She feels it.
I know she does.
I ease my hold, just enough to let my thumb trace the curve of her mouth. Her breath stutters against it, and the sound tightens everything inside me.
It’s proof she’s mine, even if she can’t admit it yet.
We stay locked together, forehead to forehead, as the truth gathers between us like a storm on the verge of breaking.
One of these days, she’ll stop fighting it.
And when she does, I’ll be right here waiting.