Chapter 15
Reed
I’m going crazy.
There’s really no other way to put it. This woman is going to drive me insane.
That vibrator that I got for Olivia… it was just supposed to be a fun, mischievous little gift.
Something to put her at ease with living together.
There’s so much history between us, and so much sexual tension.
The vibrator was just supposed to cut through the awkwardness.
Prove to both of us that we can do this—that it doesn’t have to be difficult.
But instead, it’s become a new form of torture for me.
Sound doesn’t travel easily through the walls in this apartment, but it carries through the vents. It’s not perfectly soundproof. Which means that I can tell when Olivia’s using the vibe.
I can hear her faint, little noises, stifled moans, tiny sighs. I know she’s trying to be quiet, but that only makes it worse.
She uses it pretty often, and every time, it sends my imagination into a tailspin, picturing the ways she tries to keep quiet. In my mind’s eye, I can perfectly see her pursed lips, her cheeks red with the effort of holding back her squeaks of pleasure.
It makes me realize just how sexually frustrated she is. The same as I am.
Shit. We really are in this together, aren’t we?
The night after our engagement at Off-Fifth, Olivia uses the vibrator after an evening of drinks.
It was just the two of us in the penthouse. I wanted to give her a more relaxing celebration of our arrangement—one without outside spectators.
Unfortunately, that just meant that the two of us were sitting on the couch together, drinking. It meant that there was nothing to distract me from the sound of her laugh, or the way her sweatpants—my sweatpants—hugged her waist.
It goes on for close to an hour. I lay on my back in my bed, listening, until her little noises finally stop.
My fingers dig into the sheets, and I close my eyes, images of her floating through my imagination.
I manage to drift off, but when I wake up at six in the goddamn morning, my thoughts are still an endless cycle of Olivia.
God, I need a reality check. I need to clear my head.
I push myself upright, blinking rapidly, then slide out of bed and shuffle into the bathroom. A nice shower and a good night’s sleep. That’ll fix this.
But the water hitting my face does nothing to cool the lust burning through me. Neither do the deep breaths I’m taking, trying to banish images of Olivia writhing against her sheets, legs spread wide as she works that pink toy against her slick pussy.
I scrub shampoo into my scalp with unnecessary force, rubbing soap against my arms while grinding my teeth in sexual frustration. My cock is already hard and getting harder by the second.
I groan, making a fist, desperately trying to erase the vivid pictures of Olivia’s flushed face twisted in pleasure, that damn vibrator pressed against her swollen clit.
It’s too much. I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t do something about this. I’m already unraveling.
I abandon washing my body and grip my cock. Eyes closed, I force myself to live in this moment. Maybe if I give myself this release, I’ll stop thinking about Olivia’s toy pulsing against her naked pussy.
The sounds she makes echo in my head—those breathy sighs she tries to muffle. The fact that she’s trying to stay quiet makes it worse. I want to be the one making her lose control.
My fist moves up and down my shaft as I let out a low growl, jaw clenched tight.
I picture Olivia in her bed, teeth sinking into her lip to keep quiet, heels digging into the mattress as she braces for another climax.
I should be the one giving her those orgasms. Not some silicone toy.
Jealous of a vibrator. For fuck’s sake, I’ve lost it.
But I can’t stop. Olivia’s moans filter through the walls, shattering what’s left of my self-control. I forget about the toy and picture her making those sounds with me instead. After all, I’m the only man who’s ever made her come during sex. That thought fuels me now.
Precum slicks my way as I stroke myself faster, chasing release.
In my mind, she knocks on my door, cheeks flushed pink, eyes shy but so fucking full of desire. I pull her onto my bed, her hair fanning across my pillow as she looks up at me with half lidded eyes.
The fantasy takes over completely—her soft skin under my hands, her breathless moans as I worship every inch of her, the way she’d feel writhing beneath, taking what she needs.
My muscles strain, my fist flying over my cock as my jaw goes tight. Blood roars through my veins as I imagine burying myself deep inside her, feeling her come apart around me. How fucking tight she is, how perfect she feels.
The climax hits like a freight train. Spurts of cum spill over my hand as I brace against the shower wall, groaning her name as I ride out the waves.
I let out a long breath, leaning against the shower’s tile walls. Well, that’s one way to take care of this, I think to myself wryly.
I’m less frustrated now, that’s for sure. But I’m also a little worried.
That felt like… I don’t know. It felt like something I had no control over. I couldn’t stop myself. The thought of her was just too much, and it took me over. I don’t feel quite so desperate now, but she’s still lingering in the back of my mind.
I turn the water off, then step out of the shower and wring out my wet hair with a towel. I get dressed in a T-shirt and running shorts, then leave the room to get myself some water.
Cold water.
As I emerge into the living room, movement draws my eye.
It’s close to six in the morning, but Olivia is awake.
She’s sitting at the edge of the couch, dressed in loose-fitting clothes—a band T-shirt and a pair of my sweatpants.
She’s hard at work on one of her knitting projects, fully engrossed in the task.
I didn’t realize she had a passion for knitting until she moved in, but clearly, she loves it. Since she first arrived at my apartment, she’s finished at least a half dozen projects: scarves, sweaters, and the like.
Based on the shape of her current project, she’s making another sweater.
The yarn she’s using is a deep, seaweed-green color.
She has headphones in, and as she works, she mutters along to a song I can’t hear, her words off-key.
She bops her head a little in time to the music.
She’s wearing a pair of those fuzzy socks she loves so much, purple with white polka dots.
She looks so silly and so adorable. I want to take her right then and there, right on the couch.
Inwardly, I curse myself. I just fucking took care of my hard-on, and now it’s threatening to come back immediately. It shouldn’t even be so hot to see her like this—in her pajamas, knitting a sweater.
But honestly, it’s doing more for me than the models and socialites I’m used to, with their full faces of makeup, groomed hair, and revealing clothes.
Olivia is so natural and comfortable in her skin. She seems relaxed and happy, and… I’ll admit it. It’s hot.
She notices me and plucks out one of her earbuds. “Oh, hey. Good morning.”
“You’re up early,” I say, shaking off my thoughts. “What are you working on?”
“Oh, this?” She holds up her knitting needles, letting the body of the sweater hang down from them. It’s easier to recognize as a sweater when it’s not all in a bundle on her lap. It looks nice too. I’d wear it. “It’s a style called ‘aran.’ It’s from Ireland. You like it?”
“Yeah.” I come closer, examining the intricate designs in the front of the sweater. “It’s crazy good. How did you learn to do this?”
She smiles, letting the sweater settle back onto her lap and continuing to work on the collar. “I’ve been knitting since I was little,” she says. “It’s always something that’s soothed me. It’s my happy place, you know?”
“Sure.”
“It’s one of those things that gets easier the more you do it,” she says. “This is one of the hardest designs I’ve ever worked on, but I think I’m getting the hang of this one.”
“You make it look so easy,” I tell her.
“Well, that’s the practice.” She grins, seeming pleased with herself. “I used to dream of opening up a little online shop and selling the stuff I make, but that’s time consuming. Working for Keller, I was always too busy to knit for myself, let alone for customers.”
“Well, there’s an upside of quitting,” I say.
Her grin widens, and she nods. “I’ve had plenty of time for this over the past couple of weeks, that’s for sure.”
She continues knitting, the needles clicking together gently. For a few moments, I stand there, watching her. Her happiness is infectious, and it feels good to know that she has time for her passions again now that she’s not working for that fuckhead anymore.
After a little while, I speak up again. “Sorry to interrupt you, but do you think you can take a little time away from it today? I’ve got somewhere to take you, if you don’t mind.”
She looks up, her gaze sparking with curiosity. “Sure.”
I smile. It’s nice that she’s so willing to trust me, even after yesterday’s debacle.
Olivia sets her knitting project on the back of the couch, then hurries off to her room to get dressed.
While she does, I mill around in the kitchen, preparing a quick breakfast for the two of us.
Nothing fancy—we don’t have time. Just some toast and hazelnut spread, served with some fresh fruit and black coffee.
We practically eat on the go, pouring the coffee into some thermoses to get out of the apartment faster.
The whole time, Olivia peppers me with questions about where we’re headed, but I keep resolutely silent.
“It’s a surprise,” I tell her each time she asks. She doesn’t seem put out about it, and after our conversation last night, she’s not wary as we head out to step into my personal sports car. In the coupe, we’ll attract a little less attention on our way out.