Chapter Eight
Olivia
A nother video was posted last night. This time with clips of my own videos compared to Millie’s. It doesn’t seem to matter to her or the ninety-five percent of commenters that my videos were posted before hers. All that matters is she’s creating enticing videos that cause drama.
The video was removed by the site after I flagged it. I’m not sure how it worked so quickly, but both videos that called me out have now been removed, thank goodness.
Now, I just need to focus on my work. I have a fitness expo coming up to prepare for and videos to create.
After braiding my hair, I slip into a bright pink crop top and shorts, ready to take on the day. As I descend the stairs, my heart flutters at the thought of seeing Austin. We talked for hours last night. I feel like we’re really connecting.
Despite my brain screaming at me to cool off, my heart is thumping wildly for this man.
He is kind, funny, and attentive. And I think I might have been wrong about him. In fact, I know I have. Despite everything that has happened, I think this could turn out okay. But I’m not going to let one evening fool me.
I reach the basement door, my feet halting immediately. It’s closed, but the locks aren’t in place.
I quickly check over my shoulder and peek my head into the hallway. I have a clear view of the living room and the kitchen from my position. I listen for a moment, but I can’t hear anyone else in the house.
I twist the handle and pull the door toward me.
Silence.
I take a step down, and I hear chains clinking together.
“Olivia?” Austin calls out.
Act normal. He cannot know you were so googly-eyed last night that you forgot to lock him in. Despite him being chained up. It’s not a good look, and no doubt, it would be against one of his rules.
“Hey,” I call out cheerfully, “good morning.”
Stepping down the stairs barefoot, I get to the final step, leave my hand on the banister, and take him in.
Mussed hair, his stubble filling out along his jawline. His eyes are a little puffy from sleep, but he’s stretching over the mattress in a way that makes my mouth water. His abs are on display, begging me to run my fingers over them.
I reach for my throat, remembering the way his hand squeezed me last night.
I’ve read about it, of course. Romance novels often discuss hand necklaces , but I’ve never felt comfortable enough to ask for it with people I’ve slept with.
Hell, I didn’t even know I liked it until last night.
Austin seemed to know what I needed. He’d been so tender despite being in control, and as soon as I gave him the green light, he’d squeezed the tiniest gasp out of me.
What would it feel like to have him do that as he pulses inside me?
Whispering filth into my ear as he toys with me.
“You feeling okay, Killer?”
I give myself a little shake. “Oh yeah, all good. Did you sleep okay?”
“Yep.” He frowns, and it seems like a stupid question now, given how uncomfortable he must be.
He’s looking at me like I’m missing something. Why am I down here again? Damn, I forgot to make breakfast first. As if my body needed to see him more than it needed food. I need to rein this in.
“Oh, I haven’t made breakfast yet. Sorry, I’m a little out of sorts today. Umm. Any requests?”
He grins. “How about the first breakfast you made me? The one with the spice in it. I can’t remember the name.”
“The turmeric?”
“Yes! That’s the one. That was the best thing I’ve had in years.”
I smile, and it occurs to me that I’m fully allowing him to get to me. I’m not even trying to stop him anymore.
“Sure, I’ll make it now.”
“Thank you.” His eyes remain fixed on mine as he rewards me with a genuine smile. My insides are gooey, and I have a sudden desperation to please him. This can't be good right? I need to regain some semblance of control.
◆◆◆
“What are your plans for the day?” he asks, tapping his bare stomach in appreciation, and I grin again. His breakfast lasted all of two minutes once I handed it to him.
“I have a few fires to put out, nothing major. Just normal work stuff,” I say, popping the last crumb into my mouth.
“The same fire as the other day?”
Yes. The ones that are trying to ruin my life and my business.
“Umm, possibly.”
He nods.
“I’m sure you have a different way of dealing with things at work.” I laugh awkwardly.
His smile drops before his head shakes a little. Guilt drips into my stomach, but he quickly recovers as if remembering something.
“Nah, it’s all lawyers and admin for me nowadays.”
Lawyers and admin?
“Right...lawyers and admin,” I say, making air quotes with my fingers .
He sighs and shakes his head again. The mood is so different from last night. I thought coming down here this morning would feel the same: exciting, vulnerable, and like I was on the brink of something. But now I’m just confused.
“Wanna play a game?” he asks.
“Wow, that sounded just like the horror movie quote.”
His lips twitch before he lowers his voice a few more octaves, repeating himself, “Wanna play a game, Olivia?” His voice is scratchy, and honestly, it’s kind of doing it for me. Like, yeah, I’ll play a few games.
“How about twenty questions?”
“That seems very tame,” I tease.
“Okay, let's make the questions good. And if you refuse, you have to do a dare.”
“What kind of dare can you do in a basement?”
“I can certainly think of a few things,” he says, his voice dangerously low, “but feel free to use your imagination, Killer.”
I swallow hard. “Twenty is too many.”
He shrugs, waiting me out. I suppose it’s not like he has much to do around here.
“Let’s make it five.”
“Fine, but I have one condition.”
“Okay?” I say hesitantly.
“No work-related questions.”
I open my mouth to protest, and he raises an eyebrow in defiance.
“Fine,” I concede, concerned at how quickly I give in to him.
“I’ll go first, as I’m the guest.”
I laugh, but he ignores me.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“What’s my favorite color? You’re going to waste one of your questions on that?”
His eyes light up, and I get a flash of his teeth. “It’s not a waste. I’ve been dying to know.”
I think for a moment. “Yellow. But not the bright, garish yellow. More like a soft lemon.”
“Soft lemon. Got it.”
“Same question for you.”
He rolls his eyes but smiles again. “It depends on my mood.”
“Okay, and what is your mood today?”
His eyes dip down to my bright pink crop top and shorts, and my heart starts thumping wildly. I know what he’s going to say before it even leaves his lips.
“Pink.”
I turn away, trying to cover my manic smile with my hand. I think my skin has turned beetroot.
“There it is.” He sighs like a whimpering puppy.
“Could you stop?” I laugh, launching my chair pillow at him.
He catches it with ease and shifts it behind his back so he can get comfy.
He raises his hands in surrender, although I’m sure it’s another ruse to lead me into a false sense of security.
“Tell me your most embarrassing moment,” I say.
“Hmm . . . not really a question, but I’ll allow it.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I don’t want to give him any reason to change his mind.
“The day I came into Squeeze the Day for the first time...the first day I met you, I was running away from a business associate of my father’s.”
“Okay . . .”
“I’d had a meeting with him the week before; his wife had attended, and she’d been running her foot up and down my leg all evening.
No matter how many times I shifted, she found my leg and kept winking at me over her wine glass.
I thought she was a thrill seeker, desperate to do something, or someone, right under her husband's nose. That was until I felt his foot on my other leg. It turns out they were both interested. I kindly declined their offer and then when I saw him in the street a few months later, I was too embarrassed to speak to him. He’d shouted my name a few times, and I ran into the juice bar and tucked myself behind that man who was as big as an SUV.
I’d ordered a coffee, which, by the way, was disgusting.
And then I saw you. I just had to pray that the guy wouldn’t follow me in and try to talk about the proposal in your vicinity. ”
“You’re not into sharing a woman?”
He laughs. “That’s what you took from that?”
I shrug. “It’s not that uncommon.”
His chin dips, and his nostrils flare for a split second. Is that possessiveness I see?
“What they get up to in their own time is on them. I wasn’t interested because I wasn’t attracted to either of them. My turn.”
I grip the bottom of the chair, leaning forward, braced and ready to spill my most embarrassing story, too.
“Have you ever been shared?”
Oh, shit. Not what I thought he was going to ask.
It’s nine in the morning, dammit. This is a nighttime conversation surely? When a blanket of darkness can hide the flush of my skin that the morning light just can’t.
“I...” I feel the heat spread, and his eyes calculate the probability of whether it’s my inexperience that’s causing me to blush or the memory of being shared by two men. “No, I’ve never been shared.”
I swallow hard, watching his reaction.
He breathes slowly through his nose, nodding, his shoulders relaxing. “Good. Not many people want to make it pleasurable for everyone involved. It’s good you haven’t done that.”
Good? Is he one of those people? Why did I limit us to five questions?
“Haven’t done that yet , you mean,” I say, eager to provoke him.
“Yet?” he parrots, his mouth gaping slightly.
“I can’t speak for the future.” I shrug .
Oh god, what am I doing? Shut up, Olivia.
Austin rolls his shoulders back and pulls his head down toward his shoulder to the left and then to the right, stretching out the neck muscles he’s been clenching. His eyes are closed, and he takes a deep breath.
“What was the name of your stuffed toy when you were a kid?” he swerves to the point of whiplash.
I can’t keep up.