Chapter 7
Exhaustion claimed me as the first rays of dawn crept through our windows. Oliver had been insatiable, his passion tinged with a desperation I couldn't quite understand. When I finally stirred, the bed beside me was empty, the sheets cool to the touch.
A gentle breeze carried the sound of laughter through the uncovered patio doors. I propped myself up on my elbows, squinting against the bright morning light. Oliver was outside, a carefree smile illuminating his face as he played with Trouble. The small dog bounded after a bright pink ball, his stumpy tail wagging furiously.
As I watched them, a bittersweet ache settled in my chest. This moment of domestic bliss felt fragile, as if it might shatter at any second.
Oliver caught sight of me and waved, his smile softening. He murmured something to Trouble before sliding open the glass door.
"Sleeping beauty awakens," he said, his voice warm with affection.
I stretched languidly, feeling the pleasant soreness in my muscles. "You wore me out," I admitted. "What time did you get up?"
Oliver perched on the edge of the bed, his fingers ghosting along my arm. "Around 9:30 a.m. Trouble decided my hand made the perfect alarm clock."
I chuckled. "Why doesn't he ever wake me for breakfast?"
"Because he loves you too much to disturb your beauty sleep," Oliver teased.
"Oh please," I rolled my eyes. "You're the one out there playing fetch. You're such a pushover."
Oliver's laugh was rich and deep. "He's good company. Maybe we should bring him on our honeymoon."
The suggestion caught me off guard. "I'm not sure how he'd handle the flight," I hedged. "Besides, Matthew would be disappointed if he didn't get to dog-sit?"
"You're probably right," Oliver conceded, but there was a flicker of something – disappointment? relief? – in his eyes.
Trouble chose that moment to bound into the room, leaping onto the bed in a flurry of fur, and excitement. Oliver scooped him up, scratching behind the dog's ears as Trouble's tongue lolled happily.
It was a perfect Sunday morning, but a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. Tonight, would be our last night together for nearly a week. Oliver would move to the guest room, a nod to tradition before our wedding. Even knowing he'd be just down the hall, the thought of sleeping alone left me feeling unsettled.
I reached out, lacing my fingers through Oliver's free hand. He squeezed gently, a silent reassurance. But as I met his gaze, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his insistence on this separation than mere tradition. What wasn't he telling me?
The digital clock mocked me: 12:32 a.m. I cursed under my breath, rolling over for what felt like the thousandth time. Three nights of this self-imposed exile from Oliver's bed, and my resolve was crumbling.
Earlier, we'd spent an hour locked in a heated embrace, his hands roaming my body with increasing desperation. Each time I'd pushed him away, the frustration in his eyes had grown.
"I won't touch myself," he'd growled. "Not until I'm inside you." I'd made the same silent vow, but now, lying alone in the dark, I was regretting my stubbornness.
After twenty torturous minutes of staring at the ceiling, something inside me snapped. I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Trouble, whose soft snores filled the room. My bare feet padded silently down the hall to the guest room.
The door creaked softly as I entered. Moonlight spilled through the curtains, illuminating Oliver's sleeping form. His arm was thrown above his head, the sheet tangled around his waist, leaving his muscular chest exposed. My eyes traveled lower, drawn to the unmistakable outline beneath the thin fabric.
Heart pounding, I approached the bed. What was I doing? This was madness. But as I gazed at Oliver, all rational thought fled. I gently pushed down the covers, revealing him fully.
With trembling fingers, I climbed onto the bed. My tongue darted out, teasing the sensitive spot at the base of his cock. Oliver shifted, mumbling something unintelligible. Emboldened, I took him fully into my mouth.
Oliver's body jerked as he gasped awake. "Holy fuck, Ryleigh," he panted, voice thick with sleep and arousal. "What are you doing?"
I released him with a soft 'pop'. "I need you," I whispered, my voice raw with desire. "Fuck this stupid pact."
To my surprise, Oliver sat up and gently pushed me away. His eyes, though dark with lust, held a hint of amusement. "You've lasted so long," he murmured. "Tomorrow, we'll be married."
Frustration and embarrassment warred within me. "But that's another miserable night," I protested. "And this one isn't even over."
Oliver's deep chuckle sent shivers down my spine. "I knew you would crack," he said, a note of triumph in his voice.
Anger flared. "Fuck you, Oliver," I spat.
In a blur of movement, I found myself pinned beneath him, his full weight pressing me into the mattress. "Is that what you want, sweet Ryleigh?" he growled, his breath hot against my ear. "You want me to fuck you? To make you come so hard your belly aches?"
I struggled weakly, desire overwhelming my indignation. "Please," I gasped. "I want you."
Oliver shifted, sliding his hand between our bodies. As his fingers found my clit, I heard his sharp intake of breath. "Christ, you're soaked," he murmured, his voice thick with need.
As Oliver's skilled fingers worked their magic, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered a warning. Why had he seemed so prepared for this? Had he planned for me to break first? The thought should have bothered me, but as pleasure built within me, I found I didn't care
“I still think we should wait,” he said, removing his hand.
“No,” I replied immediately. “I need it. I haven’t slept all week.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
Oliver moved to my side and stared down at me. I was irritated with his lack of response to my problem which he suffered from too. When I reached for him, he grabbed my hand.
“It’s less than forty hours from now. As soon as we’re home, I’ll satisfy you. Be patient.”
“ You be patient.”
Sighing, I moved my hand to my cleft and began rubbing my clit; if he wouldn’t get me off, I decided, I would have to torture him. I felt Oliver’s stare on my face as I closed my eyes and let out a little moan, putting on a show of my arousal. My moans picked up, hand growing faster, until I was right on the edge—until Oliver placed his hand over mine, stopping me abruptly.
My eyes flew open. “What are you doing? I’m so close.”
“You’ll regret it. Take a cold shower.”
“I don’t want a cold shower. I want you to fuck me.”
“No. Go back to your room. One more night. We have the day off today and the rehearsal dinner tonight. You’ll be so busy and tired you won’t think about sex until after our reception.”
“Says you,” I groaned.
He prodded me with his hand. “Come on. Go back to your room unless you want me to carry you there and tuck you in.”
“That sounds lovely.”
He got off the bed, his still hard penis bobbing against his belly, and he scooped me up in his arms. In our bedroom, he shooed Trouble over so he could place me down.
“You’re really doing this?” I asked, my eyes widening.
“Yes. Now go back to sleep.”
I grumbled as I pulled the sheet over me and watched his silhouette walk through our bedroom door. The throb was still there but I ignored it as I faded back to sleep.
The lack of sleep and sexual frustration had turned me into a seething ball of irritation. I took it out on the treadmill, cranking it up to seven and running like a woman possessed.
Oliver watched from the stepper, an infuriatingly amused smile playing on his lips. "Enjoying yourself?" he called out, barely winded.
I shot him a glare that would have withered a lesser man. If not for the other residents in the gym, I'd have given him a far less subtle response involving my middle finger.
Sweat poured off my skin, soaking through my clothes as I pushed myself harder. By the time I finally stepped off, I'd run six grueling miles. Even after a cool-down, my breath came in ragged gasps.
I snatched a thick white towel from the shelf, wiping away the rivulets of sweat before gulping down the last of my water. Oliver was just finishing his own cool-down as I approached, my legs still trembling from exertion.
"Feeling better?" he whispered, leaning in close.
"Fuck you," I growled, my voice low and dangerous.
He chuckled, the sound sending a fresh wave of frustration through me. Part of me wanted to smack that gorgeous face until he got angry enough to give me what I craved. But I knew it was futile; this had become a battle of wills, and he was the one holding strong.
"Such dirty words from such a pretty mouth," Oliver teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear. "Wait until we're alone."
Tossing the towel in the laundry bin, I stormed out into the lobby. The cooler air raised goosebumps on my flushed skin as I jabbed at the elevator button. I could feel Oliver's presence behind me, radiating heat and smug satisfaction. Inside the elevator, I pointedly ignored him, even as I felt his gaze burning into me.
"I hate you," I muttered, staring resolutely at the doors.
Oliver's voice was infuriatingly calm. "No, you hate yourself because you made a deal I won't break. I thought you were stronger."
I whirled to face him, my eyes flashing. "I would be if you weren't so fucking sexy. Next time, I'm marrying an average Joe," I shot back, only half-joking.
The amusement vanished from Oliver's face, replaced by an intensity that made my breath catch. "Next time? There will be no next time. We're forever."
My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my tone light. "I didn't mean it literally."
"I should hope not," he said, his voice low and serious.
I softened, reaching out to touch his arm. "Be real, Oliver. I'm as stuck on you as you are on me."
He crossed his arms, leaning back against the elevator wall. His eyes met mine, filled with a mixture of love and exasperation. "What would you like me to say, Miss Stewart?"
A smile tugged at my lips. "Don't get used to saying that. As of tomorrow, I will no longer be Miss Stewart."
"No, you won't," he agreed, his expression softening. "You'll be forever Mrs. Fox."
"Mrs. Fox," I mused. "It makes me sound so old."
Oliver shook his head, a hint of that earlier amusement returning. "No, it doesn't. It makes you sound like a married woman—which you will be."
"Possessive asshole," I retorted, but there was no real heat in it. A part of me was thrilled at his words, at the promise of belonging to each other.
"Thank you," he said with a grin. "I'll admit to some degree I am."
The elevator dinged, announcing our floor. As I stepped off, Oliver surprised me by scooping me up in his arms. He pressed me against his sweaty body, and the familiar throb of desire I'd worked so hard to quell roared back to life.
I groaned inwardly, torn between frustration and anticipation. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
"Let me down," I demanded, squirming in Oliver's arms.
He tightened his grip, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Why?"
I huffed, blowing a strand of damp hair out of my face. "Because I feel icky and smelly."
Oliver's lips brushed my ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You're anything but. Any other time and I would eat you out until you screamed."
A shiver ran through me at his words. I wiggled out of his arms in front of our door, my heart racing. The last thing I needed was the vivid image of him between my legs, licking me to a mind-blowing orgasm. I glanced at my watch, groaning inwardly. The next thirty hours or so couldn't move fast enough.
"Behave yourself," I warned, pointing a finger at him before slipping into our bedroom.
I peeled off my damp clothing, tossing it into the hamper before turning on the shower. Through the wall, I could hear Oliver using the bathroom in the guestroom. So much for any chance to try and convince him to break our pact.
Under the spray, I took my time, washing my hair twice and using the loofah to exfoliate. Every few minutes, I turned the water temperature down until it was closer to cold than lukewarm. It helped a little, but not much.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" I muttered, pressing my forehead against the cool tile. I was usually much more controlled than this.
We spent the rest of the day going over small details with the caterer and wedding planner. Our rehearsal was at 6 p.m. in a small banquet room at the SW since the chapel was occupied that evening. After, we would be eating dinner in a private room at The Diamond Square. We spared no expense for a sumptuous buffet with open bar.
It was hot out, and despite the air conditioning in the venue and limo, I’d still gotten sweaty. The first thing I did when we walked into the penthouse was take an ice-cold shower—I’d spent most of the day with Oliver’s touch on my back, enduring his constant kisses, and I needed something to cool down.