I stare at his mouth, at that smile that won’t leave, that I want to kiss until it’s a gasp of dizzied pleasure, wide with wild abandon. “A little,” I admit.
“Hayes.”
“Hmm,” I tell his mouth.
“Up here.”
Reluctantly, I tear my gaze from his lips to his eyes. “What?”
His eyes search mine. “Now that you know it was my brother and your little territorial display was unnecessary, do you still want m—”
“Don’t bother finishing that question, Oliver Bergman.”
He swallows. “Okay.”
I slip my hands around his ribs, the powerful, lithe muscles knit to his torso. “I want you. And don’t you dare ask me again.”
“Okay,” he whispers. And then he undoes me.
So simply, so easily, totally unaware of the power he holds. Pushing off the wall, Oliver clasps my face, then presses the softest, slowest kiss to my mouth. His fingertips work along my scalp, his thumbs slipping into the divots of my face where, not that I’ve been beardless once in over a decade, dimples form on the rare occasion that I smile.
“I really wish we could get this started right now,” he says.
I groan as he kisses the corner of my mouth, the sensitive space behind my ear. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”
He sighs against my skin, making me shiver. “There’s just one small hiccup in that plan.”
I slip my hands beneath his shirt, touch his skin, his body, because I have to. “What hiccup is that?” I pull away, holding his eyes, seeing the smudges beneath them, the fatigue he hid so well with Linnea. “Do you feel ill again?”
Just as I say that, I notice the monitor that connects to Linnea’s room is bright, lit up as she mutters something in her sleep.
I glare at the monitor, then back at Oliver. We definitely can’t do what I want with a kid down the hall. “Mother fuck.”
He smiles tightly, then leans in for one more of those slow, soft kisses that makes my aching legs turn boneless. “Get some sleep, Hayes.” Stepping back, he looks so infuriatingly pleased, I nearly tackle him to the wall. “You’ll need it for when I get my hands on you.”
I snort, while stepping into my shoes, opening his back door. “That’s precious. You think I need a warning.”
“Generally, I consider it polite to give someone a heads-up when they’re about to be demolished by so many orgasms, so many ways, they’ll forget their own birthday, but—” He shrugs. “What do I know?”
Spinning, I face him as we stand on his threshold. Oliver stares at me, looking much too smug.
“Demolished, hmm?” I close the distance between us, tucking a hair behind his ear, my mouth lowered there. “When I’m done with you,” I whisper, “you’re going to have forgotten much more than that, Oliver Bergman. Every moment of pleasure another soul has given you, even pleasure at your own fucking hand will be gone. I will obliterate it and ruin you for anything but my touch and my mouth and my cock. That’s a promise.”
Oliver glares at me. “Is that a challenge, Hayes?”
“It’s whatever you want to call it, sweetheart. It’s all going to end the same. You. Wrecked.”
He tips his chin, looking me over. “Then it’s on. Pistols at dawn.”
I frown. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You clearly haven’t read enough historical romances.”
“Fucking correct. I’ve never read one. And I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“That’s how you threw down the gauntlet, challenged a man to a duel. And I challenge you tomorrow morning. Your place or mine. One of us will come out the victor.”
I bite my lip. “Is this your deeply nerdy way of saying you want to fuck first thing in the morning?”
“Yep. Linnie gets up at the butt-crack of dawn in the morning. I’ll be back by seven and very, very ready to take you down. Or go down on you. Or both.”
Heat rushes through me. I drag him close again, kiss him, battling his tongue, drinking in his ragged breaths. Part of me wants to tell him no. I know how I feel when I wake up, how everything fucking hurts, how slow and sore I am.
But the thought of telling him no feels physically impossible. I want him too badly. I’ll…set an alarm. Wake myself up in time. Take a hot shower, limber up in time for when he shows up.
With one last kiss, a slow tug of his bottom lip, I pull away. “I’ll text you the code. Just let yourself in.”
Oliver stands there, flushed, breathless. “Okay.”
I turn away, slip out of his house, before I’m tempted to kiss him again, to torture us any further.
As I stroll from his yard to mine, for the first time in so, so long, I feel the buoyant pleasure of having something to look forward to. Peering up at the stars, full of rare, real joy, I smile.
21
GAVIN
Playlist: “Die for You,” LÉON
After a night of shit sleep, riddled with filthy fantasies starring Oliver, I wake up in a foul mood to the sound of my alarm. The world’s bright as my eyes blink open. Every fucking thing, including my deeply unsatisfied, aching-stiff cock, hurts like hell. My body’s in its usual agony. I feel every vertebra in my spine. The knot tightening my neck, tension banding around my temples. The first bend of my knee makes an unstoppable groan creak out of me.
I feel deeply entitled to the sour outlook with which I greet the day.
I’m too sore and miserable to go all the way into the kitchen and make myself a coffee. Instead, I piss, brush my teeth, splash my face, then stand at the sink, groaning at my reflection, the lines etched by pain, the dark circles under my eyes. “Fuck.”
Swearing under my breath, I amble back toward bed, then crawl in. God, lying down feels good.
The next thing I know is my house alarm’s beep, then the door falling shut. I hear his steps, brisk, familiar. A ridiculous smile tips the corner of my mouth. I’m half asleep, telling myself to wake up, look sharp, but there’s something so…right about lying here like a lump, knowing he’s coming—his kisses, his touch, his everything.
I groan at that thought, right as Oliver’s weight depresses the far side of my mattress.
Blinking open my eyes, I meet his. His smile lights up his whole face. “Hi,” he says.
I don’t have words for how good it feels, seeing him here; how much I need him. I take his hand, bring it to the aching muscles knitting my shoulders to my neck. “Hi,” I finally tell him, my voice hoarse and gravelly from sleep.
Oliver rubs my shoulder gently, before his hand slips into my hair, along my scalp. Fuck, I could just lie here, basking in his touch. Except that’s not what this morning is. This morning is me obliterating him with orgasms and stunning him with my sexual prowess.
Though Oliver seems to have forgotten that challenge he issued, because when I turn, about to give him a hard, crushing kiss, he smiles down at me, the morning lighting up his face. And then he just stares down at me, before bending close, pressing a deep kiss to my mouth. Velvet hot, wet, teasing. My mouth falls open as he clasps my jaw, his thumb stroking my bottom lip, his tongue finding mine. He kisses without restraint, with as much confidence and uninhibited joy as he does everything. I love how he kisses.