She blinked fast, like she was thinking, and she crossed her arms. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Are you saying each time counts, then?”
“Yes.” She stacked one foot on top of the other and stood like a flamingo, which was somehow hot.
“So if we were to go up to your loft right now and have sex four times and then decided to come clean, you’re saying we’d have to tell your brother, ‘Hey, we had sex four times’ instead of ‘oops, we had sex.’？”
She rolled her eyes but I could tell she wanted to smile. “Don’t be an idiot.”
“So you concede my point.”
“Kind of.” She did smile then, shaking her head a little. “I agree that sexual mistakes are probably on a per session basis, as opposed to per orgasm, but that still doesn’t mean—”
“Come here, Marshall.” She was only about two steps away from of me, but it wasn’t close enough. “You’re too far away.”
Her smile changed, slid into something sexy as she dropped her arms to her sides and closed the gap between us. Except she kept coming, stepping in between my spread knees so I had to look up at her.
“So here’s what I’m thinking.” I put my hands on her waist and squeezed, and then—holy shit—Olivia climbed onto my lap like it was totally natural.
“Lay it on me.”
I was done. Any indecision was gone as she smiled and teased me. I said, “If this is our one and only ‘session,’ aren’t we cheating ourselves by not showing our best work? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I really liked our counter work—”
“As did I.”
“But I have more to offer. I’ve got some skills I’d like to showcase.”
That made her laugh. She crinkled her nose and said, “So basically you want to make sure I know just how good you are before we never do this again.”
“Exactly.” It was tough not to laugh, too, when she was looking at me like that. “Don’t you? Or maybe you don’t have skills . . .”
She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, I have skills.”
“I don’t think I believe you.”
“Really, Beck?”
She leaned closer and whispered something so incredibly dirty into my ear that my fingers reflexively tightened on her back. I didn’t know if she could do that with her tongue or not, but I was all in on finding out.
“Son of a bitch, Marshall.” I stood, threw her over my shoulder in a fireman’s hold, and opened the door. “Let’s go.”
She squealed my name.
“That’s right—say it,” I said around a laugh as I smacked her squirming ass and headed for the loft, which made her cackle.
One thing about Olivia that I’d forgotten before she came back to town was that she was always fun. Whether she was falling on her face or being a brat, she’d been quick to laugh since the day I first met her. I still remembered that I’d gone home with my school friend Jack, and his weirdo little sister followed us around the entire time singing songs from Annie. To this day I could hear her howling out the damned words to “Maybe.”
But as someone who grew up in a very serious family, I found her laugh a little addictive.
I charged up the steps, and when we got to her room, I dumped her on the bed. She was giggling, wild hair everywhere, and then she leaned up on her elbows, cocking an eyebrow. “Ready to show me those skills?”
She was all legs and tank top and sexual promise, and I had no idea how I would ever see her the same again. The smell of her perfume, the green hue of her eyes, the tilt of her pink mouth; it all worked together to destroy me.
“Born ready, sunshine.” I climbed onto the bed, crawling up her body on my hands and knees.
When her eyes were right under mine, she blinked up at me and swallowed.
She had less bravado than she let on.
I remembered her texts to Mr. Wrong Number about only wanting it fast and furious; did the slow burn of intimacy scare her? Her long-lashed gaze pulled me in, and I think I muttered something like God help me before I lowered my head and kissed her, a hot, slow kiss that shot fire all the way through my body as she wrapped her arms around my neck and moaned into my mouth.
I kept at it, feeding her slow intensity while wondering why it mattered that she was letting me. With every long-drawn-out scorch of a kiss, I felt like I was winning something by her wanton participation.
Closed eyes, deep sighing breaths—damn.
I didn’t want to push my luck, though.