As I force Albie out of my brain, I decide that watching Davis respond to emails is somehow the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Pure sex. The concentration on his face. The look of disdain from some surely stupid response he receives. The way that he can sit there and type with only his thumb and still get paid an absolutely disgusting amount of money. Honestly, it’s otherworldly erotic—and the only thought sexier is the two of us sitting at this table together, both naked, emailing and working and taking over the world.
Some women become successful, some women sleep with successful men, and some women do both. I want—more than anything—to be a woman who does both.
“Olivia,” he comments, breaking the silence.
“Mhmm?”
“Can I play with your tits?”
“Go for it,” I answer too quickly. I know that I should pretend to think this over, but I’ve just spent fifteen minutes admiring the man as he does something so banal as reading his email, so I’m clearly too horny to function.
I’m obviously in good company though. Davis wastes no time darting down so that he can fit his lips around my nipple. He sucks hard once, drawing out a surprised squeal from me before he pulls away—too soon.
“I was thinking,” he says thoughtfully as he pinches my hardened, wet peak and leaves me gasping lightly, “we’re not going to be together for two weeks starting today. Coincidentally, that’s about half of the time it’s recommended that a woman goes without sex after getting her clitoral hood pierced.”
I immediately fall into a stunned silence as I take in the innocent look on his face. He’s serious—of course he’s serious. Because I know he’s serious, I can’t stop the blush from rising in my cheeks. I can feel my skin flushing and suddenly I’m acutely aware that I’m aroused enough to leave a wet spot on Davis’s stupid, overpriced chair.
“I read that on Google,” he admits as he examines my expression. “Is that wrong?”
The comment is so earnest that I’m easily able to remember the Davis I met before. Sweet and awkward Davis. The one that I cried over later that night in Amsterdam because I felt so horrible for hurting him.
“It’s right,” I confirm slowly, trying to recall the care instructions from when I first got the piercing.
“So, theoretically, if we wanted to make the best of our time apart, we could potentially use that time for…healing.”
He releases my nipple as he finishes speaking and slides his hand down my stomach until his fingertips come to rest above my bare mound.
“I’m just making inferences, and I get the sense that you’re suggesting I take advantage of you being out of town,” I say as I do my best to focus on the conversation and not the agonizingly close proximity of his fingers in relation to my clit.
“I’d say that’s a fair inference,” he responds lowly, keeping his eyes on mine. “It’s your call, obviously. If you do decide to do it, I’d love to join.”
“To join,” I repeat, trying to stay composed as his fingertips dip even lower. “As in, you want to watch me pierce my hood?”
His fingers finally make contact with my clit as he bows and presses a hard, probing kiss to my lips.
I take that as a yes.
No less than two hours later, Davis and I are standing in the elevator and heading back up to his apartment, silence between us. Hot, thick silence. Silence filled with a deep sexual tension that blossomed back at the piercing shop, that persisted throughout the entire ride back to Davis’s building, and that continues to swell as we ride up to his floor.
My body feels aroused and delicate all at once. There’s a soft throbbing in the area, a constant reminder of the absolutely insane, impulse decision that I just made.
Once we stopped kissing at the breakfast table, Davis called around to piercing shops and hung up on three of them before he finally found someone who answered his questions to his satisfaction. To my surprise, he had a lot of questions—a clear indication that he had been thinking about this for a while. When we had arrived at the shop, he did a brief walkthrough before he deemed it acceptable, and then presented the piercer, a woman named Katrina, with an NDA (which she signed without objection).
God, this guy has a way of making legal documents so freaking hot.
As soon as we’re back in his apartment, Davis presses me up against the door and palms his hand against my chest, his hands roaming over my breasts in a possessive flurry.
“Wow,” I manage to say between kisses. “If I knew it was that easy to get affection out of you, I would have pierced my hood weeks ago.”
“That was the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen,” is his response, and as usual I know that he means it. The grip he kept on my hand back at the shop, stroking the pad of his thumb against mine as he watched Katrina work on me, would stick with me for days. His grip had been protective, but gentle. Almost doting.
I had laid out on the table, my skirt pulled up over my waist and my pussy bare to both Davis and Katrina. Legs spread, pulse racing, and chest heaving with anticipation, I looked up at him and marveled at his focus on me. My body. My wellbeing. There was this hunger in his mien—equal parts sexy and serious—but admiring at the same time.
“Relax,” I instruct now, maneuvering my lips away from his despite his obvious protests. “I need to heal for four weeks, so you getting me hot and bothered today is just cruel.”
“I’m cruel,” he reminds me, still gripping my breast over my dress. “Cruel and crass.”
“I don’t buy it.” Softly, I plant a kiss on his lips. “I think it’s another case of you faking it ‘til you make it.”
“You think I’m playing?”
“I think you’re up to something.” I reach up and push his blond hair back.
Davis studies me thoughtfully, likely unaware that he’s relaxing into my touch the slightest bit. “Sounds like a challenge.”
“You think I want you to be crueler?”
“I’ve told you already: Ask me to stop if you want me to. You won’t though.” He kisses me again. “I know you won’t. Deep down, I think you would miss it if I stopped. What do you think?”
Asshole.
“I should head out,” I say, choosing to ignore the question as well as the annoyed expression on Davis’s face as he releases me. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, Davis.”