Chapter 23: Davis
Olivia strolls into our suite, hips swaying seductively. I stay behind her, taking in the view. She turns around as soon as she hears the door close behind me. With a flick of her wrists, she tips the straps of her dress off of her shoulders and slides it over her body. Just like that, she’s naked.
I absorb the vision, focusing on her fair skin and the rosiness of her nipples. She’s exquisite: sexy and effervescent all at once, and so confident in her skin. She’s ethereal; she’s mine.
Well, not quite yet, but I so desperately want her to be mine.
I know she’s been with other men—has made them believe that she was theirs—but this is different. This has to be different. When it comes to relationships, I may be naïve but I can recognize that this thing that exists between the two of us is pure electricity. It’s impossible to ignore. It’s inevitable.
It’s perfect.
“I want you so goddamn bad.” It’s the only thing that I can say in this moment that feels remotely appropriate, and even then it’s an understatement. She has seamlessly shifted from my torment to my dearest treasure, and I know that I would do anything for her. That thought should terrify me, but instead it leaves me feeling satisfied. Needed.
Special.
Nobody else we know has this. Not even Gray and Corinne, who may be the happiest couple I’ve ever met. No, this only exists between the two of us, like a chemical reaction that Olivia and I discovered together. A little dark, a little twisted, but mostly filled with affection in its strangest form. I should have known that when she hurt me—that not just anybody would be able to hurt me like that. This is different. Rare.
Olivia closes the gap between us without saying a word. She pulls me down by my shirt collar to meet her lips and I kiss her softly, completely unlike the way that we kissed on the streets of Amsterdam. Out there, she kissed me like that because she needed them—everyone—to know that she wanted me. I could tell. She wanted to show me that she had no shame or doubts. That I was the one she craved, and everyone else could watch or piss off. Now alone, she only kisses me for me.
“Naked already,” I murmur when our lips separate. “Typical. Too hot for your own good. Too desperate for it. I don’t know how you look at yourself.”
“You don’t like it?” she asks coyly as she begins to back towards one of the suite’s pristine sofas. “You want someone who’s going to pretend that your cock doesn’t own her every waking moment? We both know that I’m more than willing to cram your dick inside of me any chance that I get.”
“Jesus, fuck,” I murmur, the words slipping out as I shrug off my jacket.
My reaction delights her. “What? I’m just telling the truth. I know you like me honest.” Olivia perches on the arm of the largest sofa and crosses her legs primly, making them look long and elegant. I trace the line of her body, and I truly can’t believe that I get to do this, that I get to sleep with this woman.
“I want more,” I say, moving on to my shirt.
Her eyebrow flits upwards. “What do you want?”
I toss the shirt aside and continue with my belt. “I want my cum in all of your holes,” I reply, pulling up the filthiest things I can. “Your mouth. Your pussy. Your tight little ass. I want you leaking with it, Olivia. I want you to keep it in you. When it drips out, I want you to push it back in. If you waste a drop if it, I’ll start over again.”
“You want a cum slut—is that it?” she asks at the same moment that she hops off of the sofa and saunters a couple of feet towards me so that she can undo my pants.
“No,” I reply, grabbing her chin and gripping her with enough force to rile her but far from enough to ever hurt her. “I’m not letting you do that. I don’t want you slutting all over the country anymore. You fuck me and only me. Is that clear? You’re mine.”
She nods obediently, removing my cock from my boxer briefs in the process. “Only you.”
If only she meant it. If only this weren’t such a game. Screw this game. I’m so done playing.
I let her push me down onto the sofa, taking the role of a lazy customer for once. While I already have plans for us, I don’t mind letting her lead for a few minutes. After all, she seldom disappoints.
Sure enough, I know that my decision is a good one when she straddles my thighs and places my arms along the back of the couch. She runs her hands over the width of my arm span as far as she can, letting her fingertips dance in the undulations of my muscles. After a beat, she plans a soft kiss on my lips. Then she arches back, drawing my eyes to hers before she glances down at her naked body. The stillness doesn’t last. Slowly, she begins to rock her hips.
A lap dance.
“Why am I not surprised,” I muse aloud, rather than admit to her that I’ve never had a lap dance before. Deep down, she likely knows that now. Whether or not she realizes it, she knows more about me than anybody does. The story of my virginity. My anxiety. My deep, unyielding affection for her. She’s the only person privy to these parts of me that I’ve kept under lock and key, hiding under a mask of stoicism and muscles and an obsession for my work.
Olivia owns me. She owns me.
Spurred by my comments, she braces her hands atop my shoulders, swinging her hips lightly as she lets her body gyrate slowly. Every curve on this woman is lethal and absolutely not to be underestimated. She has the kind of figure that men would throw their lives away over, and it’s obvious that she knows that.
“I bought you that lingerie so I would have straps to tuck bills into,” I say, somehow resisting the temptation to lean forward and lick one of the hard, rosy nipples that move dangerously close to my lips. “I should have known that you were too much of a whore to wear it. You just want easy access. You want me to be able to fuck your helpless body anywhere I’ll have you.”
Deviously, she cocks an eyebrow and lowers her lips to my ear. “Do you want me to go put it on?”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Olivia lets out a surprised gasp as my hands latch onto her waist and I press her down onto my thigh. Her apex makes contact with my leg, and she quickly understands my request. Work yourself on me.
“Don’t come,” I warn her, forcing my expression to be serious. “And you better not ruin these pants. You don’t want to know how much they cost.”
“Spoiled brat,” she counters as she pushes down harder. I can feel her heat through the fabric, as well as the hard nub of her piercing. For the first time in my life, my thigh becomes an erogenous zone and I can’t hold back from pressing harder on her narrow shoulders to coax more from her.
“Good?” I ask her before I swoop forward to kiss her lips, catching a gasp that escapes from her open mouth. “Are you going to come on my thigh like a sick little pervert?”
“No,” she utters through a strained breath. “No—you told me not to.”
“That’s never stopped you from taking what you want.” I grit out the words before I surprise her again by pulling her forward so that her pussy meets my cock. I don’t enter her though. Teasingly, I position her wet lips around the side of my length instead.
The tension ratchets as soon as our most intimate places come in contact. The suite is quiet and empty save for us, but the balcony door is ajar and the breeze makes the curtain flutter. Reality aside, I imagine that breeze stilling for a moment. I imagine the foot traffic stopping and the water in the canal growing glassy. That moment becomes us and us alone: Olivia and me. Our bodies. Our breaths. Our beating hearts.
Olivia begins to slide herself along my member, letting her wetness coat me. With each movement, I can feel her piercing against my sensitive underside, teasing me. My resolve has worn so thin that my hands are flexing on her waist, tempted to hoist her up and take her to the bedroom. And yet, in complete conflict with my body’s carnal urges, I want this to go on forever. I want her to tease me and slide on me for as long as humanly possible because this is the closest we’ve ever been to real intimacy. No rush, no plans, just riding our instincts and focusing on what feels right.