“There’s another blanket in the back seat.” He took one hand from the steering wheel, reaching blindly behind him for the blanket. Where the hell was it?
“Emil, I’m fine. Please stop fussing.”
Reluctantly, he returned his gloved hand to the wheel. He stole another glance at Olive. She was smiling at him, her beautiful doe eyes soft and tender and open, like she could see right through him.
He was fussing over her. Hovering. Unable to stop himself. That much was obvious. But the why of it was murkier. He’d entered their courtship with the belief that he could navigate it on his own terms. That he could decide when and how their relationship would progress. He’d expected feelings to develop, at least to some degree. That flutter in his chest—he was used to it by now. The ache beneath his ribs, the way his thoughts unraveled when she laughed or leaned a little closer—none of it was new. He’d already acknowledged those feelings, even if he kept them carefully under control.
Lately, though, they were gaining ground faster than he’d anticipated. Every smile, every soft look from her chipped away at the space he thought he needed. His carefully constructed plan was blurring at the edges, slipping from his grip until all he could think about was being with her as much as possible.
It was terrifying.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly.
He nodded, searching for the right words. Finally landed on the truth. “I’m happy when I’m with you. So much so that, sometimes, it feels like someone has reached into my chest and wrapped their fist around my heart.”
She made a sympathetic sound in her throat. “It feels strange, doesn’t it?”
He huffed out a laugh. “Then you know what I’m talking about?”
“I do.”
“Good. That’s good.”
They fell into silence, and Emil was grateful. Speaking any more about what was happening between them before they were ready wouldn’t be good for either of them. Thank goodness Olive understood. She wasn’t in any rush to move their courtship forward, either. They could still progress on a timeline that made him comfortable. One that gave him time to adjust to his growing feelings, time to establish his agency, time to provide for their future. The wait would be worth it.
“Emil.”
His abdomen clenched at the way she said his name—sensual. Throaty. Like she had impure thoughts on her mind.
“Olive.”
“I want to try something.”
Please let it be sinful. “You know you can try anything with me.”
She removed her hands from the muff, set it aside, and scooted close. One hand settled on his thigh, stroking gently but purposefully. “I know.”
He cocked a brow even as he guided the automobile along the quiet country road. “Should I pull over?”
“And risk missing our dinner reservation? I think not. I’m too hungry.”
“Then what do you propose?”
“That…” she swallowed audibly, then continued, like the blossoming vixen that she was. “That I have my first course here.”
His cock saluted so quickly in his pants that he had to draw a deep breath before responding. “Olive Becket, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
In answer, her fingers moved to the buttons on his pants. He groaned at the light pressure, his shaft swelling to its full length and pressing against the fabric. “Oh, yes, käraste, take me out. Take me in your hands.”
“Not my hands. In my mouth.”
His foot slipped on the gas pedal, and they lurched forward. Frantically, he brought the auto back to a moderate speed. “Olive, I cannot wreck this car.”
“Then be very, very careful,” she crooned, adjusting her position in the seat until her head was above his lap. She paused to remove her gloves, the slight delay torturous. “And I’ll be very, very careful when I taste you.”
Warm, slender fingers skated across his cock, freeing him from the prison of his clothing. He hissed through his teeth as she enveloped his shaft. Goddammit, where was a place to pull over? He’d passed a dozen on this road already. Where was one when he needed it?
“Hard or soft?”
