“Good,” I reply with an expression that I know is smug because I love the idea that our first night together inspired her to prioritise her career. “Speaking of career, yours, I want to commission you to do my bedroom, but that would mean you’d have to work on it in your own time. I don’t want Sean or Christian involved in that because although it was a spur of the moment thing when I suggested it, I wouldn’t have asked anyone else to do it.”
She is staring at me wildly, her cup coming to a standstill halfway between the table and her mouth. Clearly, she is thinking about my offer and I think she is considering turning me down.
“You don’t have to commission me,” she finally says.
I disagree. “If you’re doing a private design job you should be paid for it.”
“I don’t like the idea of you paying me. It’s like I’d never know what it is you’re paying me for,” she says to my stunned, open mouthed face.
“You think I’d commission you in order to fuck you?” I am surprised at just how outraged I sound because the truth is I would do just about anything to keep her in my bed.
“Maybe,” she whispers, pushing her empty plate and cup away.
“I wouldn’t. I want you to know that when I kiss you or touch you.” I slide around the bench seat that loops around the table we’re sharing until my thigh is pressed against hers. “When I do that or make you come. When I lick your pussy,” I whisper against her ear and am rewarded with a low mewl. “When I do any of those things or when I fuck you, I want to know that there is only one reason for it and that reason is not money, Livy.”
“What is it?” She rubs her hand up my thigh until she reaches my stiffening dick through the denim of last night’s jeans. “What’s the reason?” she asks, as if clarifying her earlier question.
“The reason…” I begin sliding my own hand up her inner thigh until it is pressing the seam of her jeans against her, making her squirm and groan. “The reason will only ever be because it’s what you want or need, that you are burning for it, from me, only me, baby.” I continue in a whisper that ends with a gentle nip to her ear. “Say yes, to my commission and to the only reason to ever be with me,” I demand as I apply more pressure to her pussy that I know is wet and sore.
“Yes.” She moans a little more loudly than either of us was expecting judging by the number of heads turning to see who uttered the single word.
“We really need to go before the whole pub sees you coming.” I grin, seeing the look of disappointment on her face when I withdraw my hand.
Walking back to Olivia’s flat hand in hand after our brief trip to the local shops after breakfast feels like the most natural thing to be doing on a Saturday until I realise my car is still at home along with anything resembling clean clothes.
“I need to go home later,” I seem to blurt out as we walk through the communal front door of her small block of flats.
“Okay,” she replies flatly, although I detect a hint of disappointment in her voice but no angst, so I figure she’s not pissed off or misinterpreting my meaning as a brush off.
“I have no clean clothes,” I tell her in explanation.
“Okay,” she repeats, and I become pissed off with her. I can feel my own angst rising but have no clue why.
Olivia isn’t putting pressure on me in any way. She is not demanding full and detailed explanations, neither is she being unreasonable and insisting I stay or invite her home with me, so why am I getting annoyed with her? Because I want her to pressure me, to demand details, to be unreasonable and insist I stay or she comes with me, that we remain together, my resurfacing inner voice suggests. What the fuck is wrong with me? Fortunately, my smart arse inner self decides not to answer that one.
“You okay?” she asks with an expression of concern on her face as we enter the door to her flat.
“Fine.” My reply is curt.
Her flat tone as she responds with anotherokayonly serves to piss me off further.
She is clearly unconvinced by my words and probably confused, even more confused I imagine when I pull her to me before the door has closed. Grabbing the bags she’s carrying, I drop them to the floor where we stand before sliding a hand into her hair in order to guide her mouth to mine. Her lips feel hesitant but a soft flick of my tongue against the seam of them has her opening up for me. As my tongue hungrily invades her mouth my free hand is grabbing her arse and lifting her slightly until she wraps those perfect legs around me.
I rush her against the wall that is now supporting her back while my body and her own legs are holding her in place. I need her like I have never needed anyone. The fact that she appears happy for me to go home alone is driving me crazy and I need her to know that she is mine even if I’m in my home and she remains in hers. Our kiss is crazy as much as it’s passionate, it’s erratic and controlled at the same time.
“Mase.” I hear Olivia moan as I slow and soften my lips.
Oh yeah, that is definitely her ‘come fuck me name’ for me, and it spurs me on to possess a little more of her as my hand snaking under her hoodie confirms. It takes a second for me to realise that my hand isn’t touching skin, that there is a very tight layer of fabric, lace or mesh between us and that just won’t do. I skim my hand as high as her breasts and as soon as I palm one breast she is quivering. Using my thumb and forefinger I pinch the hard nugget of sensitive flesh beneath more lace that is begging to be touched and teased. Pulling my lips away, I lean back to push up the hoodie revealing sheer, black material.
“Take your clothes off,” I demand hoarsely, placing Olivia back on the floor. She looks hesitant but I am insistent, I need to see what the fuck she is wearing beneath innocent looking jeans and a hoodie. “Let me see you. Show me what you have on underneath your clothes.”
That seems to do the trick. She reaches down to the laces on her shoes before toeing them off. Nervously, she reaches for the hem of her hoodie that she pulls off in one and tosses it to her side revealing her underwear.
“Fucking hell.” I snarl in approval. “Lose the jeans, show me what you’re wearing.”
Her hands are already shakily unfastening her jeans, then she slides them down over her hips, thighs and legs before straightening to reveal exactly what she’s wearing.
“You know we would never have gotten out of here if I’d seen you dressing,” I tell her with complete honesty.
