My paper-thin resolve to keep things professional completely disintegrates as I let him guide me up onto his lap. He runs a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face and lightly cupping the back of my neck, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine. My final ounce of common sense crumbles. I lean in, grazing my lips across his, savoring the moment before pressing my mouth to his, tasting the sugary strawberry and bitter aniseed on his tongue. My palms stretch over his shoulders while he drags down my torso before smoothing over the edge of my leggings. Every soft touch leaves a fiery path of want in its wake. My head lolls as I straddle him, my whole body heavy, becoming acutely aware of every inch of me he isn’t touching.
His fingers run to the underside of my thigh, making me shiver. His hand returns up the center of my back, and I groan with disappointment, making him laugh against my neck. Before I can protest further, his fingers dip under the seam of my leggings.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Paris,” he says onto my lips as we press farther into the sofa, his body sinking lower so my shins rest on either side and I’m straddling him. I can feel just how much he’s thought about me pressing againsthis jeans. I place my palm against him, stroking his length over the fabric until I successfully draw a hissing moan out of him.
He cups me, dragging a finger down my center, before bringing it back up and licking it like sorbet. My cheeks burn at the sordid sight, but I can’t help the throbbing, languidly rubbing my thighs against him in hopes of some sort of release.
Despite the beta launch, he has always been there at the forefront of my mind. The way he looked at me when I was trying on Jocelyn’s clothes; the way he dropped everything to leave the mixer party with me, no questions asked; the way it took all his strength to say good night in Paris. I’ve never had that, someone so into you they have to peel themselves away like a sticker from an apple.
He presses in again, and I rock against his hand, taking in sporadic breaths as the pressure from his fingers coaxes my center. The sensation feels so good it makes me want to laugh. How has it never been this good? How have I spent twenty-seven years not knowing it could be this amazing?
The pressure builds, heavier and heavier, until I feel like I’m going to melt onto the floor and through the cracks of the floorboards. I grip his hair, maneuvering his mouth back to mine to muffle my moans of pleasure as he takes me close to the edge.
His warm lips run against my ear. “You feel so good against me. Fuck, Violet.”
Stunting those final waves of pleasure, my eyes flash open. The high-pitched guilt in my stomach overpowers the low throb between my legs.
Like a false start, I pull back. “Wait.”
His eyes flash defeat for a second, then soften, his hand sliding out of my leggings, grip loosening on my hips. “Everything okay?”
My vision darts around the room, clocking where my boots, jacket, and bag are strewn across the floor. I can’t do this to him. “I’m sorry, I just—”
He takes my chin in his hand, pulling my focus back to him. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.” I force a smile despite my shame and he gently kisses it away. My lips melt into his, and we ease into each other once again, before I pull away placing my hands on his warm chest.
“I need to talk to you about something.” It blurts out of my mouth before my brain has time to catch up.
His voice is hoarse as he says, “Sure.”
Okay, I need to not be touching him. My head is spinning, trying to claw its way out of the lust-induced fog. I can’t think with his...himpressed against me like this. This is a delicate situation. I need to get my mind straight, to do this in the right way. What do I even want to tell him? That this can’t go any further? Or the truth? They likely both have the same outcome between the two of us. My body wants to cling on to him and fight what’s coming.
Suddenly, the reason I’m here pops into my head. “What time is Spencer’s one-to-one in Vienna?”
Oliver’s heavy eyes blink, trying to recall through a matching mind fog. “He’s the last one of the day, at four.”
“Okay, good. Good.” I nod mindlessly, tucking my tousled hair behind my ear. I step off his lap and start to gather up my things. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure, it’s down the hallway. Third door along.” His lips areslightly swollen and pink, his brow furrowed as he leans forward, elbows balancing on his thighs and brushing his hands together.
I methodically count the doors as I walk past a dark study and a neat gray bedroom before reaching the black-and-white bathroom.
Maybe you don’t have to end this. Maybe you can just tell him. It will be fine. You like him, maybe really like him. He likes you; this isn’t the weirdest thing to ever happen. It’s practically a misunderstanding.
I wash my hands and run the wet fingers through my hair, pressing the cold palms against my face and closing my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I quietly click open the door. As I’m walking back down the hallway, my eyes snag on a photograph. A picture of Oliver and Dominic with family—they’re maybe ten years younger but it’s clearly them. My worries soften as I stare at the boy who has yet to go through the trauma of his father’s sudden passing. He looks more free here. Less burdened by the weight of familial expectation.
My heartbeat slows as I scan the other faces in the photograph, trying to figure out which are his parents, when my phone buzzes.
Text message from unknown sender:
Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you? I know what you’re doing, Jess.
Followed by a picture of me, mid-sentence, talking to Oliver at the Paris hotel bar as he tends to my cut palm.
I drop the phone, jolting as it smashes against the floor, clattering across the wood.
“Are you all right?” Oliver’s voice bounces as he leans against the hallway wall with crossed arms, studying me as I pick up the phone. I can feel the broken screen against my fingers as I shove it into my pocket like I’ve just stolen his prized possession.
“Yeah, I—er, I just remembered I have to get back to the office. I forgot something important.” I hide my shaking hands as I stride past him into the living room, picking up my boots and sliding them on while avoiding eye contact.
