I drag my gaze up to his. It’s too intense, and I want to look away.
Oliver must sense what I’m about to do because his hand lightly grasps my throat. “Keep your eyes on me while I fuck you,” he commands. “I want you to see exactly who’s making you feel this good.”
My pussy flutters and more of my arousal spills out of me. My vision blurs at the edges, but I keep my focus on him. On the way his jaw clenches and tiny beads of sweat form at his temples. I can tell he’s holding himself back for me, but that only makes me crave the moment when he really lets go.
“Tell me how it feels,” he says, his thrusts steady and deep.
“Like I’ve been starving, and I didn’t even know it until now.” My body moves with his, welcoming the pleasure and pain of each drive of his hips. “Like I’ve been going through the motions for years, and this is the first time it’s real.”
His expression goes molten. His rhythm stutters, just once, like my words hit him deep in his chest. He recovers quickly, driving in harder.
“As of tonight, you’re mine, Jenna. There’s no going back.” The possessiveness sends a bolt of heat straight through me.
“I’m all yours, Daddy.”
His eyes shutter closed, and his nostrils flare as his breathing quickens. The sound of his body slamming into mine echoes through the room. He groans, his thrusts picking up pace, pounding into me just hard enough to make the bed creak. My free hand claws at his back, desperate for release.
“I’m so close.”
“You don’t come,” he says, his voice harsh with effort. “Not yet.”
My legs tremble, and my soaked pussy aches with need. “I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re gonna take every second of this. You owe yourself that. You deserve to feeleverythingyou’ve been missing.”
Somehow, his words hit deeper than his cock.
I hang on, my whole body tightening around him as he fucks me like he’s trying to erase every bad memory, every half-hearted touch, every time I felt unwanted.
When I’m right on the brink, sobbing his name, Oliver’s body goes taut and he finally gives in. “Now,” he grits out. “Come for me, Jenna. Let go. I’ve got you.”
I shatter again, harder than before. My orgasm rips through me, white-hot and blinding, every nerve ending lighting up. I scream his name as my back arches and my pussy clamps down on his dick, milking every drop of cum he has to give. I never let my ex come inside me. I was afraid of getting pregnant too soon, too young. But the thought never crossed my mind with Oliver. I know no matter what, this man will always take care of me.
His orgasm follows mine with a strangled curse, as he drives his cock deep and holds it there while it pulses inside me. He nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his breath warm against my skin. We stay tangled like this for a long moment, chests heaving and hearts racing. He finally releases my hand, and I wrap both arms around him, holding him close.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I laugh weakly. “I think you broke me.”
He smiles against my throat before slowly pulling out. I wince at the loss of his weight and heat when he steps away to my en-suite bathroom. He returns a moment later with a wet cloth and carefully dabs at my swollen flesh. Once he’s satisfied that I’m clean, he kisses my sensitive pussy, then tosses the cloth into the sink. Climbing into bed and pulling the covers over us, Oliver gathers me to his chest and kisses the top of my head.
For the first time in… maybe ever… I feel special. Precious.Loved.
We lie here in the dark, the moon casting a faint glow through my window, the ceiling fan humming quietly above us. My head rests on his chest as I listen to the strong, steady beat of his heart while his fingers trace lazy patterns along my spine.
“What are you thinking?” he asks eventually.
I hesitate with a smile. “That I don’t regret this. Not even a little.”
“Good. Because there’s so much more I wanna show you, Princess.”
A shiver runs through me at the promise in his tone. If Oliver Jacobson is the prize for my failed marriage, then I’d suffer through it again just to have this man with me now.
6
OLIVER
The Monday before Valentine’s Day feels a little like war. There’s tempered chocolate cooling on every available surface, my prep list is a mile long, and the front case is a sappy shrine to hearts, ribbons, and red foil. I’ve got two part-timers in the back boxing truffles, and my phone keeps buzzing with last-minute “do you have anything gluten-free?” texts.
