I blink. “You’re serious?”
He lets out a shaky laugh—like he can’t believe I still don’t see it. “Do you know how many nights I’ve wanted to crawl into your bed and touch you the way you write about in your little notebook?”
My mouth goes dry.
“I’ve jerked off to the thought of you so many times, Olive. Every sound you make. Every look you give me. You’re in my head all the damn time and it’s driving me fucking crazy.” His voice drops, rough and low, a darker edge threading through it as he steps closer.
“Let me prove it.” His eyes blaze. “If I were gay, I wouldn’t be this hard for you right now.”
With one swift motion, he pulls the towel off.
My eyes flick down. My breath catches.
I’ve seen him before—accidentally—but this is different. He’s hard. Thick. Gorgeous. And very much not joking.
“Ash—”
“I’ve been trying to be good,” he says, voice tight. “Respect Liam’s sister. Stick to the rules. But if you really don’t see how badly I want you… maybe I’ve hidden it too well.”
I stare at him. He stares back. It feels like we’re standing on the edge of a cliff, and the next move could change everything. Play it safe—or leap, and hope we fly.
“Olive, I know this is a weird situation. We’re fake-engaged, living together, stuck in this contract until it ends.”
He closes the space between us, and suddenly I’m against the wall—heart racing, body aching, his hands braced on either side of my head. But he doesn’t kiss me yet. He just stares.
“I’ve been trying to be good,” he says roughly. “Trying to keep it fake. For Liam. For you. And Liam would lose his mind if we started something. But I want you. I want to cook you dinner. I want to tell you how beautiful you are. I want to make you come so hard you forget your own name. I want to hear you cry out mine. I want to bury myself in you and stay in bed for days—until you can’t walk.”
A shiver races down my spine, and he pauses, eyes locked on mine, voice quieter now. “Or we can do none of that. Or all of it. It’s your choice.”
Then he retreats back, giving me space to think.
But I’ve already made up my mind.
I move toward him deliberately—and pull him to me.
Then his mouth is on mine—hot and sure and demanding. I gasp, and he takes full advantage, his tongue sliding against mine like he’s wanted this forever. I feel like I’m unraveling, like every nerve ending has come alive just for him.
His hand grips my waist, dragging me flush against him. I feel the heat of his bare skin, the hard press of his body, his erection pressing into me. One of his hands tangles in my hair. The other slides down, gripping my hip, and then lower—grabbing a fistful of my thigh to hook my leg around his waist.
I whimper into his mouth, and he groans like he’s on the edge.
His lips trail down my neck, hot open-mouthed kisses that make my back arch. When he sucks gently at the spot just below my ear, I shiver.
“Ash,” I whisper, clutching his shoulders. “This is insane.”
“I know,” he murmurs.
I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer. He kisses me again, slower now, deeper. Like he’s tasting something he never thought he could have.
His hand brushes up under my shirt, spreading across my stomach, warm and possessive. I gasp when he cups my breast, thumb circling through the fabric of my bikini top.
“Fuck, Olive,” he whispers against my jaw. “You’re killing me.”
My fingers trace the line of his spine, the ridges of muscle in his back. I’ve never been touched like this—never been kissed like a secret and a promise all at once.
He pulls back just far enough to look down at me, his eyes soft and wild all at once.
“Still okay?” he asks, voice rough.
