I cover my mouth to hide my laughter. I’ve never heard a mother sound so excited for her daughter to have a lover in bed.
“Mom. I…yes, okay? Yes. I do have a man here. He…he’s special to me, okay? I didn’t want you to meet him like this.”
I snag her pillow and cover the tented blanket. I don’t want Olivia’s mom to see anything she doesn’t have to. There’s nowhere for me to go. It’s like I’m a teenager all over again, sneaking around in hopes I don’t get caught.
“Special? How special? Is my future son-in-law in your bedroom right now?”
I’m finally able to get out of bed and tug my jeans on. With a deep breath, I decide to make myself known, plastering a smile on my face. I’m sure she’ll be able to tell what we were doing. My hair is probably messy, and I have a few marks on my body from Olivia.
Her scratches.
Her nips.
But I can’t think about that right now. I’m about to meet my future mother-in-law.
With a deep breath, I step out of the bedroom, hoping she doesn’t see the age difference. I only want her to see how much I care about Olivia.
Not only do I care, but I’m in love with her.
No one’s judgment will ever stop that.
20
OLIVIA
The morning lightpours through the slit of the curtains at just the right angle to shine on my face and wake me up from the deepest, most peaceful sleep. I stretch, lifting my arms above my head, my spine realigning as soft crackles and pops help awaken my bones. My arm hits something solid and warm.
I’m startled. It’s only ever me in my bed.
Turning over with my mind still half-asleep, I lift my arms, putting my fists at the ready to attack, even though I have no idea what I’m doing.
And then I see him.
Last night comes back to me, breaking through the sleepy morning brain.
Elias.
He’s here. He’s in my bed. Naked. Sleeping peacefully. The blankets are wrapped low around his hips, the arrows on either side of his hips pointing straight to the hard cock tenting the comforter.
I flip to my side, tucking my hands under my cheek to watch him for a second. His breaths are even and quiet. His lashes are so curly and long—it’s unfair.
One arm is stretched over his head while the other lies flat across his belly. His tattoos are so intricate, every angel, every warrior, I can’t stop my fingers from reaching out and tracing every line.
Is it too early to tell him I love him?
I do. I’ve fallen hard and fast. Irresponsibly so.
I’ve never felt this way in my entire life. He came at me full speed and I barely had time to register what was happening. He even met my mother last night, and I’m still pinching myself at how well that meeting went.
What was once just fun sexting turned into the guy I can see myself spending the rest of my life with. I’m not sure how that happened.
Part of me wants to question if I’m actually insane and the other part of me wants to throw caution to wind.
I’m going with the wind.
The longer I stare at his body, the more I want him. The more I want those arms to be wrapped around me, his biceps flexing while they hold me against his chest. A low throb begins in my clit, my hole aching to be filled by him again. I’m sore, but it’s a good sore, the kind that I want more of.
The phantom ache of him is still there, craving more. When I walk around the hallways in the hospital, I want to feel him between my legs, reminding me with every step that I’m taking.
