That knowledge only makes me kiss him with a desperation I can’t hide.
When we finally splinter apart, my chest rises and falls in rapid succession. His forehead rests against mine, both of us unsteady.
That’s when I realize he’s right.
This isn’t over.
It’s just the beginning.
20
Oliver
I’m done pretending I can keep my hands off her.
The second my tongue slides past her lips, her resistance crumbles, melting into a groan that vibrates straight through my bones.
It’s the exact balm I was in search of.
It’s been seven days since I’ve been buried deep inside her, and every single one of them has been torture. Nights spent lying awake with her voice playing on repeat in my head like a ghost I can’t outrun. Days haunted by the taste of her still lingering on my tongue and the phantom memory of her body wrapped tightly around me.
I can’t breathe without this woman anymore.
And the truth is—I don’t even want to try.
My grip tightens around her jaw, thumb pressing lightly against the delicate column of her throat, forcing her gaze to mine. Her pupils are blown wide, drowning out the color of her eyes, as her chest rises and falls in shallow bursts. I grind my cock against her lower belly. There’s nothing more than a thin barrier of fabric separating us, and it takes all my restraint not to rip it away.
“I can’t do this anymore, Rina,” I rasp against her mouth, every word fractured between fevered kisses. “I can’t go another fucking minute without you.”
My hands shake as I tear at my pants, the drag of the zipper slicing through the charged silence of the bathroom. The clink of my belt buckle echoes like a gunshot, the sound ricocheting in the space between us. My other hand fists her dress, yanking it up with urgency as desperation frays the edges of my control. She gasps when I shove her panties to the side and then the slick heat of her wetness coats my fingers.
“Christ,” I groan. “You’re already wet for me.”
My voice isn’t just rough with need, it’s laced with something that’s both raw and deeper.
Fear.
Not of her.
But of what she means to me.
I press my forehead to hers, struggling to steady myself against the ache ripping through me.
“Say you don’t want this,” I growl. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”
Her lips part, but nothing comes out.
She’s still fighting herself.
I see it in the small tremor at the corner of her jaw and the way her body betrays every protest. The tilt of her hips. The way she sways closer, searching for contact even as her mind screams not to.
This woman is mine in the moments she tries hardest not to be.
I catch her thigh and guide it over my arm, drawing her closer until there’s nowhere left to hide. The silken skin against my forearm sears as she lets out a startled gasp that trembles through both of us. Instead of allowing her to pull away, I steady her hips, aligning us. Every muscle tightens with the effort it takes to stay in control.
For a moment, it feels like time stands still as I slowly push forward, wanting her to feel every damn inch of what belongs to her. The first glide steals the sound from my throat. I sink deeper until there’s nothing left but the undeniable truth of my cock buried inside her body.
She gasps, the noise splintering between us, and I bite back my own groan as the rush hits. Every muscle goes taut with the need to hold on.
