Do I need her to choose me over anything else?
I’d be lying if I said I don’t want her to.
But I will allow myself to disappear into the great, big unknown that is Olivia Tamsin Montgomery.
One day, one night at a time.
Last night, we were both so tired we fell asleep right away.
Tonight will be different.
I shut the door and turn the flimsy lock on the doorknob. This room has been used as Mrs. Montgomery’s craft room since Olivia moved to San Francisco, and it has recently become the puppy room. But her double bed is still here, with the same lavender-colored duvet. The same soft, peach-colored sheets.
The cocker spaniel, whose name is Bob, whines from the hallway and scratches against the door. I hear Mr. Montgomery gently shush him, pick him up, and pad down the hall to the main bedroom, closing the door.
Olivia yawns, and while I’m putting my toiletry kit back into my suitcase, she slips between the sheets, turning onto her side to face away from me. “Nighty-night,” she says.
Oh, I see how this is going to go.
“Night.” I take off my pajama top, turn off the overhead light, and climb into bed, on my side, facing her back.
The curtains are open, and the room is dimly lit by the glow of the streetlamp outside. I can hear her breathing and the sound of my beating heart, and I swear I can hear my dick getting harder as it stretches the fabric of my pajama pants. I tug at the end of one of her braids. She exhales a quiet laugh but otherwise ignores me.
I press a kiss against the exposed skin at the back of her neck and trace the tip of my index finger down her spine. “Thank you for tonight,” I say.
She shivers, and I press my body up against hers, molding myself to her curves. She wiggles and pushes back into me so the part of me that is enthusiastically protruding fits comfortably between her ass cheeks. My arms circle her slender waist, and I count to thirty in my head before sliding one hand up her taut stomach, under her sham of a T-shirt.
“Did you think about me?” she whispers as she rubs and clenches her ass cheeks around my erection. “In bed? When you were in college?”
“Only every night.”
She sighs when I cup her breast, as if I haven’t done this a hundred times in the past week. “I thought you hated me.”
“I hated the feeling.”
“What feeling?”
“Of wanting you.”
“Tell me another one of your fantasies,” she says.
“Well. One of them went a lot like this.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say. “You’d be asleep in bed. I’d tiptoe into your room and shut the door.”
“Oooh, tiptoeing.Sohot.”
I tweak her nipple for that. “I’d slide into this bed behind you, and we wouldn’t say a word. You’d just press up against me, take my hands.”
“Like this?” She puts her hands over mine. Holds one of my hands over her breast and slides the other one down, into her boy shorts, where her warm elixir pools between her legs.
“Exactly like that.”
She rocks her hips. Presses my hand flat against her clit. Invites my fingers to enter her. Moans softly when they do. “Was I sweet to you in your fantasies?”
“Sometimes.”
