“Fuck yes!” I grin and start pacing the room again.
CREW: You’re welcome. It was my pleasure. But if you want it to beyourpleasure, you should thank me in person.
I stop pacing and wait impatiently for her response.
OLIVIA: I’m tipsy and can’t get to Venice to thank you.
CREW: Can you get to Room 314?
As I wait for her response there’s a queasy feeling in my stomach. I hope it isn’t that poke bowl I grabbed on my way here. I was fine, like five seconds ago. Before she texted me.
OLIVIA: Room 314 in THIS HOTEL?
CREW: Yes.
OLIVIA: Shut up.
CREW: I will if you come and make me.314.
Why is this so much fun? But also, why am I holding my breath? I am literally like a kid at Christmas waiting for Santa Claus. “You’re an idiot, Crew,” I lecture myself as I wait for her response.
It’s been almost ten minutes when I start to compose a message to her. I can’t decide between ‘no pressure, honestly. I know you’re with your friends.’ And ‘please let me show you what my peen can do!’
Then there’s a gentle knock at the door. I cross the room so fast I almost give myself whiplash. I fling open the door. Olivia looks incredible. Her hair is loose in waves that skim her shoulders, which are bare because she’s in a skimpy red cocktail dress that clings to her body like a second skin and matches the color painted on her perky, pouty mouth.
Her big brown eyes are even bigger and filled with disbelief. “I can’t believe you got a room here!”
“A suite, technically,” I say and step out of the way, motioning with my hand so she can see the huge living room.
“Holy crap!” She steps over the threshold and I close the door behind her. The dress looks even better from the back. Olivia has a killer ass. Round and plump and I flex my fingers as I remember the feel of it in my hands. “This is bigger than my living room!”
“It’s not bad,” I add.
She shoots me a look over her shoulder. It’s glassy and mischievous and I know she’s tipsy. She walks over to one of the windows, pushing aside the soft curtain that is blowing in the breeze, and sticking her head out the window. “I was down there tonight!”
“I figured,” I reply, walking up behind her and peeking out the window. I rest a hand on the base of her back. She glances over at me. “How did you get away from your group?”
"Ten and Mallory wanted to continue drinking in the lounge downstairs after dinner. Tate said he had to get back and get some rest because of pre-season training like you said he would," she explains, stepping back and looking around the room again. "I told the girls I was going to hitch a lift with Tate. It's not unheard of. I'm not a big drinker and I already had two. No, three. So I walked out with Tate but then as we waited for the valet I told him the texts I was getting from you were classmates and they were across the street at The Den and were begging me to meet them."
“Sneaky girl.”
“He got in his car I ran across the street and as soon as he drove away I ran back and… voila!” Olivia makes a flourish with her hands.
I step into her, my arm looping around her waist. She giggles almost silently and drops her purse on the floor before slipping her arms around my neck. I lean in and inhale deeply. She smells like flowers and vanilla. “Happy birthday, Fireball.”
"It's my birthday but you're the one getting your wish," she whispers, and then her lips skim my neck just below my Adam's apple. My dick is startled awake by the contact.
“I promise you, honey, my wish is a gift to you,” I tell her and then I bring my mouth to hers.
Olivia is shy and demure on the outside but her kisses… they tell a different story. Her kisses are passionate and needy in a way that makes me feel like a fucking king. Like I’m the air she needs to breathe. I tangle a hand in her hair, and as my tongue dances with hers, our bodies sway a little. It’s like we’re moving to the music of our kiss. I like it.
But then she wobbles ever so slightly. She’s in sky-high heels and between the thick throw rug on the old wood floor and the three drinks she mentioned earlier—and probably this kiss—she’s not steady. I move my hands lower, cup that perfect ass of hers, and lift her up. She squeals and laughs, tightening her grip around my neck. “I appreciate the extra level of hot those high heels bring to your already smokin’ look, but a twisted ankle is not part of the plan for tonight.”
I start walking as she hooks her ankles behind my waist to stay in place. “Where are we going?”
“The bedroom,” I tell her as I exit the living room and march down the long hall to the left of the front door.
Olivia turns her head and lists the rooms we pass. “Kitchen. A full kitchen! Bedroom. Oh and a bathroom! Wait. Stop!”
