Not anymore, anyway. So, when I see his coach make his way over to us, I take the opportunity and grab it by the metaphorical balls.
"Quick. Your coach is on his way over," I say in whispered hiss. "Kiss me. Touch me. Make it look like you want me. The night’s nearly over, you only have to play pretend for a little while longer."
"Olive, baby," he says through a tightly clenched jaw, his voice sending a rush of adrenaline over my entire body. "It’s takingallof my restraint to not fuck you in the middle of this dance floor, but I don’t want these people to see me take what I want. You think you’re calling the shots?" he asks, and I swallow hard as I look up into his sapphire eyes, grateful his coach was stopped on his way over to us. He could tell me to get on my knees right now, and I would be on them in half a second, flat.
"When you’re inmyhome, it’ll bemetelling you where to kiss me.Metelling you how and where to touch me.Metelling you when you can touch yourself. Got it?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his expression firm but flirty.
"If I were wearing any underwear right now, Avery, they would be fucking soaking wet," I breathe against his cheek, his forehead falling hard against mine as he nips my bottom lip.
"None at all?" he asks, and I shake my head.
"You going to tell me I’m a good girl with the way I take your cock later? Tell me how pretty I am when you fuck me?" I whisper, planting a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth, right as his coach clears his throat, ripping our attention from each other and onto him.
My heart is galloping so fast in my throat, it’s a miracle I’m able to keep a straight face. If the lights weren’t so dim in here, and the music wasn’t so loud, his coach would know everythingthat was just said between us.
"Jones." He nods, his hand extended to Avery.
"Hey, Coach," Avery says, shaking his hand casually, like I didn’t just beg him to praise me when he fucks me. "This is my girlfriend, Olive Herring."
"Words I never expected to hear you say." His eyes look to me, and he smiles. "It’s nice to meet you, Olive."
I nod, smiling politely. "You too, sir."
His gaze returns to Avery, and he straightens his spine. "Just wanted to officially meet the woman who seems to have tamed you. Well done, Jones. Don't fuck this up. I’ll leave you to it."
The coach walks away, and I’m left with one thought: If this is fake, why do I want Avery Jones the way that I do?
Chapter nineteen
Avery
Thefrontdoortomy apartment burst open with a bang, and if it weren’t for the built-in stopper, it would’ve put a hole in the wall.
Her legs are locked around my waist, her gold dress bunched up around her hips when he rips her lips away from mine. "The stylist told me to return the dress in one piece," she says, not allowing the words to register in my brain before our mouths crash back together.
"I’ll pay for a replacement," I tell her desperately between kisses, needing to feel every part of her soft skin beneath my hands.
I carry her down the hall, and head for my bedroom.
She pulls away from me again, her hands attempting to tug at the hem to bring it over her head as gently as she can, while frantic and eager.
"It’s one of a kind." We both pause, and I look at her properly, taking her in for everything she is in this dim light. Lipsticksmudged, her cheeks and chin completely void of makeup, no doubt transferred onto my face. Her chest is rising and falling heavily, her lips swollen fromme.
"Fine." I place her down gently, her hand resting on my chest where the top button of my Armani suit no longer exists.
My suit is replaceable. Her dress, apparently not.
Her big eyes search mine, specks of gold and green glimmer in the city lights that shine through my bedroom windows, and I can’t look away. Her dress is still bunched around her middle, but her eyes are calling to me, begging for me to keep my focus.
I place her down onto the ground, her gaze still locked on mine as she slips her heels off one by one. Olive lets out a quiet sigh of relief when her feet collide with the soft, plush carpet.
"Are you going to take my dress off, or am I?" She tilts her head to the side, her arm reaching behind her back for the zip. When I don’t humor her with a response, I hear the zip as it makes its way down her back, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"I want to watch you take it off yourself." I take a step back, sit on the edge of my bed and rest on the palm of my hands.
The straps fall off her shoulders, and down her forearms, her hands remaining by her sides, letting the dress fall effortlessly, pooling around her feet.
Her face remains confident through it all, and with a body like hers, she deserves to oozeit.
