Page 29

“You’re asking me thisnow?” Because he doesn’t quite seem to understand the urgency of the situation, I undo the button and zip at the top ofmyjeans, sliding them down my legs. This morning—yesterday morning, technically—I wore granny panties and didn’t bother shaving. That seems a shame now, but I don’t have the time or energy to care, not when he’s looking at me with eyes dark with focus and heat burning off him.

“I’m asking because we’re moving fast,” he says.

I scowl at his unmoving fingers. “You’re not.”

“I mean—”

“I’m more sure about this than I’ve been about anything in my entire life,” I say.

That does the trick. Or maybe it’s the way I lift my knees into the air and tug my panties down my legs.Either way, he’s finally spurred into action, and he proves me wrong about not moving fast, shucking his jeans and boxers off in record time.

Our mouths collide in a way that’s messy and a little rough, and we both laugh, breaking apart as we find a position that works. His hand slides up my thigh to between my legs, and I let out a little gasp. He does, too, and I reach for him. Hot, silky heat. There’s moisture beading right at the tip, and I swipe it away with my thumb. He shudders, and maybe in retaliation, maybe out of his own need, he slides a finger inside me. I go still, tight and loose all at once. Pleasure prickles through me. I grip the closest thing to me—his pillow—as he slides up my body, half on top of me, leaning just enough to the side so the hand between my legs can maintain its lazy rhythm.

Ordinarily, I’d be all about the foreplay. Brandon never invested in it much, only preparing me enough for him to slip in easily. Oliver looks like he might be there for the long haul, brow crinkled in concentration and mouth slightly pursed. But for once, I’m too impatient.

“Oliver,” I say, my voice a whine. “I want you.”

What I’d actually meant to say wasI want you inside me. Or maybe evenI want you to fuck me. Instead, the words I do say—just those, just that I want him—hang in the air between us. He huffs a breath, pressing his forehead against mine, and I clutch at his upper arms.

“Condom,” he says.

“God,you’re romantic.”

He pinches my thigh as he retreats, opening his bedside drawer and pulling one out. I knock his hands away so I can do it, unrolling the slick latex down his erection. He watches me, eyes dark, then guides me on top of him.

“I like the view like this,” he tells me huskily.

Fine by me.

The press of him inside me is exquisite. Everything in my body tightens as our bodies finally align. His hands are loose on my hips, letting me set the pace, but as good as mind-numbingly slow is, I need more. Faster. I pick up the pace, and he seems to understand what I need, thrusting up, meeting me halfway. Sparks erupt behind my eyes. The tension ramps up in my body too fast. His hands are everywhere, his mouth too as he pulls me down to lie across him, nipples brushing the soft hair on his chest, my lips against his. Hot kisses, tender and urgent all at once. One hand is on my ass, urging me into a rhythm that suits us both, and the other is trailing up and down my spine.

Pleasure shimmers through me. I feel as though someone has plugged me into a mains outlet, but instead of pain, I’m being rocked with something brighter, more wonderful.

He pushes into me harder, and I lose the last grip I have on control. I fall apart. Muscles quivering, his mouth swallowing my cries, body jerking. He slows, seeming to sense what I need, and it’s only when I’ve come back to earth again that he starts to move. Long, deep, certain thrusts, his eyes on mine.

“I can’t remember the last time I wanted anyone the way I want you,” he says, voice tight with strain. Then his climax takes him too, eyes going hazy and his breath hitching. He doesn’t groan, but I watch the wash of pleasure across his expression, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

It’s too soon to be in love, I’m sure of it, but as we lie in each other’s arms after, my ear against his racing heart, I wonder if I could be close. If this weekend will cinch the deal.

He’s not the only thing I want for myself. It’s time to start living, not just surviving. But I was floundering in the dark, and he took my hand, handed me a torch, let me figure out a way of switching it on and finding my own light.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to want to leave,” I say into the sunlit room.

I feel rather than hear his smile, just as I feel the way he presses a kiss against my hair. “I think I’d like it if you stayed too.”

We don’t speak after that. Just lie together until we make love again, this time more slowly. We fall asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

By the time he makes me breakfast the next morning, I’m almost certain I’m in love with him.

By the time I leave for Leicestershire, I’m certain he’s in love with me, too.

And for the first time in a long time, I think I know what my future will hold.