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“Olivia . . .”

“I do, I promise. I’m just scared. I’ve been on my own for so long. I’ve been Danny’s guardian and doing everythingby myself. Even looking out for him. I mean, I kidnapped you. What was I thinking? But I wonder if I’d had someone to confide in, maybe I could have just talked it through rather than doing something so drastic.”

“I’m glad it worked out the way it did. It led us right here.”

And it’s the truth. She’s amazing, but she needs time to get used to this dynamic. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder. If I push her, she'll freak out and reactivate the taser. My balls shrivel at the thought.

I rub her foot, and she moans softly.

“So . . . can we go on another date?” she asks.

“Are you asking me out, Killer?” I tease.

“Yeah, I am.” Her lips curl up, and laughter lines crinkle around her eyes. She’s breathtakingly beautiful, even all squished up on the couch.

“Date two coming up. We’ll go out when we get back home.”

Home.

“Sure. Do you mind if I shower and you order food?”

“Of course. The room is over there.” I point over her head and let go of her foot.

“Oh my god. THIS ROOM!” she squeals at the top of her lungs. They may just be able to hear her down in the lobby.

Chapter Sixteen

Olivia

The suite is insane. The modern decor is unexpected, given how old the hotel is. But it’s light, breezy, almost a beachy vibe with a hint of old-fashioned features like the paneling and the embroidered chaise lounge in the corner of the room.

The whiter-than-white bedding has an outrageous amount of pillows and looks straight out of a magazine. Every surface of the ensuite is covered in marble, with a clawfoot tub on the left by a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. A walk-in shower is surely big enough for two, if not three. The thrum of warmth in my lower belly hits me unexpectedly at the thought of what could happen this weekend.

Tonight has to be the night surely? We’ve been waiting and waiting, and now that I know we’re on the same page, I’m ready for this to go to the next level.

After dinner, I reach my arms over my head in a faux sleepy stretch. There’s no way I’m sleeping now. Not when I’ve been eyeing Austin up and down like he’s what I’ve been ordering for dessert all night.

“Bedtime, Killer.”

He walks with me to the room, looking so calm. He hasn’t spoken much over dinner; he is probably as tired as I am after a full day of walking and talking.

Although I didn’t know he was coming, I’ve brought my silky sleep set I know he loves. It makes me feel close to him,and I'm suddenly so grateful I did. I can feel his eyes roaming over my skin as if it were his fingertips.

“Goodnight, Killer,” he says in the doorway.

“Wait.” I frown. “Where are you sleeping?”

He points down to a closed door.

“On the same floor this time, at least,” I mutter, unable to quell the disappointment in my tone.

He steps into the room towards me, and hope blooms like a flower at the first sign of warm weather. Cupping my cheek, he says, “Still not close enough, Olivia.” His chin dips until he drops the lightest of kisses on the corner of my mouth. He draws back, and the thought of him leaving me here alone leaves me full of desperation. I’m more desperate than the day I asked him to help me to my car, more desperate than when he chased me through the house when I realized he wasn’t chained anymore. I pull him into me, his chest thudding against mine.

“Olivia . . .”

“Austin...” I push up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. They’re soft, smooth; he seems to freeze for a split second. The longest split second of my life, and I brace for disappointment. Brace for him to reject me again. But he moves. His fingers intertwine with my loose hair, kneading the back of my neck. In one swoop, his body presses against mine, and he spins me against the wall. He uses his foot to spread my legs, sliding his knee between them. The corded muscle of his thigh pushes against the ache of my center. My silky shorts smoothing his rough touch, I can feel them growing damp between my thighs.

It’s like a switch has flipped. He finally has not only my permission, but my participation. I’m not waiting for him any longer. If I thought about it too much, this crazy situation we’re in, I might back out. I might talk myself out of it. But there’s no time to think. His lips are demanding, his tongue daring to taste the entrance of my mouth. I’m clinging to his shoulders, desperate to ground myself in the moment. Eachtime I feel like I’ve got my footing, he shifts again, tasting and touching from a new angle. The constant uncertainty leaves me breathless, unable to keep my balance.