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Olivia falls asleep shortly after I wrap her up in my arms, and I’m not far behind her, but as is my custom, I wake in the middle of the night, staring up at the ceiling with the pleasant feel of her lush body against my side, her leg wrapped over my hips.

I can’t keep my hands from squeezing behind her knee, stroking her thigh. I want her again. And again. And again.

It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted a woman this much. Since Ivan’s mom. Not that I haven’t had dalliances, but this…this feels like more.

I can only hope that I won’t scare her away.

When she stirs beside me, her hand trails up my stomach to play with the hair on my chest. Then her head tips back to look up at me.

“Did I wake you?”

She shakes her head against my shoulder, her touch finding my chin and drawing over my mouth. Fuck, I’m hard in an instant, pressing against the inside of her thigh.

Olivia smiles at me, her hand traipsing down my body before she wraps it around my length, stroking me slowly.

My moan is low, dark, needy. I might not be a man in my twenties anymore, but I feel like one right now.

When she shifts her weight to straddle me, I help her with both hands on her hips, and I welcome the sight of her pale skin in the moonlight from my back windows. How the red of her hair has darkened to the color of blood.

Her hips roll, and she’s already wet for me. God, this woman. I want to live inside of her. To tease out every bit of pleasure I can from her body and bask in the way her mind works.

I grab two handfuls of her ass when she lifts, reaches between us, and presses the head of my cock against her entrance. Slowly sinking down on me, her body shifts and rolls and takes me so easily. So greedily.

Tight and wet, her every move zaps me with pleasure and fires up my need. And I let her take control for a few minutes before I move under her.

Olivia plants her hands on my chest to brace herself, and she doesn’t let me keep this slow like I did earlier. Her nails curl into my muscles, and it shoots heat down to my cock. I love how those polished daggers dig into my flesh.

She meets my gaze as she rides me, and our connection deepens. Olivia actually sees me. Not just my body. Not just the money I make. Not just the novelty of my power or foreignness.

She’s absolutely perfect for me. We fit better than I ever imagined.

When her elbows waver and her moans build, I pull her forward, breaking her stiff-arm brace and pressing all of her beautiful curves against me. My arms wrap around her to hold her in place, thrusting up into her with gusto as she makes sweet noises into the crook of my neck and shoulder.

Fingers curling into my hair, I strain to keep myself steady until I pound an orgasm out of her. God, I need her to come on me. As many times as I can manage. As many times as she’ll let me.

Soft cries vibrate against my skin as she strangles my cock, pulsing, coming, and I cannot stop.

I massage her ass and hips as she sinks into me and whimpers. But when I grab hold of her and slam her over me to meet my thrusts, her choking moan eggs me on. Fuck, yes, I want to feel her come again before I reach my own release.

I am completely addicted to the way she feels. The way she responds. The way this is so damn easy.

Olivia chants my name under her breath until she loses her ability to form the consonants, devolving into vowels and moans. When I feel her constrict around my cock again, I let loose, jackhammering up into her until she breaks apart.

I follow quickly behind her, tightening my hold on her as the pleasure slowly ebbs.

I don’t want to let go of her. Fuck the mess.

We both seem too tired to move, and I have no complaints.

Not even when I wake up sticky and in need of changing the bed linens because she’s still snuggled into me, that voluptuous ass against my hip, and my arm nestled between her breasts and under her head.

It’s the best way I’ve woken up in so long. I turn and curl around her, brushing my beard over her shoulder and planting kisses along her pale freckled flesh.

“Mmm.”

My hand shifts from between her breasts to cupping one of them, making that small noise turn into a whine. I want her again, even though we don’t have the time.

“Time to get up.”

Olivia sucks in a long breath and arches back into me like the embodiment of sin. Of lust.

“Mmm, what time is it?”

“Around six.”

“Dear God. It’s too early.”

I laugh softly against her shoulder. “Not for me. I have to be at work by eight.”

She groans. “Right. Stupid responsibilities. My class isn’t until ten.”

“You’re welcome to stay in my bed until then.”

Blowing air out vibrates her mouth before she stretches again. “That’s no fun without you here too. I suppose I should go home and clean myself up.”

I hum in agreement, even though I very much want to drag her into the shower with me.

Like she reads my mind, Olivia chuckles. “If I shower with you, I will make you late.”

“Did you want a cup of coffee before you go?”

A small shake of her head has my heart sinking a little. “Better not. I’ll get dressed and sneak out before Ivan catches us.”

“I don’t care if he sees you. Having you here is not something I want to hide.”

She turns in my grasp and blinks sleepily before laying a sweet kiss on me. “It’s more that I don’t have any answers to the questions he’s inevitably going to ask. Wish him luck with Chelsea today.”

My chest tightens. I know what I want from her, but I did spring all of this on her last night. It may be too soon to profess my feelings. To put that kind of pressure on her. Even if I want to.

“I will. Let me walk you to your car at least.”

She squints at me, but the look quickly turns playful. “I’ll allow it.”

We both laugh as she dresses and I put on a pair of sweats. I can hear Ivan in the shower, so she doesn’t have to sneak. When I lay another lingering kiss on her at her car door, I feel her loss already.

After watching her drive away, I get ready for work in record time, dropping Ivan off at school with his cupcakes and wishing him luck, like Olivia instructed me, before driving to the center.

When I arrive, the energy feels different. People are either too focused on me or looking away when I catch their gazes.

That doesn’t bode well.

The word favoritism is whispered a few times, and I’m frowning hard by the time I make it to my office.

A text pops up on my phone from Marie. She’s officially back next week, but she’s taken on light duties at home. So, there’s a rumor going around the center about you and one of the graduate students? Check your email.

Storm clouds fill my head as I boot up my computer and log in. A memo has gone around to the staff that highlights two pictures of my son and Olivia baking cupcakes in my home. Apparently, Ivan posted them yesterday, and they’ve made their rounds.

I swear my frown can’t get any deeper. Any more grim.

The email chain, which has purposefully left me out, has an ongoing conversation about favoritism in the office, about inappropriate relationships with employees and students, about Olivia being a slut, whoring herself out for special treatment.

My blood boils.

Olivia is not my student. She is not my employee. And there is nothing against the rules going on. We’re both adults who happen to spend our time in the center for work. I’m not in charge of her.

Am I able to help her if she needs it? Absolutely. Has she asked for any? Not even once.

My vision goes red. I’m not an angry person in general. Serious, maybe, but not angry.

Now though, I’m angry because when I scroll to the bottom to see who started this entire thing, I see the name I should have expected. Angelica.

I take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down when my phone rings.

I answer it, “Dr. Rivers.”

“Dr. Rivers, this is Malcolm Baxter. From the board.”

“Good morning, Mr. Baxter. What can I do for you?” My molten anger turns into ice, and I stand behind my desk.

“Well, whether the morning is good or not is up to perception. Isn’t it?” His haughty voice makes my hand curl into a fist.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Baxter?” I repeat, barely able to keep the growl from my voice. I don’t like the board. All they do is cut budgets and worry about their image. They have no idea what it takes to treat people. To actually help them.

I’m sure this call will be no different.

“Well, Dr. Rivers, it’s come to my attention that you may be in a compromised position, and you know the board’s views on fraternization.” His voice drawls like a cat who lapped up too much cream.

“Mmm. I am aware of the board’s views. As I am aware of the rules in place at this facility.

I can assure you that I am not fraternizing with anyone I am not allowed to.

No one under my employ. No one who is a student of mine.

But if someone has an office, or a space, or a project, or a client that happens to be under this roof.

In my building. That does not entail fraternization. ”

Baxter clears his throat. “It does when it interferes with work or casts our organization in a negative light.”

“No, Mr. Baxter. It does not. I saw the email thread. I know what you’re referring to.

And I am not having a relationship with anyone that affects my job or anyone else’s.

I hold no power over the young lady in question, and our friendship”—God, it hurts me to call it that, but it’s safer for her if I do—“is no one’s business.

What I can tell you is that the nurse who started this whole mess has made attempts to be better friends with me on multiple occasions.

Which I have shut down every time. Because that would be inappropriate. ”

Baxter hums.

“And I will shut it down again. Because her behavior and this email thread is against our policies. And as her boss, I will handle it. Now, is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Baxter.”

If he hears my stress on calling him mister, he doesn’t respond to it. “Be careful, Dr. Rivers. There are plenty of people who can take your place who are married and won’t have these same issues.”

I laugh darkly. “If you think marriage can keep a man’s dick in his pants when he wants someone else, you’re sorely mistaken. Bye now.”

I hang up the phone before he can insult me or insinuate anything further. My hands spread across my desk. The fury churning inside of me needs an outlet, but I have none readily available. And that doesn’t bode well.

A few more emails come in from other board members and colleagues, asking serious and personal questions about my relationship with Olivia. Threats about how easily I could lose this job if they make a single phone call to the right person.

Jealousy from the people who were overlooked when I got the job ten years ago. But they’ll have to take serious action to fire me. And I know more than one good lawyer.

The thoughts have spiraled into a dark tailspin, tension tightening my shoulders so that when a soft knock sounds at my parted door, I bark out a gruff, “What?”

But when I turn around, Olivia’s eyes widen at what she must see in my face. She takes a step back, brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Part of me wants to throw something, and the other part wants to trap her against my door. I advance on her, closing the door behind her, even though that’s not helpful in this situation.

I hate that she jumps when her back hits the door, and I pause, working to regroup. To stifle my anger.

This isn’t her fault.