Page 43 of Olive Becket Plays the Rake (The Seattle Suffrage Society)

Emil couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Olive as he drove them to the restaurant. He needed to pay more attention to the road; Mack had promised him an early grave if he got even so much as a scratch on his automobile. But the bumpy dirt road had nothing on the chattering woman beside him.

Pink-cheeked and glowing, she listed her predictions on which Seattle players might be called up for the minor leagues with an adorable zest. He nodded along, inordinately pleased that she felt comfortable enough to push through the complex layers of anxiety and be her true self.

That she would allow herself to blossom before him.

Because when she did, she lit up like the stars in the sky.

Sparkled so brightly he found it could barely tear his gaze away.

“You’re certain you’re warm enough?” he interrupted.

“As I told you the last two times, yes.” She held up her hands, wrapped in his sister’s fur muff. “My fingers are perfectly toasty.”

“There’s another blanket in the back seat.” He took one hand from the steering wheel, reaching blindly behind him for the blanket. Where the hell was it?

“Emil, I’m fine. Please stop fussing.”

Reluctantly, he returned his gloved hand to the wheel. He stole another glance at Olive. She was smiling at him, her beautiful doe eyes soft and tender and open, like she could see right through him.

He was fussing over her. Hovering. Unable to stop himself.

That much was obvious. But the why of it was murkier.

He’d entered their courtship with the belief that he could navigate it on his own terms. That he could decide when and how their relationship would progress.

He’d expected feelings to develop, at least to some degree.

That flutter in his chest—he was used to it by now.

The ache beneath his ribs, the way his thoughts unraveled when she laughed or leaned a little closer—none of it was new.

He’d already acknowledged those feelings, even if he kept them carefully under control.

Lately, though, they were gaining ground faster than he’d anticipated.

Every smile, every soft look from her chipped away at the space he thought he needed.

His carefully constructed plan was blurring at the edges, slipping from his grip until all he could think about was being with her as much as possible.

It was terrifying.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

He nodded, searching for the right words. Finally landed on the truth. “I’m happy when I’m with you. So much so that, sometimes, it feels like someone has reached into my chest and wrapped their fist around my heart.”

She made a sympathetic sound in her throat. “It feels strange, doesn’t it?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Then you know what I’m talking about?”

“I do.”

“Good. That’s good.”

They fell into silence, and Emil was grateful.

Speaking any more about what was happening between them before they were ready wouldn’t be good for either of them.

Thank goodness Olive understood. She wasn’t in any rush to move their courtship forward, either.

They could still progress on a timeline that made him comfortable.

One that gave him time to adjust to his growing feelings, time to establish his agency, time to provide for their future. The wait would be worth it.

“Emil.”

His abdomen clenched at the way she said his name—sensual. Throaty. Like she had impure thoughts on her mind.

“Olive.”

“I want to try something.”

Please let it be sinful. “You know you can try anything with me.”

She removed her hands from the muff, set it aside, and scooted close. One hand settled on his thigh, stroking gently but purposefully. “I know.”

He cocked a brow even as he guided the automobile along the quiet country road. “Should I pull over?”

“And risk missing our dinner reservation? I think not. I’m too hungry.”

“Then what do you propose?”

“That…” she swallowed audibly, then continued, like the blossoming vixen that she was. “That I have my first course here.”

His cock saluted so quickly in his pants that he had to draw a deep breath before responding. “Olive Becket, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

In answer, her fingers moved to the buttons on his pants. He groaned at the light pressure, his shaft swelling to its full length and pressing against the fabric. “Oh, yes, k?raste, take me out. Take me in your hands.”

“Not my hands. In my mouth.”

His foot slipped on the gas pedal, and they lurched forward. Frantically, he brought the auto back to a moderate speed. “Olive, I cannot wreck this car.”

“Then be very, very careful,” she crooned, adjusting her position in the seat until her head was above his lap. She paused to remove her gloves, the slight delay torturous. “And I’ll be very, very careful when I taste you.”

Warm, slender fingers skated across his cock, freeing him from the prison of his clothing. He hissed through his teeth as she enveloped his shaft. Goddammit, where was a place to pull over? He’d passed a dozen on this road already. Where was one when he needed it?

“Hard or soft?”

“Hard.” He grunted as her grip tightened on his shaft, slowly pumping up and down until he was throbbing in agony. “Yes, just like that. So good.” Hot air blew across his hole, and his hips jerked upward. “Fuck, sorry. Fuck. I think I should pull over. Wait a moment, just wait—”

His words dissolved into a thick groan as her tongue swiped across the tip. Then again. And again, growing more confident, more devastating, with each lick. His thighs shook, his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

“Is this what you like?” she purred against him, her words sending a wash of hot air down his shaft to tickle his balls. “Does it feel good when I taste you?”

“Take me all the way in,” he begged. “Suck on me. Let me fill your mouth.”

“I’ll make you feel good, darling. I promise.”

Darling.

His cock pulsed and wept at the word, as if it wanted to be her darling. As if it had already accepted her term of endearment. Already knew it had been claimed, much like his heart.

Her lips circled his head, moving slowly, carefully.

He held perfectly still, his gaze still scanning the damned narrow country road for a place to pull over.

He needed his hands on her. Needed to watch her suck him off.

See how glorious she looked giving him pleasure.

The wait was slow, delicious torture. He groaned when she finally sucked him into the sweet, sinful depths of her mouth.

“God, yes. Take me in.”

Her lips molded around his girth, sliding up and down with a warm, wet motion that had him whimpering with need.

He was going to come without even getting a chance to see her.

It was unacceptable, unthinkable—oh thank God.

A pullover. He slowed, pulled into the turn-off, and eased the auto into park.

The second the brake was safely on, he let out a sigh of relief.

“You’re so good at that,” he gasped, his hand moving to rest on the back of her neck.

She flicked a glance upward, the corners of her eyes crinkling with delight.

“Raise your tongue against my shaft. Just like that.” He watched, mesmerized, as she took him in her warm, willing mouth, her lips wet and pink against his inflamed cock.

“God, I love watching you. You drive me absolutely wild.”

She smiled imperceptibly, her tongue exploring the ridge of his cock.

He loved the way she glowed when he praised her.

It made him want to shower her in compliments, to draw the moment out until she was wiggling in the seat with need.

He released her neck, sliding his hand down her back to palm her backside.

“Every night, I crave your pussy,” he said, his eyes glued to her face.

He loved how emotions danced across her face when he told her what he wanted.

He loved how frenzied the words made her.

“Every night, I make myself come imagining you’re spread before me.

Your slick pussy on display. Your lips spread wide, eager for me to fill you up.

Make you come so hard you can’t see straight. Make you—”

She sank deeper on his cock, taking him down her throat. He grunted, his control slipping. His balls tightened, begging for release.

“Going to spill. Can’t wait any longer.”

He tried to ease her away, but she tossed him an adorably ferocious look and tightened her grip on his thighs. He sank back into the seat. God forbid he stop her from doing whatever the hell she wanted to do to him. She scooted backward, still circling his shaft with her tongue, and then nodded.

All it took was three gentle pumps into her glorious mouth, and he was gone.

A deep groan tore from his chest as he emptied into her mouth.

The pleasure was all-consuming, almost terrifying in its grip.

Olive sucked him through it all, only letting him go when he had softened.

She raised her head and smiled, a cheshire-cat smile that tugged a laugh from him.

“You’re happy with yourself.”

“I am. Now, I know what a penis tastes like.”

He barked out a real laugh this time. “I had forgotten about that. And what did you think?”

“I liked it,” she said, rising to snuggle against his side. “I liked how soft and firm you felt. I liked how out of control I could make you. It made me feel...powerful.”

He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, taking a moment to breathe in her violet eau de toilette while he waited for his stamina to return.

She’d leached almost every bit of it from him, but he was not a man who let pleasure go one-sided.

Especially not when making Olive Becket moan and shiver was its own category of pleasure.

He drew two more deep, redolent breaths, then sat up.

“Into the back seat with you.”

Her cheeks flushed at once. “Oh, but Emil, you don’t have—”

“Didn’t I tell you what I wanted to do to your pussy? Get moving.”