The Singles (22 page)

I kicked off my boots one at a time, smiling gratefully at him when he steadied me. “I’ve been thinking about switching to a new scent,” I teased breathlessly.

“Never,” he growled, expertly removing my shift dress in one swift motion so that I stood before him in nothing but a black lace demi bra and a tiny thong. I felt a twinge of regret that I’d chosen underwear I’d purchased specifically for work—for Gemma’s work—but his slow nod of appreciation lessened the bite.  “The perfume is non-negotiable.”

Alternating between suppressing a grin and holding my breath, I drank in the sight of his incredible muscles as he stripped out of his boots, jeans, and t-shirt until nothing but a pair of designer boxers separated his body from me. God, who the hell was this woman staring at him? This couldn’t be Gemma—the woman who’d spent the last few years prancing around in bras and panties without so much as managing a flush. This woman,
Lizzie
, she was an entirely new creature. A creature completely enthralled by the gorgeous, built man who was seconds away from getting to her core.

But this had been a long time coming, and I was ready.

“I’d planned on doing this slowly,” Oliver started, pouring me a glass of champagne and handing it to me. I drank it lighting fast, almost like a shot, feeling the carbonation winding a bubbling path from my tongue to my stomach. My head was going to hate me for that in the morning, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was hearing what he had to say next, even if I had to coax it out of him.

“You’re going pretty slowly,” I objected slyly, but then my body went stiff when he circled around me. I heard him breathe in the scent of my hair, my skin, and I about lost it. “Really, really slow,” I added in a whisper. 

“I was going to go slow,” he repeated. “But I have no. Patience. Tonight.”

Reaching for me, he clutched my hips and hauled me to his chest, his strong hand seizing the nape of my neck. I danced my fingers down his abs, shuddering as I traced the cut “V” I was desperate to lick.

“I want to taste you,” I admitted, wetting the corners of his full lips with my tongue. “I need to feel you.”

“You will. But first, this,” he said dangerously, “is for that
Mar-ga-ret
stunt you pulled earlier.” Lowering his hand from my neck, he smacked my right ass cheek firmly enough for me to gasp in mock outrage. “Don’t mention her again.”

“Fucker,” I growled, in spite of the heat pooling in the pit of my stomach, and he responded by tugging his lips into an arrogant grin. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“Now that we’ve gotten all my promises out the way, let’s get rid of this.” He unhooked my bra, tossing it over his shoulder where it landed somewhere in the darkness.

The pool. The patio. Who in the hell knew where it went—I wasn’t about to stand around letting it bother me.

I’d think about it tomorrow morning.

Looking at my breasts, he was motionless and speechless for several seconds before he eventually shook his head from side to side. An unfamiliar feeling—self-consciousness—hit me hard, and I started to cover myself, but he caught my hands in his. “You have an incredible body.”

“Yeah? You’re not so bad yourself there, Mr. Manning.”

Fingering the faded remnants of a scar on my chest, he stared down at me questioningly. “What happened here?” 

“Coffee burn. My father left a cup of coffee on the sunroom table when I was four and I knocked it all over myself.” When his brows pulled together, I shook my head fiercely and stood on the tips of my toes, wanting him to kiss me. To take away all the memories tonight.

Hooking his hands beneath my legs, he brought us both crashing down on the bed. My head spun from the rocking motion, but before I could gather my bearings, he parted my legs. “This—
this
is why I came back from New York.”

He shoved my lacy thong aside. Without warning, he thrust two fingers into my sex, and I writhed beneath him.

Swallowing a scream of pleasure, I frantically whispered, “You came back from New York just to get into my panties?”

Laying his head between my breasts, he made a sound of disagreement. “I came back from New York because I couldn’t stand the thought of another man touching you like this.” To demonstrate, he tugged my nipple between his teeth. Sucking greedily until I moaned and curved against his mouth, he pulled away, leaving my breast wet and heavy. “Those thoughts—those kind of reactions—they’re terrifying,” he murmured, kissing beneath my breasts.

“How so?” I blurted, tightening around his fingers as he pushed them deeper into me, causing a visible shudder to run through him.

“Power, beautiful.” Without giving me a chance to ask him to elaborate, he covered my lips with his thumb. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

But he shook his head. “Close your eyes,” he ordered.

Throwing my head back on the pillow, I squeezed my lids together. Keeping the hand between my legs pumping steadily, he moved, and I felt the bed swinging back and forth, the motion oddly soothing.

I expected his tongue touching my pussy. He’d promised it, after all, and it was obvious that was his intention when he draped my legs over his broad shoulders and tilted my hips up. But what I hadn’t anticipated was the tingles that would burst across the sensitive skin when his other hand stroked my center just before his mouth.

Champagne.

He had drenched me in champagne and was now in the process of tasting it right off my body.

Wow.
WOW
.

Fluttering my lashes apart, I dug my fingers into his tousled hair, tugging his head back until our gazes met.

“Champagne,” I managed through my teeth. “Really, Oliver?”

Laughing, he dipped his fingers in his glass of champagne again and painted my swollen clit with his wet hand, his blue eyes devouring mine as he drank away the delicious little bubbles.

“You want to come already?” he asked incredulously, between sharp flicks of his tongue.

“What do you think?” I managed to gasp, half delirious from his teasing. God, I’d craved for this for so long. It was worth the wait.

So,
so
worth it.

“Do you want to come right now?” He opened my legs further apart, fucking me thoroughly with his long fingers. “Or do you want to wait for me?”

“I want both,” I panted, yanking harder on his hair. “I want
both
.”

For what seemed like a torturous eternity, he continued, sucking and stroking me until the orgasm finally hit me hard. It zipped through me, burning my senses, drowning out everything.

When the tremors stunning my body ceased, he pulled me up so I was on my knees and cradled my face with one hand. He didn’t seem to notice the swaying bed as he stared down into my eyes, or my hands shoving his boxers down and reaching ravenously for his cock. 

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out my thoughts. “God, that’s big.” And I would know. Throwing his head back to laugh, I took the opportunity to kiss my way from his throat to his chin, his day-old beard scratching my flesh.

Dragging his fingers through my blond locks, he forced my brown eyes to his. “I don’t want there to be a thing between your pussy and me.”

“I’m smart,” I jerked his erection from head to shaft, stroking until a few beads of liquid glistened the tip. I sucked the pad of my finger to lick it clean, and his hold on my hair tightened at the sight of me tasting him. “And I’m safe. You’ve got nothing to worry about with me.”

It was one of the few honest things I’d told him, and he nodded. “Good, me too.” Repositioning our bodies so that he was lying beneath me, he stared at me like I was a goddess. “You’re beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful.”

“What are you doing?” I whispered when his hands stroked my arms, spreading out over my palms. “Oliver?”

Securing my fingers around the ropes on either side of the bed, he grinned at me wickedly just before he raised my hips and stroked the thick head of his erection over my wet flesh. “I’m giving you
both
. My way.”

––––––––

L
owering my hips, I moaned as his erection gradually filled me.

“Fuck,
this
was worth the wait,” Oliver groaned in contentment, echoing my precise thoughts from earlier, jerking his body up to meet mine until he was totally inside me. I intensified my grip on the ropes the bed hung from, letting my head fall back as I adjusted to his size. And it was impressive—satisfyingly and completely impressive. “When was the last time—”

“Shh.” I grinded against him. “It’s just you and me tonight, remember?” I demanded, turning his very own words against him.

The last thing I wanted to tell him was it had been months since another man had touched me—that I hadn’t touched another man since the call that brought me to him. I couldn’t tell him any of that when he was inside me, his cock throbbing.

Hell, I couldn’t tell him that at all.

“Just
use
me.”

Palming my breasts, he tweaked my sensitive nipples as I moved against him like a woman possessed. The bed creaked and swung beneath the motion of our bodies, but I didn’t mind the dizzying wave anymore. Now it was erotic, a part of the sensual ebb and flow that was our slick bodies.

Surrounding my throat with one hand, he murmured, “Do you like that?”

I moaned in ecstasy at the slight pressure, lolling my head from side to side. With his other hand, he pressed his index finger to my parted lips. “Suck,” he ordered, and I drew the single digit into my mouth, the lingering taste of champagne and my sex coating my tongue.

As soon as that delicious part of his flesh was wet, he reached it between our hips and swirled my swollen clit. “Ohhhhh!”

“That’s it,” he urged, pounding faster into me. I crashed against him, meeting each pump with my own, my breasts bouncing, the sound meshing with that of his balls slapping against my ass. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Can’t get enough?” My question caused the vise grip he had on my throat to tighten just a little, which I took as an invitation to clench my sex around him. He closed his eyes and let out a groan that was almost as shattering as our colliding bodies.

“God, no!”

A moment later, when the first bursts of pleasure threatened to overcome me, his palms spanned my arms again, jerking my fingers roughly from the ropes. When he repositioned us, this time I was on my back with my knees to my chest and my legs over his shoulders. His lips hovered over mine.

“I’ve got to see you when you come,” he rasped into my skin. “I won’t be able to let you leave without watching you come.”

Crossing my ankles behind his shoulders, I struggled to nod, but my body seizing up under him halted it. With my head whipping wildly from side to side, I gave up, my core throbbing with release.

“Perfect,” he panted. “You’re so goddamn perfect.”

Fisting the sheets, I continued to meet his erratic thrusts, until I felt the muscles contract under his slick back. The sensation cleaved through me, starting at my feet and ending at my heart, sending my body into pandemonium all over again.

“Let go,” I whispered. “Let go, Oliver.”

A moment later, he threw his head back. As the orgasm ripped through him, destroying him, his erection continued to slide into me, hard and fast. It evoked an animalistic sound from the back of his throat that pierced the quiet November night.

It left my own throat dry with need.

It made me want to give him everything.

Every. Single. Part. Of.
Me
.

*

W
hen I awoke, I was on my stomach in his bedroom, and it was still dark out. I flipped over to face him, only to discover he was gone, the sheets tangled where his body had lain.

I could smell him.

I could smell him drifting from the sheets, from my naked body, and I couldn’t resist lowering my nose to my bare shoulder and inhaling. Stifling a yawn, I slid off the edge of the bed.

“Oliver?” When he didn’t answer, I padded across the red tile floor toward the door, but the repetitive
thump, thump
noise coming from right outside the window stopped me in my tracks. Frowning, I slid the linen curtains aside.

And there he was. His sculpted chest and mussed brown hair damp with sweat as he leaned back, concentrating on the basketball goal. Lifting his hands, he threw the ball at the net, sinking it with so much ease I couldn’t hold back my grin.

If he hadn’t been injured in college, there was no doubt in my mind he’d have gone pro. He wouldn’t be the executive vice-president at Manning Hotel Group. He probably wouldn’t have been in Emerson & Taylor the day we met. We wouldn’t have touched, wouldn’t have connected—wouldn’t have been anything.

No, that was wrong. He would still be the son of the woman I was desperate to unravel. 

The panicked sound that came from my parted lips startled me, and I blinked away the heat that rose behind my eyelids. Thinking of Margaret was a bitter reminder that I still had so much more to do. I had no idea how much longer something could last between Oliver and me, but I wasn’t about to spend what might be final moments simply watching him. 

I wanted to be in his presence. I wanted to let his intoxicating scent screw with my head as I inhaled it directly from his skin.

Spotting a tee shirt draped over the bathroom door, I donned it, smirking at the sight of my small body in a shirt meant for a six-foot-two man. After I swished some of his mouthwash around my mouth, I strode out to the backyard.

He had earbuds in, and he didn’t realize I was there, so I took that opportunity to admire his lean, muscular physique as he bent his knees slightly and took another shot. It dropped through the net, rolling over to me.

I stopped it with my foot. “You do this every night?”

He faced me, his intense expression softening when he saw me in the moonlight wearing his shirt. “Shit. Did I wake you?” He jogged over, his face etched with concern as he pulled the earbuds out of his ears.

From where I stood, I could hear Eminem and Rihanna’s “Love the Way You Lie” playing. He paused it and stuffed the iPod in his pocket, but the scalding knife of irony still twisted my chest.