Authors: Sasha Gold
Olivia
The next morning, I wake up and the first thing I think about it is how it felt to hold on to Luke while we drove on the bike. Ever since I’ve gotten to this house, my thinking has been dominated by the man. I’ve imagined what his touch would be like, and holding him like that has only fueled some wicked desire.
It’s early, barely past daybreak and I wonder if he’s still sleeping.
I slip into a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt and head downstairs. After I grab a banana, I head to the dining room. I have my laptop, along with all the notes of different properties I’m interested in. I’ve narrowed it down to three, and even though I haven’t contacted the realtor, I indulge myself in looking over all the images they have online. I imagine the floorplan and how I would decorate.
I have no furniture. Zero. When I lived with Sage and Ashley, I had two very nice couches, but after Ashley had a party, I found some condom wrappers between the cushions. Yeah. I left those couches for the next owner who was only too happy to have them. I don’t want couches with a history unless it’s
my
history.
While I surf, I’m vaguely aware of the sounds of the house. The floors are hardwood so there’s creaking and shifting, but I can’t tell if Luke is around until suddenly he’s right behind me.
“Do you want me to tell you what we’d be doing right now if we were in my cabin?” he whispers in my ear.
“Bad things.”
“The worst. And now, I have to go run so I can burn off my sexual frustration. I want you…” He lowers his voice. “To come with me.”
I give a breathless laugh at his suggestive remark. He’s right behind me and I feel him looming over me. It activates every single nerve in my body. He’s danger. I know that. And the reckless part of me wars with the cautious. I can’t jump into something with him, not now. I’ve got to finish this deal, and after the deal closes, he won’t be watching over me. He’ll take off on his motorcycle, while I try to figure out what’s next in my life.
“I don’t feel like running this morning. I guess I’m lazy.”
“No sexual frustration?”
“I don’t even know what that means.” Total lie.
He tugs my hair. “For someone so annoying you’re pretty damn cute.”
When he strides past me, I get a good look at the way his athletic shorts hug his ass. He glances back and catches me checking him out. “Sure you don’t want to come with me?”
I shake my head and return my attention to my laptop. The door slams and I’m alone in the house. I spend the next hour trying not to think about Luke running and how powerful his body felt when we were on the motorcycle.
Maybe I should have run with him, I think, as I wander the kitchen. Dutifully, I drink some of the nasty smoothie, but then I’m distracted by Vanilla Oreos. They’re double-stuffed. Of course they are. I wonder if they even manage to sell any more of the non-double-stuffed ones. I eat three and dump the overpriced smoothie down the sink.
I officially give up. I can’t go on a diet while living under the same roof as Luke.
An hour later, he strolls back into the house. Apart from the light sheen of sweat on his brow he doesn’t look like he’s exerted himself much.
“Help me with my push-ups,” he demands.
He heads into the den, a sunny room with a fireplace at one end, bookshelves flanking each side. I can almost picture ladies sitting here a hundred years ago, doing needle work. I love old houses and I’d intended to explore this one a little more, but with Luke here, I’d feel like a creeper.
Luke’s shirt is damp down the spine and he’s flushed.
“Did you run?” I ask.
“I did.”
“How far?” I ask this not because I’m competitive. At all.
“Ten miles.”
I snort. “You’re just saying that because the other day I ran five and you have to up the ante. You don’t even look sweaty.”
“I ran ten.”
He holds up his arm and shows me something that looks like a watch but is really a fit-something or other. A gizmo that counts step, miles, whatever. It clearly shows: 10.3 miles and One Hour and eleven minutes.
Show-off.
He turns to face me and sets his hands on his hips. “Don’t you have some smart-assed remark to make about that?”
“Not a thing.”
A grin spreads across his face, like he just scored some points against me and there’s nothing I can do about it. Which just about sums it up.
“I intimidate you, don’t I?” he asks.
“Not even a little.”
“But I could.”
“You’re crazy about me. Madly in lust.
“Nope. Not feeling it.” His grin fades and he looks thoughtful, sincere, which makes me certain he’s about to strike.
And he does.
“I need weight on top of me while I do my pushups. Usually, we use chains, but obviously my dad doesn’t have those around here, so that’s where you come in.”
“Sure,” I say, trying to sound confident.
“I’m going to do a push-up and you’re going to lie on top of me.”
“Of course I will,” I say, not breaking my gaze.
This is a game of chicken. I’ve played it before, not since I was a little, but I still recognize it for what it is.
He arches his brow. “You okay with this?”
“Pfft, of course.”
“It’s not much different than you riding behind me on my motorcycle.”
He’s doing such a good job acting like this is what people do all the time. I’m swept up in the inappropriateness of the ridiculous offer.
You want me to freaking lie down on top of you. Sure. No problem.
He drops to the floor and gets into a push-up position. “Lie down on my back.”
Not feeling awkward at all, I move in, straddle him and lower my ass to his muscular backside. Shots of potent need heat my skin at every point that my body presses against his. A huff or heated breath escapes my lungs. I ease my back down to his back and settle my legs along the length of his. My head rests on his shoulder, my eyes staring at the ceiling. His body feels like sculpted marble beneath me and I’m waiting for a groan or some other admission of how sexy and wrong this is, but he doesn’t say a word.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Ah, yes.”
“You might need to hold on to me.”
This is crazy. On what planet is it a good idea to lie down on a man while he does pushups? I reach backwards and grip his waist and
then
he groans.
I stare at the vaulted ceiling in disbelief. I don’t do things like this with men. It’s flirty and so, so twisted. I’m cool and professional and detached, but not when I’m around Luke. Then I’m reckless and unsteady and totally open to whatever nasty thing he has in mind.
Luke’s powerful frame flexes beneath me and I’m left without words at the deliciousness of it all. He bangs out pushups like there’s nothing more than a speck of dust on his back. Power and raw, primitive strength ripple along every sinew of his body.
“Holy shit.” The words escape my lips. “Is this why they call you Thor?”
“That’s right. Hold on, I only have ninety to go.”
A breathless laugh slips from my lips which makes me shift a little. To keep from falling, I grab his hips. Such a bad idea. He feels amazing.
“Atta girl.” His voice is a dangerous rumble that charges across my senses, and then he proceeds to bang out the next ninety push-ups while I do the best I can to hold on. When he reaches one hundred he lowers to the floor and lies there silently. I soak in the feel of him relaxed beneath me.
His breathing is a little faster, but nothing like I would expect after doing that. He’s a beast. I’m awed by him and I’m certain he not only knows, but is amused. My dirty mind goes places I wish it wouldn’t, like how would it feel if I’d flipped over, my arms wrapped around his chest, breasts pressed against his shoulders.
His breathing slows. I should get up but he doesn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry to go anywhere.
“Usually I wrap myself in chains.” His voice is husky. “I like this a lot better.”
“Chains?” Unable to resist, I turn and drape myself across him, like a cat, settling in for a nap. Inhaling, I take in his seductive scent. I know I’m playing with fire here, especially after I turned down his offer at the cabin, but I can’t resist him. “That sounds so primitive. I’m happy to offer my services.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Services
. I can’t believe I said that word. Now he’ll make some cutting remark about what he imagines I really do for a living.
He reaches back and swipes me off him, easing me down. The rug is some expensive Persian thing, but it’s soft and plush, a total contrast to the steel of his back and shoulders.
His grin is smug and happiness lights his eyes. I know he’s about to say something teasing or awful.
I set my fingertip to his lips. “Please don’t.”
He kisses my fingers. “Don’t what?”
His kiss detonates shock waves of pleasure through me and my gaze sinks from his eyes to his lips. I want his lips on me almost more than my next breath, but I’m sure he’s about to launch some little verbal grenade.
“Don’t say something about hooking or blowjobs or something gross,” I breathe the words, hating the powerlessness that comes with them. I don’t worry about too many opinions, but I do care about his. The realization is not pleasant.
His smile fades. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“You weren’t?”
The air between us thickens. His playfulness recedes and instead he regards me with something akin to tenderness. The look steals my breath. Maybe we should go back to the mean, teasing remarks. They were a lot easier to handle than this gentle side of him. He slides his leg over me, tugs me closer, keeping me in his gaze the whole time.
“I know you’re not really like that, Olivia. You’re a lot more innocent than you let on.”
I lift my chin. “And you know that how?”
“I just know things. Something in your eyes. When I make a dirty remark, I see it in your eyes. Like I’m hurting you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
“So what were you going to say just now? Something mean?”
“Maybe a little.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Go ahead, then. Give it your best shot.”
“All I was going to say was if you’re going to ride on my back like that when I work out, I need to keep feeding you.” His lips curved again and he lowered to nuzzle my neck. “Pasta, steak, Mexican food.”
His lips brush the curve of my neck. I close my eyes. He slips his fingers through mine. The weight of his hand on mine, his lips on my neck, and the rough stubble of his chin make my thoughts slip. I’m melting beneath him, my icy reserve cracking and thawing under the onslaught of his light kisses.
He cups my chin and turns me to him to receive his kiss. I shudder as his lips brush mine. His kiss is gentle at first, questioning, and when I soften my lips, he growls his approval. He strokes me with his tongue and I feel my willpower crumble.
Luke’s kiss is slow, gentle but commanding. He still has his fingers laced through mine and it seems sweet almost, until I realize he’s holding me there. Even though he’s not exerting any force, he’s my captor. I don’t mind. Not a bit.
He breaks the kiss and when he looks down at me, his eyes are lit with a predatory light. “I’d make you give me control,” he says. “I bet you don’t like it that way, which is why I’d make you submit. I’ll bet you’ve never done that before. I’d take you back to my cabin where no one could find us, and I’d keep you there, maybe forever.”
It sounds so primitive and yet I love it. Warm arousal like I’ve never known floods my body. Dams breaking. Rivers overflowing their banks. Tidal waves rushing to foreign shores.
He gives me a sexy smirk. “Would you let me tie you up?”
I feel heat crawl across my skin. “I’ve never done anything like that. I’ve only had sex with one guy. When I was nineteen.”
He looks at me for a long minute. “That so?”
Luke probably thinks I slept with half the town.
“And I don’t remember how it played out. I was drunk, like throwing up drunk. It was ugly.”
His eyes darken and his hand tightens around mine. “You’re telling me some guy took you to bed when you were so drunk you can’t remember?”
I want to gain some distance from this side of Luke I haven’t seen or imagined.
“Stupid, right? I do a lot of stupid things, but that was a prize-winner. I got tested later and I’m clean, so I guess I was lucky.” I give a dismissive shrug. “So I’m not exactly a sex goddess or anything. He left me a note saying he was better off using his hand.”
He rears up over me and sets a hand on either side of me. If he was angry a moment ago, he is completely unreadable now. He rubs his knuckles along my jaw, a slow brush of rough skin, so heated it makes me imagine sparks. The ice behind his gaze makes me shiver, it holds me captive, pins me so I can’t move until he releases me.
“Who?” he asks, his voice soft. “Who was it?”