“I was?” I ask, trying to recall anything. There is just a slight memory of . . . oh, the dream I had.
Oh boy.
He leans back more, watching me. “Did you . . . Shit. I swear you were.”
“I did that. I was dreaming, and I guess . . . I’m—” I stop because the perfect excuse evades me. Mortified. Horny. Desperate. “Sorry.”
“I’m not,” he says quickly.
“You’re not?”
“Not even a little. I would’ve kept going.”
I watch him warily. “Even though we said we shouldn’t.”
“That was before I slept with you in my arms, and you rubbed your ass on me all night while moaning my name. I’m not that strong. I think it’s clear we both want this.”
My heart is pounding, and all the reasons for not crossing that line are gone. He has no idea how those words curl my toes, but there are so many possibilities where this ends very badly. There are plenty of ones where this goes well. Oliver and I can choose the path that has us both hot, sweaty, sated, and then divorced. No harm, no foul, no feelings.
I want him. He wants me. We are adults. So, let’s get naked.
Fear of rejection keeps me from saying that aloud. I wait, each breath feeling like it takes a lifetime to leave my lungs.
Finally, I muster the courage and speak. “I know I do.”
His hand lifts, pushing a strand of hair back from my cheek. “I want to make you feel good.”
Oh, I want that too. “You have given me so much.”
“I can give you more. Let me make you feel good, Maren.”
“And what then?”
Oliver gives a devilish grin that I want to wipe off his face with my lips. “Then we go on our honeymoon and spend the whole time enjoying ourselves.” He leans in, his mouth getting closer. “We lose ourselves before we have to come back to reality.”
That sounds really fucking good and tempts me with a sense of something I haven’t had in a while—hope.
“Reality sucks,” I say breathlessly.
“Let’s live in the fantasy for a while.”
My hand moves to the back of his head, and I pull him so our lips just barely touch. “I can do that.”
“Thank fucking God.” Oliver moans the words before crushing his lips to mine.
The kisses we’ve shared over the last few days have been tame compared to this. Oliver and I are wild, no holding back as we each volley for control. He kisses me. I kiss him. Back and forth we go until I have no idea who is leading this anymore, and I don’t care.
We are lips, tongues, and gasps, and that works just fine for me. He pushes me onto my back, his body covering mine as I tug up his shirt, wanting to feel his skin.
He pauses long enough to tear it off, and then my hands are back on him, needing to feel his skin. I slide my fingers along his spine, reveling in how each taut muscle pulses beneath me while he kisses my neck.
“I like you in my clothes.”
“I’d like me out of your clothes.”
Oliver rubs his nose down my neck. “I bet I’ll like that too.”
I’m wearing his shirt and shorts, and during the night, the knot I tied to hold the shorts up has loosened significantly. Just moving a little has them lowering. He sits up, removing my shirt.
“You have no idea how stunning you are,” he says, and I blush under his gaze.
I know I’m pretty—not in a snobby way, but that’s never been a complaint I’ve heard before. Even if I’d been totally oblivious to it before I pulled into this town, the way he had been looking at me all week would have convinced me he thought I was attractive.
However, the way he’s staring at me now—full of heat and longing—causes my stomach to flip.
His sculpted chest and broad shoulders are everything I love in a man. Strength radiates from him, and I want to drown in it.
“Oliver,” I say, moving back up to his face. “You are so damn hot.”
How any woman could let this man walk away is beyond my understanding.
I push that thought away because he’s here. He’s mine now, and I have at least five days of fun in my future.
I trail my fingers down his chest and bite my lower lip.
“You’re sure about this?” he asks, his hands going behind my back, pressing our bare chests together.
“I know I want you. I want this. I want to figure out whatever this is between us.”
He rubs his thumb against my lower lip. “And then we walk away.”
I make a soft moaning noise as I kiss his neck, unable to stop myself.
“Say the words, Maren.”
I look into his deep blue eyes. “Then we walk away.”
Oliver’s smirk is cocky and sexy at the same time. “That’s if you can walk when I’m done with you.”
“Do your worst,” I toss back.
“Challenge accepted.”
I don’t have time to draw a breath before he has me flat on the bed. I squirm, but he pulls me closer. His lips are on mine in another searing kiss before he moves down to my chest. His hands are everywhere, touching, kneading, squeezing, and caressing. It’s sensory overload, but also heavenly.
His lips trail to my breast, where he kisses and licks around the tip before taking my nipple in his mouth. I cry out, hips bucking off the bed as he sucks greedily. His tongue moves back and forth, flicking it before I feel his teeth nip the delicate skin.
“Oh, God!” I cry out as his hand moves down my body before slipping under my borrowed shorts. When he finds no fabric underneath, he groans.
“Fuck, Maren. You’re not wearing underwear?”
“I . . . I don’t usually.”
“So, you have none packed?”
I shrug a little. “Not really.”
“Thank the Lord above.”
He tears the shorts off my legs and throws them across the room.
I don’t have so much as a moment to feel exposed before he’s kissing me again, tasting his way down my stomach before going lower. “I’ve wanted to do this for days now.”
“Days?” I ask.
“Weeks, if I’m being honest. Since I saw you again, I’ve wanted to touch you. Then there was that kiss. By yesterday, I thought I might go insane. There you stood in that white dress, so beautiful, smiling at me as if I were some goddamn hero.”
I press my hand to his cheek. “You are my hero.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You have no idea how I feel about you.”
Honestly, I have no idea how I feel. I’m conflicted because I shouldn’t feel anything. I should be nursing a broken heart, not dreaming of Oliver’s touch and mouth and what promises to be a very nice dick.
So, yeah, I don’t know what this means because it’s all crazy.
“Why don’t you tell me.” His voice is low and husky.
“I can’t.”
“Maybe you just need incentive.” He moves lower, pushing my legs apart. “You talk and I’ll lick. If you stop . . . well, I might stop as well.”
“Oliver,” I say, needing him so much. “Please.”
“Please what, sweetheart?”
I turn my head to meet his gaze. “I need you.”