Before I even sat down, I knew he had poured us champagne, and there were probably cookies for dessert. “Thank you,” I said, staring at his mom’s specialty. “You know how much I love when you cook.”
“You inspire me to want to spend more time in the kitchen.”
I grinned as I took my first bite, savoring the hearty flavor of the Bolognese. “You’re an exceptional chef, Oliver.” I swallowed and took another bite, my eyes closing as the taste melted on my tongue. “Don’t ever stop cooking.”
When I looked at him again, I saw his beard had grown a little wilder. I loved this length and the way his hand brushed over the bottom of it after he chewed.
As he noticed me staring, he smiled. “Six weeks is a fucking eternity.” Hearing him repeat it only emphasized how hard this was going to be. “But then, at least we have another six months together.” He took several breaths. “I’ll take any time I have with you, but you know … you’re going to have to make a choice soon, sweet girl.”
“I know.” I stuck the fork into the mound of pasta and kept it there. “Time has certainly never been in our favor, has it?”
“Not since I met you.” He licked the sauce off his lip. “Always slipping away every time I try to grasp you.”
I left my fork and reached for my napkin. “That’s because I’m not good at good-byes.”
“We’ve had a lot of them.” He took a long drink of his champagne. “I hope, one day, we’ll have forever, and I won’t have to say good-bye again.”
I glanced out the window, the one that was letting in a breeze of Amsterdam and said, “Hope.” I then took in the deepest breath before turning toward those icy-blue eyes. “This is the city for it.”
His gaze deepened. “My sweet, sweet girl.”
Knowing there was no way I could put another bite in my mouth, I rose from the table and straddled his lap. My arms circled his neck, my lips gently pressing to his.
From the moment Oliver had first kissed me in London, I’d felt this wave of warmth pass through me, an intensity that started in his fingertips and traveled through my whole body. The closer we got, the deeper I fell, the hotter his heat became. So, as he kissed me, his fingers touched my face, cupping it in a way that was so original to him, and I was scorching.
But tonight, there wasn’t an urgency in his movements. What he gave me was a slow, building passion that wrapped around us, holding us to this moment forever.
“Chloe …”
He began unbuttoning my shirt and lifted it over my head before he carried me to the bed and pulled off my pants and undergarments. While he was taking off his clothes, I backed up to the headboard so I could watch him. With each piece he removed, memories burned into my mind of the times I’d kissed those exact spots, when I’d run my fingers across them.
“Sweet girl,” he hissed as he joined me on the bed, sliding between my legs.
He didn’t wait for the tease. He made sure I was ready—and I always was with him—and then he was thrusting inside me.
In one, long, deep, powerful stroke.
“Oh God, yes,” I moaned, my head falling against the pillow. My legs circled his waist, keeping him as close as I could. My arms stayed tightly wrapped around his neck, and while he moved in and out of my body, I kissed every bit of his skin I could reach. I passed along the edge of his neck, traveling to his ear and down his chest. “Oliver … I love you.”
My breath came out in pants, each pump of his hips almost taking the air out of me.
We were suddenly moving, and he was lifting me on top of him, setting me on his lap, giving me the view I’d wanted all along—nothing but his handsome face.
While our chests were pressed together, mouths locked, I lowered my body, taking in every inch of him. When I got to the base, I hugged him to me, pulsing as I kept him inside me. And gradually, I began rocking over him, our limbs staying tangled, mine finding a home nestled with his.
“I love you,” I heard.
I gasped at the way his words floated down my throat, and I held them in my chest.
As my hands settled over his shoulders, his went to my face, thumbs on my jaw, and I found that rhythm we both needed. The pace that caused his grip to tighten, forcing a build through my stomach, and when I neared that place I couldn’t return from, my eyes opened.
“Oh God.” I quivered over him.
His thumbs were at the corners of my mouth. “Kiss me.”
I did, and that was when I completely lost it.
An orgasm started at my core, tearing through my chest, rippling up to my fingertips where I was holding him so close that there wasn’t even breath between us.
I felt him come just seconds behind me, his hips giving several hard thrusts, meeting me while I rocked over him.
His hands almost squeezed my face as he emptied himself and moaned, “Chloe.”
When we both stilled, we stayed there in sweaty arms and exhales, and there were even tears while we held on to each other in a way where love couldn’t escape. It stayed just between us, in the windy city of Amsterdam, where it belonged.
And after I spent the night in his arms, Oliver got into a taxi with me. Once we arrived at Schiphol Airport, he had the driver park along the curb of the departure gate.
I stood on the curb, like I had six years ago, while Oliver got my suitcase out of the trunk. I watched his hands work as expertly as they did in the kitchen, lifting the heavy bag as though it were flour. I watched the way his face smiled as he looked at me, moving closer until his palms were on my cheeks.
“Mmm,” I breathed, turning my face so I could nuzzle into his hand.
He said nothing as he stared at me. Once again, our time was limited, as we knew the taxi couldn’t stay parked there forever and I had a flight to catch.
But Oliver took these moments to really look at me, and he finally said, “Six weeks.”
I nodded, and the first tear dripped.
“I know that feels like forever, sweet girl.”
He pulled me against his chest, my cheek now resting over his heart, and I heard the way it was beating for me.
Beating so fucking hard.
“I love you,” I whispered. I reached for his sweatshirt and held the material between my palms, squeezing it into me, my nails stabbing it as hard as I could. “You know I hate saying good-bye, Oliver.”
He looked at me, his thumbs swiping under my eyes. “We don’t have to.” He pressed his lips to mine, his breath filling my lungs before he pulled away and said, “Because even if it hurts … you’re going to come back to me, and we’re going to start making plans for our future.”
“One day, I hope the hurt will finally go away,” I said so softly.
He gazed down at my lips before he briefly kissed them. “I love you,” he finally replied, the words hitting my face, slipping inside my mouth so I could swallow them.
And once I did, I smiled at him and breathed, “You’re so perfect.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand, my chest making it impossible for the tears to stop.
I took a step back, and our arms stretched. And even though I had the suitcase handle to hold on to, I still couldn’t let go of him.
“You know what I’m going to do, sweet girl …”