Soon we’re fucking, slow and lazy, sitting on the bed, my arms and legs around him, his hands on my ass, moving me, his mouth in control of mine, his hand on my breast, his scent in my nostrils.
I come with a little gasp that he swallows, and he murmurs how sexy I look as he rolls me to my back and finishes off with the most delicious thrusts of my life.
Soon, I start dozing off.
“Come here. I’ll let you be the little spoon tonight.”
“You been the big spoon often?” I ask groggily.
“Not really but you’re so tiny, I could fit in a couple of you right here. Scoot over.”
I roll to my side and love the feeling of his arm around me.
I turn to face him and tuck my cheek into his neck instead. I’d always loved being held by my dad and brother, it made me feel safe and protected and cared for. But I’d never been held like this by a lover. It’s different. There really is no space between bodies. You go the extra few inches closer so that you smell his skin and feel his heartbeat under your cheek—and while you’re enjoying that you almost fail to realize he’s sort of nuzzling your hair, also enjoying having you this close.
“How many women have you slept with?” I ask.
“If you’d asked me two months ago, I’d say not enough.” He groans and shifts on the bed to his back, and I cuddle his side instinctively.
“And now?”
He props himself up on his elbow and looks down at me, eyes thoughtful and intense. “I don’t know. It’s starting to feel like enough from where I stand.”
“As in, you won’t want to sleep with anybody ever again?” I laugh. “A man with your libido, there’s no way.”
“Don’t be obtuse, Olivia,” he laughs. “No. That’s not what I meant. I meant enough to know when I find one who could put all the other experiences behind me.”
“Not me, though.”
“Why not you?”
“Well, I’ve got six years to go before I’m twenty-eight. I mean, I want to work a lot and establish myself.”
He’s silent.
“Callan?”
“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully, looking down at me with hot eyes.
“Why are you silent? It’s making me nervous.”
“Stop talking, Livvy.” He sticks his tongue into my mouth, shifting me on top of him to caress me and make me realize he’s ready for more.
“So this boss of yours. What does he make you do?”
It’s dawn.
We’re still in bed.
With a total of thirty minutes of sleep for the night.
We’re so fucked.
He lies naked on the bed, slim hips, broad shoulders, the definition of his muscles like a playground under my fingers.
“Aside from sending me to get his coffee twice, sometimes three times because he’s too busy to drink it while it’s hot, my boss pays me to chew on pencil erasers,” I say.
“Waste all the brilliance of that mean little mind?”
“I know, right? Pfft.”
He tilts my chin. “I had a good time last night.”
I feel a tiny twinge as we part. Is this it? Is this all, and how the other girls end up feeling?
“Am I seeing you again,” he asks.
“Excuse me?”
“How’s Sunday for you?”
“I . . . um. Sunday is today.”
He just smiles at me, waiting.
I laugh and nod. “I might be free Sunday.”
“I’ll drive you home to change and pick you up at noon? Wear something comfortable.”
“Wait. What? Where are we going?”
“Let’s do lunch. Maybe some work later. Then dinner.”
Butterflies flit in my stomach as he drives me back to my apartment to hurry to get ready for noon. Okay, Livvy, this is nothing. It’s nothing, really.
But every inch of my well-fucked body knows it’s not nothing. The truth is nothing this man gets involved with could ever amount to nothing.
I’m just afraid to know what this something is.
Monday I have an extra little hop to my step after the fabulous Sunday I spent with Callan.
Mr. Lincoln is back in full swing at the office and he seems pleased with my work.
“In the few weeks I’ve ever taken off due to illness, I’ve never come back to the office to find I’m caught up. Good work, Livvy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lincoln.”
I dive straight into a set of new proposals he asks of me while he meets with Callan upstairs, and later that same day, I get a message on my office messenger from the CEO himself.
Terrace @ 6 p.m.
I read it over several times and can’t help the stupid thudding in my breast.
You know that thing you know that won’t do you any good, but you can’t stop doing it anyway? It’s a little bit like smoking, or getting high, eating too much chocolate, chasing the bad boy. Well that’s what Hot Smoker Guy is to me.
I’m beyond wanting to keep a distance now. I can’t stop getting close. I’m the millionth woman in the universe who’s found her flame and realized she’s just this tiny, fragile little moth, helpless to fly away from it.
I work, and work, and work until my alarm rings, signaling that it’s six o’clock.
I put my stuff away and lock my drawer, then I take the elevator up with mixed emotions. Mainly excitement, and a little dread for the things I can’t help but feel inside me.
I step outside and breathe in the warm summer air. The sun blazes orange on the horizon. I stay clear of the railing but my eyes scan the terrace, side to side, for him.
I spot him in a lounger, checking his phone, a cigarette dangling at the corner of his mouth.
A frisson of electricity runs through me when he senses my presence and lifts his head to look at me, his hair tousling in the wind.
It’s hard to remember he is not my Hot Smoker Guy right now.
Hard to remember my name is Olivia stupid Roth.
“Would it be terrible of me to ask for a hit?” I ask him when our eyes meet.
His lips twitch a little higher, and he pries the cigarette out of his mouth and pats his side.
I head over.
I take a seat, take a drag, exhale and pass it over. He looks down at me with a smile, and I smile back.
It’s 8 p.m. and we’re still on the terrace, with two cigarette stubs in an ashtray on the low table before us when his strong hands circle my waist and lift me to his thigh.
I curl my arms around his shoulders and clutch his hair.
“Not here,” I beg, a soft laugh leaving me.
“Olivia,” he says even as I kiss his full lips, prompting him to softly kiss me back, “if I’m to make you come for every one of those hundred men who failed to do so, we’re going to do this all over the place.”
His voice is thick with desire.
“Have you been thinking of this?” he asks.
I bob my head up and down. “I saw you at the cafeteria and I hated everyone for being there, keeping me away.”
“One of the interns, I think his name is George, wouldn’t stop looking at you.”
“What?” I gasp in surprise, and choke out, “I didn’t notice.”
“I did,” he assures me. “Do you want to know something?” He strokes both my nipples over my shirt with his fingers now. I’m wearing a bright pink bra for his benefit and his eyes darken when he notices it through my cream silk shirt. “I used to like it when you taunted me. I’m not that sure I’ve got it in me to play this game anymore.”
My heart starts pounding.
“I want to punch every guy who looks at you for more than five seconds.” He cups me between my legs, lips curving. “Because I want more of your sweet, wet little bush.”
“Callan!”
“What? Won’t you give me more of this sweet little bush?”
“Stop saying that.”
He grabs my hips and leans close. “Saying what? Sweet, tight little pussy.”
“Don’t.”
“Your perfect, pink pussy.”
“Callan!” I kiss him to shut him up.
“Say it, come on,” he huskily croons.
I come with a little gasp that he swallows, and he murmurs how sexy I look as he rolls me to my back and finishes off with the most delicious thrusts of my life.
Soon, I start dozing off.
“Come here. I’ll let you be the little spoon tonight.”
“You been the big spoon often?” I ask groggily.
“Not really but you’re so tiny, I could fit in a couple of you right here. Scoot over.”
I roll to my side and love the feeling of his arm around me.
I turn to face him and tuck my cheek into his neck instead. I’d always loved being held by my dad and brother, it made me feel safe and protected and cared for. But I’d never been held like this by a lover. It’s different. There really is no space between bodies. You go the extra few inches closer so that you smell his skin and feel his heartbeat under your cheek—and while you’re enjoying that you almost fail to realize he’s sort of nuzzling your hair, also enjoying having you this close.
“How many women have you slept with?” I ask.
“If you’d asked me two months ago, I’d say not enough.” He groans and shifts on the bed to his back, and I cuddle his side instinctively.
“And now?”
He props himself up on his elbow and looks down at me, eyes thoughtful and intense. “I don’t know. It’s starting to feel like enough from where I stand.”
“As in, you won’t want to sleep with anybody ever again?” I laugh. “A man with your libido, there’s no way.”
“Don’t be obtuse, Olivia,” he laughs. “No. That’s not what I meant. I meant enough to know when I find one who could put all the other experiences behind me.”
“Not me, though.”
“Why not you?”
“Well, I’ve got six years to go before I’m twenty-eight. I mean, I want to work a lot and establish myself.”
He’s silent.
“Callan?”
“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully, looking down at me with hot eyes.
“Why are you silent? It’s making me nervous.”
“Stop talking, Livvy.” He sticks his tongue into my mouth, shifting me on top of him to caress me and make me realize he’s ready for more.
“So this boss of yours. What does he make you do?”
It’s dawn.
We’re still in bed.
With a total of thirty minutes of sleep for the night.
We’re so fucked.
He lies naked on the bed, slim hips, broad shoulders, the definition of his muscles like a playground under my fingers.
“Aside from sending me to get his coffee twice, sometimes three times because he’s too busy to drink it while it’s hot, my boss pays me to chew on pencil erasers,” I say.
“Waste all the brilliance of that mean little mind?”
“I know, right? Pfft.”
He tilts my chin. “I had a good time last night.”
I feel a tiny twinge as we part. Is this it? Is this all, and how the other girls end up feeling?
“Am I seeing you again,” he asks.
“Excuse me?”
“How’s Sunday for you?”
“I . . . um. Sunday is today.”
He just smiles at me, waiting.
I laugh and nod. “I might be free Sunday.”
“I’ll drive you home to change and pick you up at noon? Wear something comfortable.”
“Wait. What? Where are we going?”
“Let’s do lunch. Maybe some work later. Then dinner.”
Butterflies flit in my stomach as he drives me back to my apartment to hurry to get ready for noon. Okay, Livvy, this is nothing. It’s nothing, really.
But every inch of my well-fucked body knows it’s not nothing. The truth is nothing this man gets involved with could ever amount to nothing.
I’m just afraid to know what this something is.
Monday I have an extra little hop to my step after the fabulous Sunday I spent with Callan.
Mr. Lincoln is back in full swing at the office and he seems pleased with my work.
“In the few weeks I’ve ever taken off due to illness, I’ve never come back to the office to find I’m caught up. Good work, Livvy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lincoln.”
I dive straight into a set of new proposals he asks of me while he meets with Callan upstairs, and later that same day, I get a message on my office messenger from the CEO himself.
Terrace @ 6 p.m.
I read it over several times and can’t help the stupid thudding in my breast.
You know that thing you know that won’t do you any good, but you can’t stop doing it anyway? It’s a little bit like smoking, or getting high, eating too much chocolate, chasing the bad boy. Well that’s what Hot Smoker Guy is to me.
I’m beyond wanting to keep a distance now. I can’t stop getting close. I’m the millionth woman in the universe who’s found her flame and realized she’s just this tiny, fragile little moth, helpless to fly away from it.
I work, and work, and work until my alarm rings, signaling that it’s six o’clock.
I put my stuff away and lock my drawer, then I take the elevator up with mixed emotions. Mainly excitement, and a little dread for the things I can’t help but feel inside me.
I step outside and breathe in the warm summer air. The sun blazes orange on the horizon. I stay clear of the railing but my eyes scan the terrace, side to side, for him.
I spot him in a lounger, checking his phone, a cigarette dangling at the corner of his mouth.
A frisson of electricity runs through me when he senses my presence and lifts his head to look at me, his hair tousling in the wind.
It’s hard to remember he is not my Hot Smoker Guy right now.
Hard to remember my name is Olivia stupid Roth.
“Would it be terrible of me to ask for a hit?” I ask him when our eyes meet.
His lips twitch a little higher, and he pries the cigarette out of his mouth and pats his side.
I head over.
I take a seat, take a drag, exhale and pass it over. He looks down at me with a smile, and I smile back.
It’s 8 p.m. and we’re still on the terrace, with two cigarette stubs in an ashtray on the low table before us when his strong hands circle my waist and lift me to his thigh.
I curl my arms around his shoulders and clutch his hair.
“Not here,” I beg, a soft laugh leaving me.
“Olivia,” he says even as I kiss his full lips, prompting him to softly kiss me back, “if I’m to make you come for every one of those hundred men who failed to do so, we’re going to do this all over the place.”
His voice is thick with desire.
“Have you been thinking of this?” he asks.
I bob my head up and down. “I saw you at the cafeteria and I hated everyone for being there, keeping me away.”
“One of the interns, I think his name is George, wouldn’t stop looking at you.”
“What?” I gasp in surprise, and choke out, “I didn’t notice.”
“I did,” he assures me. “Do you want to know something?” He strokes both my nipples over my shirt with his fingers now. I’m wearing a bright pink bra for his benefit and his eyes darken when he notices it through my cream silk shirt. “I used to like it when you taunted me. I’m not that sure I’ve got it in me to play this game anymore.”
My heart starts pounding.
“I want to punch every guy who looks at you for more than five seconds.” He cups me between my legs, lips curving. “Because I want more of your sweet, wet little bush.”
“Callan!”
“What? Won’t you give me more of this sweet little bush?”
“Stop saying that.”
He grabs my hips and leans close. “Saying what? Sweet, tight little pussy.”
“Don’t.”
“Your perfect, pink pussy.”
“Callan!” I kiss him to shut him up.
“Say it, come on,” he huskily croons.
