by Olivia Hayle
My hands trail down his chest and taut stomach, finding the zipper of his jeans. "Please, Oliver. Please.”
“One second.” He reaches for something in his back pocket at the same time I manage to get his belt buckle undone. My hand slides inside his boxers.
He hisses as I make contact. Shit, but he’s big. Bigger than I was expecting. There will be some… accommodating to do.
Oliver notices my pause. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll go as slow as you want. Or not at all.”
I catch his lips between mine again. I don't want slow. I want all of him, his hardness and blunt edges, his scars, and his blue eyes. The mixture of dominant roughness and his surprising tenderness.
“No,” I say. “I want you tonight.”
Oliver’s hands close around my waist. “You want what I told about earlier?”
I nod. The words feel too dirty, too harsh to say, but he just lifts an eyebrow. “Do you want me to fuck you hard?”
“Yes.”
God yes.
Something snaps in him. He grips my hips and lifts me off of him, placing me between his legs. Strong hands unzip my dress and it falls, discarded, to my feet. “Take your bra off.”
I reach back and undo the clasp. I’m left standing there in front of him in only my underwear. His gaze is devouring me, inch by inch, searing my skin. He hooks a finger around the lace trim of my panties.
“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”
“So have me.”
He pulls my panties down and bares me to his gaze. Doubt flickers through my mind for a moment as he watches in silence—I shouldn’t have turned on the lights—but then he groans and the sound sends shivers across my skin.
“Fuck, Luce… you’re so sweet.”
Who would have known? Who would have known that this usually taciturn man could make me throb with need, using only his words? That his hands sliding up my inner thighs made me want to weep, or that his hot breath against my pussy felt like heaven?
Oliver tugs me forward and then he kisses me, there. Fingers part me and his tongue leaves fire in its wake, making my nipples harden in response.
His tongue finds my clit, right there, oh yes, and I have to put a hand on his shoulder to steady myself. There is nothing in the world but this.
I can’t think, can’t see. All my senses are focused on the strong expanse of his back and his tousled blonde hair and the heat of his mouth on me.
He wraps an arm around the back of my legs, the other finding my hips, as he continues to use his tongue. The message is clear.
Fall. I’ll catch you.
So I do. I let myself fall apart under his tongue like I never have before. Pleasure builds and crests until I’m nothing but an instrument, one he’s playing to perfection.
“Oliver…” I slide my hand into his thick hair as he flicks his tongue back and forth. He gently slides a finger inside of me, and it's too much. I need him. I need this.
“Oh my god. I can’t—please. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t.
He drives me into oblivion, until I’m coming hard and so strong that I would have toppled over if it wasn’t for his strength. I’m shaking as my muscles clench around his finger.
Oliver gives me a final lick and leans back, his look one of pure satisfaction. I watch him through my afterglow, thinking that I would do absolutely anything he asked of me right now.
The feeling is overwhelming.
“Whoa,” I tell him. “That was… wow.”
He stands and hoists me up as if I weighed nothing. “Your pussy is perfect,” he murmurs in my ear, carrying me to the bed. “It’s mine now.”
Well, I can't argue with that. With the way he touched me, I can’t imagine it belonging to anyone else. He sets me down on the bed, but I rise up on my elbows immediately.
“Off,” I tell him, motioning to his jeans with my hand. “We need those off.”
Oliver grins at my impatience and it nearly kills me. He rarely smiles, but when he does, it takes my breath away. I want to make him smile like that over and over again.
He finishes what I began earlier, unbuckling his belt with deft hands and sliding his jeans off. When he tugs his boxers down, my throat goes dry.
I had felt it, sure, but seeing it… He’s big. He’s also perfect. I’ve never felt like this before—this intense desire to be claimed, to be his, to have all of that inside me. I want to worship at his feet and I want to make him worship at mine.
Oliver pulls out a condom and rolls it on with ease. His body is taut, golden from the sun, chiseled in the rough way that only men who use their body for work are. I doubt I’ve ever seen a man more masculine.
“Scoot back,” he murmurs, and I oblige. He climbs onto the bed and kneels between my legs. Strong hands find my knees and spreads me open, his eyes locked on mine. I see the question in them, clear even through the haze of lust. This isn’t going to be gentle, and it’s going to be fast, and it’s going to change things.
Do I want that?
Yes. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I need to feel him inside of me.
“Oliver,” I breathe.
He pushes into me with a tortuously slow movement, stretching me, and it’s too much. His low groan echoes my own.
He pauses, buried inside me, and bends down to kiss me. The feeling is nearly unbearable. I’m so incredibly full, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t give us both the friction we need. He runs a hand up my thigh and flicks a thumb against my clit.
My hands fist the sheets. “Please.”
“I think I like it when you beg,” he murmurs against my lips. Still, he doesn’t move. The ache inside me is shifting into a dull, steady throbbing. I need him to move. I need him.
I wrap my legs around his waist, running a hand down his back. “Please, Oliver.”
His lips travel to my ear, the faint scruff of his beard against my skin. “Please what?”
The bastard, he's forcing me to say it—he already knows I want him. My hand traces something ridged along his shoulder blade.
I press closer. “Fuck me,” I murmur. “Please.”
He does.
Oh, he does.
Oliver moves with a graceful power that takes my breath away. He rolls his hips and eases out slowly, only to thrust back entirely in one swift stroke. The bed beneath us moves with every movement. All I can do is hold on to him, grasp him as he claims me—just like he said he would.
All concept of time and space has left me. There’s only this, his body moving inside of me, his warm skin against mine. The wide planes of his chest and the tickle of his happy trail against my stomach.
“Come for me,” Oliver demands. He has my hands grasped above my head, his hips rolling so that he hits my clit with every thrust. “I want to feel you clench around me.”
Oh my God.
Can I?
I’m not sure I can.
But his steady movements are too much for any woman to bear. Under his command, the dark gaze and the magnificence of his body, I break apart once again. My lips form his name over and over again, asking him to come too.
He drills into me with unyielding power until I can feel his body harden and grow tense under my hands. He thrusts into me one final, hard time, painful pleasure evident in every line of his body.
I wrap my arms around him as he gives a few faint thrusts. Our bodies are sticky with sweat. His hair is soft through my fingers, his breath hot against my cheek. He's so big, I should feel crushed. It feels impossible that he could fit in my bed, on top of me—in me—and yet I want him to stay here forever.
Our breathing is the only sound in the now quiet room. If it wasn't for Oliver's weight, I feel like I might float away, disappear on a cloud of bliss and lightness.
He lifts himself up. “I didn't mean to crush you.”
“You didn't.”
Oliver disappears into the bathroom to dispose of the condom and I turn over, gripping my
pillow. He really has the most glorious of bodies. Honed and rough around the edges, his tall and powerful muscles made to be admired.
From the back, I see the raised scarring on his shoulder. I'd felt it earlier, through my haze of lust, unable to realize what I was touching.
He stretches out on the bed next to me, shoving his hands under a pillow and turning to face me.
“Hi,” I murmur.
“Hello.”
I reach out and push back a sweaty tendril of hair from his brow. “That was amazing.”
“Thank you.”
I roll my eyes, but I can't stop the smile on my face. This happy, teasing Oliver is my favorite.
“It takes two to tango, you know.”
He reaches out and wraps an arm around my waist. “It was amazing.”
I trace down his neck, along his shoulder-blade. I stop just before the scar. Up close, it's terrible. I can only imagine what must have caused it.
Oliver's smile disappears.
“Does this still hurt sometimes?”
“No.”
I cover the scar gently. I wish there was some way I could take away the pain that he must have experienced, the hurt. I wish he would let me in. I'm not sure what he sees in my eyes, but his voice is tight when he speaks.
“Don't feel sorry for me.”
My hand returns to his hair. “I don't.
He pulls me closer so that our heads rest on the same pillow. His face is devoid of the usual harsh lines, but his eyes are serious.
“I don't know why you came to Claremont, or what you're running from. But you'll always have a job at the ranch.”
I kiss him softly, my hand on the side of his face, telling him more with my touch than I can with my words. His lips are hesitant against mine for a moment before he kisses me back gently.
“Sleep,” he murmurs. “You're safe.”
Tiredness hits me like a wave and I tuck myself closer against his chest. I fall asleep to the sound of his deep breathing, the feel of his skin against mine, and the faint smell of baked bread.
14
Oliver
I slip in and out of sleep during the night. The smell of her skin and soft body against mine wants to drag me under, but the usual restlessness fights back. I get up in the early hours. Her aunt and uncle will get here early to begin baking the new days bread, and I shouldn't be here when they arrive.
Lucy’s twined in the sheets and a smooth shoulder peeks out, as does nearly her entire right leg. She’s sleeping soundly. Her bright hair spreads around her on the pillow like a halo. It still feels unbelievable that she wanted me, that she invited me in. That she asked me to stay.
I want her again even as I pull on my jeans and buckle my belt. The prospect of pulling her warm body close is one that stronger men than me would have difficulty resisting.
One day I’ll kiss her awake and see what she looks like when she first opens her eyes. Maybe she’ll give me a sleepy smile and look at me that way again, the way she had last night, right before she kissed me goodnight.
I had intended to let her sleep, but the longer I look at her, the more I waver. Slipping out without saying goodbye just isn’t an option.
I head back to the bed on quiet feet when her phone lights up. It’s on the floor. It must have slid out of her bag last night, and I bend to pick it up. It’ll do better on the nightstand.
A text she’s received flashes on the screen. My eyes skim it automatically. It’s from someone named Kyle.
Hi sweetheart. I’ve thought a lot about what you said. Call me tonight so we can straighten things out. I love you
Everything inside me goes cold.
What the fuck?
My eyes flicker between the different phrases. About what you said shifts to straighten things out.
Sweetheart.
I love you.
There’s familiarity there, and the implication of both a past and a present. She has a boyfriend.
Maybe they’re on a break, or whatever technicality people use these days, but the fact remains—she’s not really available.
You’re such an idiot, Oliver.
Carefully, I place the phone back on the floor next to her bag.
Claremont is quiet and dark as I walk back up Main Street. No one saw me leave the bakery, but I still pull my cap down to cover my hair.
Fuck.
It’s all can I think, the one word bouncing around inside my head. I’d fucked up royally. What had I been thinking? Why did I have to confess—in the middle of town on a busy evening, no less—how much I wanted her?
It had been her eyes, her soft smile, the reassurance of her touch. The fact that I felt like she genuinely wanted me as much as I wanted her. That she saw me.
Ugh.
She was stunning and funny, gorgeous and kind. She had her pick of men. Had I been so foolish to think she’d left Dallas single and unattached? That I could come in and play the hero? Somehow, I’ve been stupid enough to develop actual feelings for Lucy. But what's worse is that I'd somehow been thinking that she might do the same for me.
A thought strikes me, and it makes me feel sick. I’d told her that I didn’t want her to pity me, but she hadn’t responded. Not verbally, at least. But she’d grabbed my hand and led the way to her studio right after I’d nearly had a panic attack.
She’d talked me through it.
Had it been a pity fuck? I already knew she had a desire to heal and take care of people, to make them feel better. It was a noble impulse—I had admired her for it, damn it. Had I been one of her projects? Make the lonely, screwed up ranch owner feel better for a little while before she would head back to the city and to her boyfriend.
Kyle. What kind of name was that, anyway? It was the name of someone who ate paste in elementary school.
I walk past a half-inflated bouncy castle, stepping on discarded flyers. Everyone has long since left the fair. My truck is the only one left in the dark parking lot.
The engine makes a satisfying roar as I speed along the country road back up the ranch. Whatever satisfaction I’d felt an hour ago is long gone. There’s a reason I don’t date. It’s not for me, and if anything, Lucy Rhodes has helped me remember that.
Sarah’s voice cuts like glass.
“I think it was bigger this year.”
“Mhm.”
“Don’t you agree? There were at least three or four stands I’d never seen before, and the flower vendors came all the way from Acton. I bought this huge hydrangea before we left—you should have seen John’s face!”
“I’m sure.”
“But he can think whatever he wants. You can never have too many flowers.”
I take a sip of my coffee and say nothing. I seldom need to, with my sister.
“Nora and Sophia were so happy you came. They talked about you the whole car ride home.”
“You should bring them to the staff barbecue,” I say. “They love it up here.”
“You’re right, of course I will.” She puts a freshly cut flower into one of thirty little identical vases—small enough to only fit one flower. They’re wildly impractical, but even I have to admit that the dining room looks better with one on each table.
Her voice turns innocent. “Did you show Lucy around the fair?”
“Yes.”
“Did she like it?”
“Yes.” I shove my coffee cup away.
“Descriptions, brother, please.” Sarah rolls her eyes, looking for a moment exactly like she did at age twelve. “I have a good imagination, but I do need some details.”
“We stopped at the dunking booth.”
“Where you dunked Woodworth.” Her grin turns savage. “I heard about that.”
No doubt added to my roster. “I’m sure you did. That one’s crooked.”
She rights one of the small pink flowers with a tsk. “Don’t change the subject, Ollie.”
“From dunking?”
"So there's nothing between you and Lucy, then? I
thought I saw chemistry between you too."
“She’s an employee, Sarah,” I say. My hypocrisy only adds to my self-loathing.
She puts her hands on her hips. “What kind of business do you think you’re running here, exactly? Please tell me where our HR department sits. No? We don’t have one. She’s a massage consultant, she’s the niece of our bread suppliers, and she’s a lovely person. If you think you can’t date your ‘employees,’ you’re either delusional or skirting the real issue.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Drop it, Sarah.”
“And that clearly didn’t stop you from fooling around with the receptionist before our last, Felicia.”
Yes, which had lasted for exactly two weeks before the entire situation became untenable. But I couldn’t tell my sister that.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for Lucy and me to get involved.”
“Fine, fine.” Sarah shakes her head and opens another bouquet of pink, long-stemmed flowers. “I’ll drop it. I saw that you booked a massive wedding for August.”
“Yes. Nearly a hundred-and-fifty people, and with about fifty overnight guests. We’ll be fully-booked.”
“We’ll need to get out-of-town staff again.”
“Yes. Tim’s brother might want to come in.”
“Did you tell them about the spa section? Lucy can do massage treatments on the bride and her bridesmaids on the night before the wedding. It’ll be the perfect set-up. Oh! I could get those silk gowns for them to lounge in, with the print on the back? You know, where it says Bride and Bridesmaid. Oh, and champagne. We have to have champagne for them. Lucy will love it, I'm sure.”
I head to the sink to wash my cup. “If she stays that long.”
“What? Why wouldn’t she?”
“Her life is in Dallas, Sarah.”
“Did she tell you that? I figured she needed a fresh start.”
“Maybe she just wanted a break.”
Sarah shrugs and grabs a handful of the finished vases. “Well, we’ll just have to see, I guess. My money is on her being here for the wedding.”
