Her Savior

by Sarah J. Brooks

  Dr. Evans and Oliver spent some of the time talking about the lectures; Dr. Evans was, as I had been, impressed with his skills as a teacher and presenter. I contributed to the conversation as I could, but mostly I tried to get a read on if there was chemistry between Oliver and Dr. Evans. I didn’t sense anything, but, of course, I didn’t really know one way or the other. We finished the bottle and the server came by to ask if we wanted another.

  “You two can have another if you’d like,” Dr. Evans said, “but I’m going to beg off and head home. I’ve got an eight o’clock class tomorrow morning and too much red wine doesn’t mix well with that.” She smiled and took out her wallet.

  “Oh, please, Amy, I’ll get the wine,” Oliver said, half standing and reaching his hand out to indicate Dr. Evans should put her wallet away.

  “Well, thank you! I’ll see you both tomorrow night!” She waved to both of us and walked to her car.

  Oliver turned to me. “I hope it was okay that I invited her along. I wanted to make sure that, if she heard that we were out together, that she knew it was innocent.”

  “Innocent,” I repeated. “Of course.”

  He took my hand in his and leaned in toward me. “Plus, it gave me some time to look at you while she was talking.” He smiled and I felt arousal move through me, from his warm hand all the way to the space between my legs, which was growing wet with excitement at his touch.

  “I…” I didn’t know what to say. I felt my skin burning up.

  “You’re very cute when you’re flustered,” he said. “You blush from your chest,” he reached out and touched the very top of my cleavage, “to the tip of your nose.” His index finger lightly tapped my nose and we both laughed. It cut the tension immediately and I relaxed.

  “I know I do. It’s such a pain in the ass. It happens any time I drink wine, mess something up, or if I’m nervous or angry. So, basically, it happens all the time.”

  “Well, it’s nice of you to give the rest of the world a little window into what’s inside your head,” Oliver said. “If I had that, I would never be able to be in the job I’m in now. A poker face is essential, and, if I had any tells at all, I had to get rid of them long ago.”

  We ordered another bottle of wine and, by the time we finished it, I was facing a long ride home on my bicycle.

  “Let me drive you home,” he said. “Or, better yet, would you like to come to my place?”

  I stared at him. He was so confusing! First inviting Dr. Evans out with us, though his reasoning had seemed sound, but he was now inviting me over to his house?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go home with you,” I said slowly, “but I’d definitely appreciate a ride. But, what about my bike?”

  “I’ll have someone bring it by your place tomorrow morning, it’ll be no trouble at all.”

  I nodded, feeling my head swimming from the wine and all of the excitement of the time with Oliver.

  He linked my arm through his and, after paying the bill, he walked me to his car and got me settled in the passenger seat. As he walked to the driver’s side, I rolled my eyes. Great, I thought. You go out with a billionaire and you get drunk. Nice work.

  As we drove, he began to whistle. It was a song I’d never heard before, and I thought about asking him what it was, but I didn’t want him to stop. It was a very soothing sound. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the passenger side window. I thought about inviting him up. Lisa was gone for the rest of the week and the weekend, off on a research assignment in the northern part of the state. She wouldn’t be back until Sunday.

  I looked over at him, contemplating how the invitation would sound if I said it out loud.

  “Yes?” Oliver asked.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’re staring at me,” he said.

  “Sorry,” I said. “And I’m sorry I had too much wine. I feel like I made a lousy impression on you.”

  He pulled over in front of my building, having followed the directions I’d given him to a T. He put the car in park and looked at me.

  “You’re not drunk,” he said. “You’re still speaking quite clearly. If anything, you’re comfortably buzzed. It happens all the time. Do you need help upstairs to your apartment?”

  That was my chance, the opportunity to invite him up. But, I didn’t want him to think I needed help, think that I was so drunk I couldn’t get upstairs by myself.

  “No,” I said, trying to speak as articulately as I could. “I’m fine. Thank you so much for a fun evening. It was really nice to talk with you.”

  “The feeling is mutual, Becka,” he said in a low voice. Then, he got out of the car on his side and came around to the passenger door, opening it and holding his hand out for me to help me out. Holding my hand, he leaned over and brushed his lips against my cheek as I stood. My body heated immediately from his touch.

  “Thank you,” I said again, and, before he could say anything else, I walked quickly up my stairs and into my building.

  I collapsed onto my bed in my clothes and stared at the ceiling, waiting for it to start to spin. His touch was absolutely magnetic, and I could still feel my skin tingling from where he had touched me. I drew my hand to my cheek, feeling the spot he had kissed. I fell asleep that way, and didn’t wake up until nearly nine o’clock the next morning.

  Oliver

  I got home and immediately jumped onto my treadmill after changing quickly into sweats and a t-shirt. I’m not used to not getting what I want, and I had discovered, over the course of two bottles of wine with Becka, that I wanted her. I wanted her tonight. But, that’s what I had my exercise room for; for the times when I knew that I needed to act slowly, pace myself, and take my time. Becka was unique; she wasn’t a one night stand situation. As I ran, I felt my frustrations melt away. I shook my head remembering that I had invited her over to my house. Clumsily invited her. She turned me down. I can’t remember the last time someone did that. It was both infuriating and incredibly sexy.

  I wanted to text her that night, but I didn’t need Megan to tell me that would be too soon. By the morning, though, I had a plan. After I called Megan to have her get Becka’s bike delivered back to her apartment, I texted Becka and invited her over for dinner.

  Good morning! Hope you’re feeling okay. Come for dinner tonight. My chef is amazing and will be thrilled to cook for someone other than just me.

  I clicked send, then paused. I added a second text.

  I won’t take no for an answer.

  I waited, staring at my phone, feeling nervous energy for the first time in God knew how long. I really needed to get a grip on myself. It was a dinner invitation. Like a client. Except not a client. Not even remotely a client.

  The ping of my phone pulled me out of my thoughts.

  Well, if you won’t take no for an answer, then I guess I’ll say maybe.

  I furrowed my brow and was figuring out how to respond; of course that hadn’t been what I meant, when my phone pinged a second time.

  Just kidding. Yes, I’ll come for dinner.

  Relief washed over me and I shook my head at myself. I was acting like a teenager. I texted back.

  Marvelous, and ha ha. I’ll send someone to pick you up at seven.

  Seven o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

  I called my chef and told him that there would be two for dinner. When he asked me what I’d like on the menu, I paused. I didn’t know if Becka was a vegetarian. I wondered if I should text her back and ask her, then decided to go with a vegetarian menu, just in case. The chef said he knew just the thing and that I would love it.

  ***

  I sent my driver to pick Becka up and instructed him to escort her in when they arrived. They were right on time, and I was waiting in the entryway for Becka’s arrival. When she walked in, I could see the shock and awe on her face.

  “You live in a castle!” she exclaimed as soon as she saw me.

>   “Technically, yes, it is an actual castle,” I said with pride. “I had it restored a bit, and it was certainly never used the way medieval castles were used, but this one definitely serves a purpose, past and present. I watched her look around, taking everything in.

  “This place is really intimidating,” she said. “It’s beautiful, of course, but, wow. I mean, you live here by yourself?” I thought if her eyes got any wider they might fall out of her head.

  “I do. Come on into the lounge. We can have a cocktail before dinner. Are you a vegetarian?”

  “No,” she said, following me. She set her purse down on a table in the entry and I smiled. The table cost over a quarter of a million dollars and had probably never had a woman’s purse sitting on it. “I’m a meat eater. That tends to surprise people, given my desired occupation.”

  “Yes, I can imagine,” I said. “Chef is preparing us a vegetarian menu tonight, but I promise we’ll have large steaks the next time.”

  Next time. The words echoed in my head.

  She smiled and tilted her head. She’d caught it too.

  “Come,” I said, exhaling loudly. “Sit. What can I get you?”

  “A glass of wine would be nice,” she said, sitting on the nearest couch.

  We talked while dinner was being prepared and she told me about her family. Becka certainly hadn’t had an easy life. Her father abandoning her, her mother dying of complications of morbid obesity when she was sixteen. She was an only child, like me, and I knew what a lonely life it could be.

  When dinner was ready, we moved into the dining room. The table seated twenty, but I’d had the housekeeper set the end for two. I sat at the head of the table and she sat to my right.

  “Tell me about your family,” she said. “And dinner is delicious, by the way.”

  She was right; Chef had outdone himself. He’d prepared a mushroom risotto, oven-roasted vegetables, and something that neither Becka nor I could pronounce, his own creation, which was divine.

  “I’ll pass your compliments to my chef,” I said. “My family, let’s see. Well, I come from a long line of corporate blood. I’m an only child, like you. My parents passed away when I was in my twenties, both from cancer, and…that’s kind of about it.”

  The lie sounded pat coming from my lips, because I’d told it hundreds of times.

  “I’m sorry you lost your parents,” she said, pausing with her fork to her mouth.

  “You understand how hard it is,” I said. “I think that’s part of why we connect so well.”

  She nodded and took a sip of her wine.

  We continued to talk as we finished the meal, then returned to the lounge where we sat on the couch, our knees nearly touching, as we drank a second bottle of wine.

  “I really can’t believe how big this place is,” Becka said, looking around. “How do you not get lost?”

  “Well,” I said, “before GPS it was hopeless.” I grinned at her.

  She laughed, and I was treated to her beautiful diamond smile once again.

  “I hope I get to give you a full tour sometime,” I whispered. I leaned close to her. I wanted to kiss her more than anything, and her lips seemed to be beckoning me toward them. She looked into my eyes and I saw a lot of emotion in them: desire, fear, joy, and I touched my lips to hers.

  She kissed me back, and, as she pressed her lips against mine, I felt her warm, wet heat against me. I wanted to be closer to her, but I wanted to take my time. I gently explored her mouth with my tongue; she tasted so sweet. She returned my exploration with her own, and our kiss deepened.

  She pulled away and took a deep breath.

  “That was nice,” she said, blushing. I smiled at her.

  “You have beautiful lips,” I told her, running my index finger along her bottom lip. “And beautiful eyes.”

  She dropped her gaze and smile, blushing even more deeply.

  “I should probably get home. Thank you so much for dinner, Oliver.”

  I had already decided that I would not extend an invitation to her tonight to spend the night, nor would I push her to do so in any way.

  “I’ll call my driver to take you home, Becka. Please can we do this again? Your company is refreshing, very different from what I’m used to.”

  She nodded, and, as we walked to the door, she picked up her purse and then turned back to me. She kissed me again lightly on the lips, and then she opened the door and stepped into the car.

  Becka

  I sat back in the back seat of Oliver’s car and sighed, still feeling the tingling of Oliver’s lips on my own. I wanted to scream, dance, shout, but of course I had to keep my cool as long as I was in front of his driver. I cursed the fact that Lisa was gone for the weekend and out of cell range; if ever I needed a girl gab session, tonight was the night.

  Before we arrived at my house, my phone pinged. I took it out of my purse and saw I had a text from Oliver.

  Dinner tomorrow night. Out, this time. A steakhouse. Be ready by 8.

  A smile so wide it hurt my cheeks spread onto my face. I responded immediately,

  Can’t wait.

  I put my phone away and laid back until I felt the car come to a stop. I thanked Oliver’s driver as he opened my door and escorted me to my doorstep.

  In my apartment, I looked at my bed but decided I was far too awake to sleep. Instead, I raided Lisa’s closet and picked out a dress to wear for my date—yes, my date—for the next night.

  When I finally did fall asleep, for the first time but not the last, I dreamed of Oliver.

  ***

  He picked me up promptly at eight o’clock, and his driver, a different man than the night before, drove us to Manifold Steakhouse. I’d never been there, but I knew it by reputation. The maître d’ led us to Oliver’s private table.

  “Again, I’m impressed,” I said, “and a little intimidated.”

  “Don’t be,” Oliver said. “It’s just money. I took the liberty of ordering for us in advance, a very special menu item that requires 12 hours notice. I hope that’s okay with you?”

  I smiled, because he suddenly seemed a little nervous. I put my hand on his.

  “Thank you, that was very sweet. I’m excited.”

  Because he had ordered ahead, our appetizers came with our wine, and, while we were in the midst of a deep conversation about hybrid grapes and their impact on the American wine industry, our dinners came.

  The steak looked absolutely amazing and, when I looked around for my steak knife, Oliver held up his regular table knife.

  “You don’t need a steak knife. It’s tender enough to cut with this.”

  And it was. We ate, ordered dessert, and shared a second bottle of wine. I couldn’t believe how much we had in common and how easy it was to talk to this man who, under other circumstances, I would never have met.

  He paid the bill by nodding to the maître d’ and I just shook my head. He smiled at me. “Just money,” he reminded me. “I’m not magic or anything.”

  “I think you just might be, actually,” I said.

  His driver took us back to my apartment. When he pulled up, I looked at Oliver. I had practiced the line in my mind all day, saying in my head, out loud to the mirror, even to my water bottle. Still, I felt nervous enough I thought I might pass out.

  “Would you like to come up?” I whispered.

  Relief broke out onto his face along with a big smile. “Yes, Becka, I would.” He got out of the car and escorted me from my side. I had cleaned the apartment from top to bottom that day, but that didn’t stop me from pausing just before I opened the door and saying a silent prayer that, while I was gone, a magic fairy had transformed my apartment into, oh, say, a castle.

  Of course no such magic had occurred. I winced as I looked at my apartment as he must be.

  “It’s marvelous,” he said. “Very charming!” He walked around the kitchen and living room, then poked his head first into Lisa�
�s room, then into mine. “Which room is yours?”

  “The last one,” I said. “And I’d give you the grand tour, but you just took it yourself.” I offered him some wine, and we sat on my couch.

  Probably it was too much wine, or maybe my nerves had just reached the point where they needed some release, but I kissed him as soon as we sat down, passionately, and he put his arms around me. I leaned back and he laid on top of me. We continued to kiss and I felt him grow hard, his cock pressing into my thigh.

  “You have a very comfortable couch,” he said through our kiss. “How’s your bed?”

  “It’s even more comfortable than this,” I said. Before I had finished my sentence, he had picked me up. I wrapped my legs around his hips and he held me close as he brought me into my bedroom and put me on the bed. He pulled my dress off over my head and stopped, a look of complete appreciation on his face as he saw my breasts.

  “Wow,” he said. “You’re… breathtaking.”

  I laid down on the bed, clad only in my black bra and panties, and I unhooked my bra from behind. He took off his shirt and undid his pants, letting them drop to the floor. He didn’t take his eyes off of me as he stepped out of them and laid on top of me. His body’s weight on mine was grounding and exciting. I felt his cock, urging to be freed from his boxers, and he kissed my breasts, began to suck my nipples, sucking one while he played with the other with his finger and thumb. I groaned with pleasure; my nipples were incredibly sensitive. At the same time, I drew my hand down between his legs and reached for his cock. It was long and thick and incredibly hard. I smiled, and began to pull his boxers down. He finished for me, then returned to kissing my breasts, my stomach, my thighs.

  When his tongue found my clit, I gasped. He worked his tongue along my inner lips, gliding it up one side, rolling it over my clit, then gliding down the other. He did this until my entire body was a tingling mass.

  “You taste so fucking good,” he said in a low growl. He came back up to kiss my lips and, as he did, I turned and got a condom from my nightstand. He put it on and, in a quick hot second, he was inside me.

  He felt as though he had been made to be in me. We fit so perfectly together, he stretched me in the most pleasurable way I’d ever felt. When he began moving, thrusting up and down, my hips met his and we moved in rhythm together. Breathless, pulsing, I forgot all about who he was and simply surrendered to the passion and energy of my impending orgasm. I felt it coming for several minutes; he would take me to the edge and then back off, watching my face, listening to my moans of pleasure. When he finally let me climax, he joined me, and I felt us surging into one another. When he finished, he moved off of me and allowed me to come down from my orgasm. My breath was rapid and the sounds coming from me were like nothing I’d heard from myself before.