by Marie James
“Olivia,” he says, his eyes as soft as his voice, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
I shake my head. “I thought you…I thought you brought someone else…” my words die off on my lips as I hiccup in a small breath.
He tugs my shoulder and forces me onto my back. I expect frustration, but only find compassion as my eyes meet his, searching.
His thumb whispers across my cheek as his eyes move to my lips. A light flicker of arousal sparks inside me and I lift toward him, meeting him halfway as he leans down.
Warm lips find my forehead, several inches above where I’d anticipated them. I sigh my disappointment. His touch is brief before he pulls away and stands to the side of the bed. Of their own volition, my shoulders slump forward and I tuck my head lower, hoping he can’t read the fading desire I harbor for him to kiss me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the darkness.
“For what?” His voice is just as low as mine, maintaining the intimacy of the moment.
For thinking I meant more to you. For having unwarranted emotions you clearly don’t return. For letting myself hope you would kiss my lips rather than a friendly peck on the forehead.
“Everything.”
“Olivia? What are you—” He turns on the bedside lamp, momentarily blinding me. My hand moves to shield my eyes. Sitting up on the bed to avoid the direct glow from the lamp light, I blink to adjust my sight. “What are you apologizing for?”
“I just read everything wrong, I guess.” I wring my hands in my lap. “I was sort of confused where you stand, but now it’s clear.”
“Is it?” My eyes lift to his at the mirth in his tone. “Are you saying you’re confused about what I want?”
“It’s clear what you want. I’ve tried to kiss you more than once and you’ve backed away each time.”
His eyes soften at my confession.
“So, backing away means I don’t want to kiss you?” I nod. “Liv, I’ve been drinking. If I kiss you now, I may never be able to stop.”
Sincerity is written all over his face as he reaches his hand up, his thumb stroking over my bottom lip. He wants his lips on mine just as I want his. He’s trying to be a gentleman, which I can appreciate, but it’s not what I want right now.
I hitch a shoulder. “I like kissing. You wouldn’t have to stop.”
“Yeah?”
I smile. “I mean, I think I’ll like kissing you.”
“Kissing me would be awesome, beautiful, but it’s the keeping it at kissing that will be difficult, and I don’t want to scare or upset you.”
“So, no kissing tonight.” He smiles bigger when I frown.
“What about one tiny kiss tonight, Liv? Tomorrow, I’ll make out with you for hours, but I have to sleep off my buzz first.”
Heat washes over me at the idea of his mouth on mine for any length of time, but knowing he’s promising hours of attention makes my body hum with anticipation.
“One kiss,” I confirm as he moves closer to the bed.
My eyes flutter closed when his big hand cups my jaw. The contact lights a fire in me that has lain dormant for so long, it’s almost unidentifiable.
“Liv,” he whispers right before our lips meet.
Flutters assault my tummy as he slips his tongue past my lips, tangling it with mine. A decadent shiver races down my spine and goose flesh covers my exposed skin. Flexing fingers gently hold my face in place as the kiss deepens.
When he groans into my mouth, it’s the same noise I know I’d make if I were capable of sound. My hands find the soft fabric of his t-shirt and fist the material, but he pulls back when I try to tug him closer, breaking his lips away from mine.
“Bryson,” I plead.
He meets my lips once more, this kiss more chaste than the tantalizing one before it.
“Tomorrow,” he promises. “Get some sleep, Liv. You’ll need the energy for my crazy sister.”
When the door opens, the beam of light from the hallway flashes over the closed laptop on the end of my bed, and shame washes over me when I realize I don’t regret his mouth on mine.
* * *
The smell of rich coffee fills my nose as I roll over and stretch. Sleep was elusive after Bryson left my room last night, but I finally managed to drift off as the first rays of sun reached my window.
Knowing I’ll find him in the kitchen, I throw on sweats, but leave the hoodie on the floor. My tank top should be a tease enough this morning.
Finger-combing my hair as I make my way down the hall, I wonder when I even started caring about how I look. The change seems so gradual, I can’t pinpoint the exact moment. I duck into the bathroom before meeting up with the handsome roommate I never wanted. A few minutes later, I’m walking into the living room with an empty bladder and fresh breath.
“Wow,” I mutter when my eyes find Bryson sprawled out on the couch.
I trace his carved abdomen with my eyes, following them until they V off at his waist. The blanket from the back of the couch is wrapped around his legs, but has been kicked down enough that there’s no missing his dark boxer briefs or the thick erection testing the strength of the fabric.
My mouth goes dry and my hands tremble.
“Gross, isn’t it?”
I gasp when I realize Emerson is standing right beside me, watching me gawk at her brother. The sound forces Bryson’s eyes to drift open. A seductive smile spreads across his face when he notices me, only to fall the second he sees his sister in the room as well.
“Emmy, will you make me a cup of coffee?” He’s speaking to his sister, but his eyes never pull from mine. The sleepy gruffness of his voice does all sorts of things to my body.
I know I should look away, but that’s a skill I can’t seem to manage right now.
“Yeah. If you put some damn clothes on. No one wants to see that shit!” She turns her back and heads toward the kitchen.
“No one?” he asks, a hint of challenge in his voice. Raising a brow, he moves his hand from behind his head and glides it down stomach. My mouth begins to water as he pauses briefly over his erection before reaching for the blanket over his legs. A low hiss escapes his mouth when he makes contact with himself, the sound echoing in my core.
With a slack jaw and probably drool hanging from my chin, I watch with regret as he covers himself up to the chin.
“Morning,” he says in a still sleepy voice, as if he didn’t just put on an erotic show for me.
I shift my weight on unsteady legs, forcing myself to finally blink.
“C-coffee,” I stammer before hightailing it to the kitchen.
Emerson has three coffee mugs out on the counter, which I find rather generous of her.
“I don’t know how you like your coffee,” she says, pointing to the empty cup.
At this point, I’d consider mainlining it.
Warm arms wrap around me from behind without regard for Emerson standing in the small kitchen. I was wondering how today was going to go and assumed we’d pretend nothing happened until the attraction built up to the point where we were forced to act on it. Clearly, I was wrong.
“Yuck,” Emerson says, scooping up her cup before walking out of the kitchen.
“That couch seriously sucks,” Bryson says near my ear as he pulls my hair back, opening the expanse of my shoulder to him.
“Mmmm.” The sound falls from my mouth when his lips meet the juncture of my throat and shoulder.
“I liked the way you were looking at me a minute ago.” Teeth meet skin and I tremble in his arms.
“Like a deaf mute who doesn’t understand social cues?”
He smiles against my neck. Placing his hand around my waist and flat on my stomach, he urges me back until I’m flush against his body. I moan again as his fingers dig in deeper.
“You looked as if you liked what you saw,” he murmurs.
“You’re very fit,” I pant. “Lots of muscles.”
“And I have a big cock.” As if to prove his very app
arent point, he grinds harder against me.
I somehow manage to keep a lock on the whimper that almost falls from my lips at the contact. “I hadn’t noticed.”
He nips my neck, forcing me to squeal. “Liar.”
“Jesus Christ, Bryson. Just last night you’re refusing to kiss her and now you’re dry humping her in the kitchen. Talk about one extreme to the other.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and turn to face him, my cheeks on fire. I’d completely forgotten she was here.
“Thin walls,” we both mumble at the same time.
He reaches out and brushes his fingers down my cheek before leaning in and giving me a quick kiss, his teeth tugging on my lower lip before pulling away.
I immediately regret not throwing on my hoodie when Bryson swaggers down the hallway and his twin sister’s eyes land directly on my hard nipples.
Embarrassed, I hang my head and start to walk away.
“Nope,” she says just as intrusively as her brother. “Get dressed. I have a full day planned for us.”
I shake my head and look up at her.
“Don’t give me that,” she says, one brow arched, leaving no room for discussion. “I had to watch you make out with my brother. You owe me.”
My eyes widen and the all too familiar tremble begins in my fingertips. She must see the terror in my eyes, because as I’m walking by, she whispers, “Don’t worry, Olivia. We’ll go to a different town.”
Thankful for her foresight, I don’t even let it anger me that Bryson must have told her my pitiful story.
* * *
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Emerson smiles over her iced tea and nods toward the floor full of bags at our feet.
“I haven’t been out in a while. Actually forgot how much I enjoy shopping.”
“You put a hurtin’ on that credit card.”
I smile at her, but don’t respond. My finances, or abundance of money, isn’t something I readily discuss with anyone. Money doesn’t buy everything, and my life is daily proof of that.
“I can see what he sees,” she says with an odd wonderment in her voice.
“What do you mean?” I almost whisper as I smile inwardly. I know who she’s talking about, but it’s the vagueness that has me curious.
“It’s not only that you’re beautiful, because you are, but it’s like this sense of…I don’t even know. Gravity? Urgency, maybe? I’m just drawn to you. It has to be the same for him.”
I clear my throat and dart my eyes away from her. “I don’t know if that’s what Bryson feels.”
Horny, maybe, I add in my head.
“You have that man on a leash, Olivia. Don’t fool yourself. I’ve never seen my brother soft for any woman.”
I give her a weak smile because I have no idea how I’m supposed to react to her words.
Chapter 26
Bryson
“Stop looking at me like that. It wasn’t so bad.” I juggle the bags of groceries and try to unlock the door at the same time, but can’t reach my keys without putting the bags down. Like an idiot, I didn’t want to take more than one trip into the apartment. I angle my hips toward Liv, indicating the keys in my pocket. “A little help please?”
“I told you I could help carry the groceries,” she chides as her hand slides in to grab my keys.
Once she’s close enough, I run my nose up her cheek. “But then you wouldn’t have your hand in my pocket.”
My cock thickens, immediately seeking out her touch, but her hand pulls free before he can reach his destination.
For weeks now, this woman has tempted my resolve, provoking my ability to keep a handle on my willpower. We’ve kissed—oh God, have we kissed—until my muscles ache from the strain of keeping my hands to myself, but things haven’t progressed past that. I’m constantly on edge, suspended in a perpetual state of arousal.
Something changed in Olivia when Emerson was here two weeks ago. I don’t know if it was that first delicate kiss we shared in the lamp light of her room, or the mini shopping spree she had with my sister, but the differences are evident in how she talks, how she responds to my touch, and her willingness to be more open to ideas of living again.
Even though our physical relationship hasn’t progressed much, she’s changing every day. I’ve managed to get her out of the apartment more and more, even up to an every other day arrangement. Today was the grocery store. The day after next, we’ve planned for another visit to the dog park. Early of course, when most people are sleeping.
“Your muscles sure do look good under the weight of all those bags, though.” I beam at her compliment as she slips the key into the lock.
“Just give the word, beautiful, and I’ll strip down and flex like I’m in the Mr. Universe competition.”
She bites her lip as she mulls over the idea, her eyes scanning over my body. I flex deeper for her enjoyment. Not to be outdone, my dick stands at a full salute as well.
“I may have to take you up on that.” She ducks her head, trying to hide the sudden blush on her cheeks and walks into the kitchen.
Soft touches and light grazes have become one of my favorite things, and today is no different. I skim my hand over her back as she bends to organize things in the fridge. I stroke her arms while she pulls groceries from the reusable bags. I feed the fire, giving life to the fantasies I’ll satisfy later when I’m alone in my room.
“How do you know the manager from that store?” I query.
“Owner,” she corrects. “Her daughter and I were friends.”
“College friends?” I know her mother doesn’t live far, but we’ve never talked about where exactly she’s from. I just assumed they moved closer to her apartment when she refused to leave.
“High school. Kacie and I graduated together. We weren’t best friends, but ran in the same circles.”
I take the bottle of salad dressing from her hand and place it in the door of the fridge.
“Top shelf,” she instructs and I pull it out just as fast.
We haven’t discussed a lot of things, including her OCD and germaphobia, but that will end soon. I’m torn between talking about it while she’s in a good mood, afraid it will bring her down, but it doesn’t feel right bringing it up when she’s upset either.
“Where did you go to high school?” I move the bottle to the designated spot without a word. One disclosure at a time is probably best.
“Here. My parents live across town. They wanted to move to an area with more sun, namely the beach, but after Duncan…” her voice trails off, just like it always does when the subject leads back to him.
“Duncan was from here as well?” She nods. “Makes sense. Liam mentioned everyone loved him. Explains the outpouring of support if the kids in college also went to high school with you guys, and why everyone seems to know you everywhere we go.”
“Small town living,” she mutters, folding the bags and storing them under the cabinet.
Her good mood is dissipating rapidly and that’s not something I’m going to let happen—especially on a homework-free, practice-free Sunday. I haven’t been busting my ass all week with schoolwork so I could free up today for her to close down and shut me out.
“How about,” I begin, wrapping my hands around her waist and pulling her against my chest, “we make quesadillas and watch a movie?”
She leans her weight against me, relaxing into my embrace as some of the tension leaves her body.
“Sounds perfect,” she rasps.
Thirty minutes later, we’re climbing on the couch with a pile of chicken and cheesy goodness.
“What are we going to watch?” She lifts the remote and logs into Netflix.
“Well, we watched Hope Floats yesterday,” I remind her.
She sighs. “So, it’s your turn. What’ll it be?”
The screen flashes row after row of movies; most we’ve watched together over the past couple weeks, the others we’ve watched on our own.
“Savages,” I say when t
he highlighted square passes over it.
She takes a minute to read the synopsis, then eyes me warily. “Pot growers with a shared girlfriend?”
“Loads of action and steamy sex scenes. It has everything a great movie needs.”
“Is that something you’re into?” she asks with caution.
“Drugs?” I ask, avoiding her true question. “Not my scene.”
She rolls her eyes, but selects the movie anyway. I could speak the truth. I could put a voice to the fact that, although I may not be her boyfriend, I’m sharing her daily with a man who wanted nothing more than for her to be happy and get on with her life.
A short time later, Olivia is squirming in her seat, quesadillas forgotten on the table.
Blake Lively has nothing on Olivia Dawson, but it’s not a hardship to watch two incredibly sensual sex scenes with the Hollywood starlet in the first fifteen minutes of the movie.
Wrapping my arm around her back, I pull her closer, until her body is against mine. Within seconds, her hand is on my thigh, so close, but seemingly miles away from where I want her—where I need her to be.
“So violent,” she whispers.
“Is that why you’re trembling?”
She pulls her eyes from the movie, raises her head off my chest, and looks up at me. With an almost indiscernible shake of her head, my eyes fall to her perfect lips. Short, harsh pants of breath rush from her mouth, lighting me on fire. She’s seriously turned on, and there’s no way I’m wasting this moment.
Shifting my weight, I pull her until she’s straddling my lap, and groan when the heat between her thighs rests against my straining erection.
Her hands find my hair as my lips hit her neck. Tracing the raging pulse at her throat, my hands snake under her tank top, spanning across the delicate flesh of her back. She arches, forcing her magnificent breasts harder against my chest.
“Olivia,” I plead against her throat before seeking out her mouth.
She whimpers, her hips rotating on their own volition, searing my blood with the contact. I despise whoever created the very first strip of fabric right now, but want to hug the person responsible for yoga pants and thin basketball shorts.
