by Cassie Cross
I turn, and shimmy out of my shorts. “I was, but the water will wake me up. And I don’t want this new bikini to go to waste.
That gets his attention.
I play with the hem of my sweater, slowly hiking it up before letting it drop just to tease him.
Oliver just stares.
“I thought you said you wanted to see more of me in a bikini and out of one?”
He stands, licking his lips. He reaches back, grabbing the neck of his shirt and pulling it over his head. The shirt gets tossed into the sand.
Oliver rests his hands on my hips, sliding them around to cup my ass. He sucks the spot right below my ear, then skims his lips along my jawline before he kisses me.
“I do remember saying that, yes.”
I shimmy out of his reach and pull off my sweater, tossing it on top of his discarded shirt. Getting the sand out of it won’t be fun, but it’s totally worth seeing the unabashed lust in Oliver’s eyes.
“Well, now you see me in it. And later, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you get me out of it.”
Oliver playfully growls and runs in my direction. I turn and make a beeline for the surf with him hot on my heels.
“Today was a good day,” I say, gently patting some moisturizer into my skin after washing my face. “Having a private beach is nice. I can’t believe I never thought of it before.”
Oliver’s standing at his sink, grinning at me with a thread of dental floss pinched between his fingers. Apparently I’m a distraction from good oral hygiene.
“Not that it’s my private beach,” I reply quickly, correcting myself when I realize how that came out. “It’s yours. But it’s still nice. You should’ve had one sooner.”
Oliver tosses his floss in the trash. “It’s yours too.”
That admission smacks me right in the chest. I’m not really sure what to say to that, and I don’t have much time to think about it because Oliver walks over with that soft look that he reserves only for me, and he swipes his thumb across my jawline.
“You missed some,” he says, leaning in and kissing that spot.
“Gotta stay moisturized.” My voice is a little shaky. I’ll admit that sometimes my pulse kicks up a couple notches when he lingers like this.
“Mmmm,” he hums. “I like you soft.” He kisses my neck.
“Yeah?”
He nods, sliding his hands down the small of my back. “Oh yeah. This jersey is driving me nuts, by the way. You’re torturing me on purpose, aren’t you?”
I smirk at him. I found his old college baseball jersey in the back of his closet when he was moving things into the beach house. I may have hidden it away for an occasion such as this.
“I didn’t think it would be torture,” I say, running my hands down the front, to where I have an obscene number of buttons unbuttoned. I tease him with a glimpse of what he really wants to see.
He groans, looking like he wants to carry me into the bedroom as soon as possible.
“Oliver Warren, he’s our man. If he can’t do it, no one can!” I cap off my sarcastic cheer with a triumphant fist pump, which accidentally exposes my breasts.
That, apparently, is the end of Oliver’s patience.
He picks me up bridal style, and playfully tosses me onto the bed. He licks his lips when he realizes I’m not wearing any underwear, then unbuttons the few that are still fastened, letting the shirt open and fall to my sides.
He leans down and presses a kiss to my pubic bone. “I like you soft here.” Another along my ribs. “And here.” He rubs his stubble against the underside of my breast—making me giggle—then soothes that away with a gentle flick of his tongue. “This is my favorite spot.”
I shift my hips, wanting to feel him against me, needing some payoff to his teasing. “I’ll do my best to keep those soft for you.”
Oliver grins. “I appreciate that.”
He settles himself between my thighs, and my body ramps up with anticipation.
“You didn’t get enough earlier?” I tease, because we just went two rounds in the shower with Oliver making the best of his crazy core strength and using the Power Spray setting on his shower head for things it definitely wasn’t intended for to give me two mind-blowing orgasms.
“There’s never getting enough of you,” he replies, because he’s the sappiest boyfriend ever.
“Awww,” I say, smiling down at him. Then he leans in and presses his hot, open mouth against me, sending me back against the pillows as I grip fistfuls of comforter in my hands. Oliver moves his tongue in maddeningly slow circles, intermittently sucking and licking the way he’s learned I like in the months that we’ve been together.
As usual, he’s incredibly good at reading my body, knows when to back off to make it last, when to speed up and catch me off guard, making me writhe and moan.
I’m overstimulated from all the sex we’ve already had tonight, so it doesn’t take him long to work me up, and when he slips two fingers inside and curls them just right, my back bows right off the bed.
“Oliver,” I say, all tense, ready to break. He knows what I want, and doubles down on what he’s doing, draping his arm across my hips to steady me so he can concentrate. A few more licks and a gentle scrape of his stubble and I fall to pieces around him, melting into the bed in a boneless, breathless puddle. Oliver works me through the aftershocks, and when I finally come down, Oliver rolls over and crawls up the bed to lie beside me.
“You’re really good at that,” I say, still panting as I toss my arm across my forehead.
Oliver wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close, curling around me. “I aim to excel at everything I do.”
I laugh, leaning into his side so I can kiss him. “I didn’t think I would ever in my life say this, but—”
“We’ve had too much sex,” he says, smiling.
“Yes,” I sigh, kissing his shoulder. “I appreciate that you strive for excellence, but...it’s worn me out, my love.”
Oliver laughs, and I feel the rumble of it beneath my ear. We hold each other with steady sound of the waves crashing against the shore as background music, and I draw letters Oliver’s chest to see if he can guess the words.
He’s four for five, completely stumped by pachyderm.
We chat about absolutely nothing as the clock passes midnight, then one, then two. I can’t get enough of talking to him; he’s my favorite person.
When the conversation lulls because we’re both having trouble keeping our eyes open, I rest my hand over Oliver’s beating heart, and he threads our fingers together.
“Will it always be like this?” I ask.
He kisses my forehead. “With us? Yeah.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
I wake up at sunrise on Monday morning with the wind whipping the curtains into Oliver’s room. It’s our last day here at the house. We’re leaving to go back to the city after lunch.
I get a glimpse of Oliver’s feet propped up on the rattan table that sits in front of the loveseat he likes the lounge on in the morning while he drinks his coffee. I wrap the mussed white sheet from his bed around my body, and walk out onto patio.
Oliver sense my presence immediately, and gives me the brightest smile he can manage while his eyes are still puffy from sleep.
“Good morning,” he says, slinging his arm across the back of the chair as an offer for me to come and sit on his lap.
That’s an offer I’ll never refuse. “Good morning.”
Once I’m nice and snuggled up, he leans in and kisses me, then smiles at me warm and bright like the sun. He passes me his coffee cup, and I take a sip, making a face when I remember that he likes it black with no sugar.
“How do you like this?”
He laughs. “If you love me, you love all of me, even my coffee preferences.”
“True,” I say, pecking his lips. “Flaws and all.”
He moves in for a longer, deeper kiss. I run my fingers through his hair, mussing it up.
�
�I do love you,” I say, feeling a little sappy this morning, because the two of us are so domesticated. I can imagine mornings like this for the rest of my life. At one point in my life this would’ve been a scary prospect, but now? I just want more. Forever.
“I love you, too.”
“Whatcha out here thinking about?”
Oliver gives me that long, soft look that I’ve come to recognize as mine. His eyes are full of love, his mouth tilting up in a serene smile. It’s gorgeous.
“I was thinking that we should get married here,” he says, twisting a strand of my hair around his finger.
“Why here?” I ask, genuinely curious. “I would’ve thought you’d want to get married in Portland.”
His eyes widen. “You think about that?”
“Sure.” I don’t feel the slightest bit uneasy about admitting that to him, even though our relationship is still so new. “Why do you want to do it here instead?”
He shrugs, even though I know he knows exactly why. “I bought this house because of the memories I had here as a kid. I plan on owning this house for the rest of my life, passing it on to our kids. I figured there’s no better place to begin our marriage, to start a new legacy for our family.”
The mention of kids makes my heart skip a beat. We haven’t talked much about it beyond the fact that we both want to have them someday. Hearing Oliver make plans for them though…it sets off a wave of want and emotion through me that I wasn’t expecting.
“I think that sounds nice.”
Oliver’s smile reaches his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss. “Is this…are you asking, or…”
“Would it freak you out if I was?”
Maybe it should, but it doesn’t. “No. When you know, you know. But you didn’t answer my question.”
Oliver brushes my hair out of my face. “I love you like this. With your curls wild and that line in your cheek from where you’ve smashed your face into the pillow.” I swat at his hand as he reaches up to run his finger along said line.
“You better love it if you’re planning on looking at it for the rest of your life.”
He laughs. “I’m not asking right now, I’m just planning. I wanted to make sure you and I are on the same page.”
I nod, scratching the stubble that peppers his jawline. “Same book, same chapter, same page.”
He smiles wide, then kisses the breath right out of me.
“Maybe when we get back to the city, we could talk about you moving the rest of your clothes into my apartment. And the rest of your things into my life.” He pauses for a few seconds, like he’s second-guessing what he just said. “If you’d like that.”
“Or you could move in with me.” I’m mostly teasing, because I know Oliver loves my apartment, but absolutely hates the location of it. I can admit that his apartment is in a more convenient area of town for both of us, but…
“Or we could look for a new place together. A little bit of you and a little bit of me to start our life together.”
To start our life together. I like the way that sounds, all permanent and full of possibility.
“Yes, I love that idea.” Building a home of our own and intertwining our lives even more sounds amazing right now. “Maybe we could do it once things settle down with the company? In the meantime I will consider moving more of my clothes to your closet.”
Oliver laughs, and it’s so full and happy that my heart skips a beat. He brushes his lips against mine. “We’ve got time.”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
We have all the time in the world, and a lot to look forward to. And I know Oliver and I will handle whatever life throws at us together, every step of the way.
A year ago, if someone had told me that I would be spending a Friday night in an airport trying to pick up a guy, I would’ve laughed in their face.
A year ago I was still with Ethan.
Back then I would’ve thought that I would be getting married this weekend, not traveling across the country to my best friend Gabby’s wedding. But Ethan had other plans, like fucking some random chick he met at happy hour on my 1,000 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. He thought I was working late. I came home early.
Surprise!
Ethan is the reason I don’t work late anymore. He’s also the reason I promised myself that I wouldn’t fall in love again. I’d be crazy to open myself up to that kind of heartbreak again, right?
Staying out of the dating game is easy, but I would be lying if I said that I don’t miss the scratch of Ethan’s stubble on my face when he kissed me, or that I don’t long for the feeling of his weight on top of me when we were in bed. I suppose that’s why I’m at a bar in the middle of Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, sipping on a cocktail and sitting next to the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.
We’ve been talking for half an hour, both of us waiting out a line of storms that have delayed every outbound plane in the area. I’ve booked a seat on a flight leaving first thing in the morning, and there’s a room waiting for me in the hotel that’s attached to the terminal. I should go up there and get some sleep, or finish one of the many projects that I have going on right now. But there’s something about this man that makes me want to stay right where I am. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly nice to look at.
I don’t even know his name, but I like the velvety look of his close-cropped light brown hair and the sexy ruggedness of the couple of days’ worth of stubble on his face. I like the cool depths of his bright blue eyes and the infectiousness of his smile. I want him, there’s no doubt about it. I want to see him naked at some point this evening, but I’m completely unpracticed in the art of the one-night stand. I have no idea how to be even remotely sexy, but I’m flirting with him shamelessly. And he’s flirting back.
“What happened here?” I ask, tracing the long, jagged scar that stretches out a few inches below his thumb. His skin feels electric beneath my fingers and when I touch him, he looks at me like he never wants me to stop. Unless my raging hormones are making me imagine that, which is entirely possible.
“This?” he asks, leaning in closer as he twists his wrist. “I was rappelling down the side of a cliff and my harness slipped. I reached out for leverage and cut myself.”
“Rappelling?”
He grins. “Yeah, it’s when you descend from a rock face using ropes and-”
“I know what rappelling is,” I say, laughing. “I just thought that you were trying to impress me.” I want to rappel him. Start at his head and work my way down, down, down.
“I am trying to impress you, but that’s actually what happened.” He looks down at what’s left of the beer in his glass, and then he slides to his right a little, until his arm is touching mine. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Any impressive scars?” He smiles again, and its imperfection is endearing. His bottom lip is a little fuller than the top, and one of his front teeth is just the tiniest bit out of alignment with the rest. I’m pretty sure he knows how charming that smile is and the effect that it has on women. He’s using it to his advantage tonight.
“Nothing really impressive, but I do have this,” I tell him, pointing at my chin.
He slides his fingers along the underside of my jaw and tilts my head up so he can get a better look. The pad of his thumb grazes my scar, and I shiver. I hope he doesn’t notice the way my breath catches when he touches me. I don’t want to come off as desperate for him as I actually am.
“What’s the story?”
“It’s not even remotely cool as rappelling,” I say. He looks at me expectantly. “I was at Girl Scout camp when I was, I don’t know…seven maybe? It was my troop’s turn to clean up the mess hall, and we were all running around and acting stupid. One of the girls started chasing me and I tripped, fell, and hit the edge of a bench.”
He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth as he grimaces.
&
nbsp; “Ouch. I guess you’re not good in situations where fleeing is required?”
“I generally avoid situations where fleeing is required, actually. I’m small, so I guess I could always hope that someone would take pity on me and pick me up to expedite the fleeing process and limit the amount of damage I could do to myself while running.” I’m talking way too much, but I just can’t seem to help myself.
“I’d pick you up, but it wouldn’t be out of pity.” There’s a mischievous look in his eyes that makes me want to wrap my body around his, and I’m beginning to get a sense that the two of us might have the same endgame in mind.
“So,” he says, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans. “Are you going to tell me your name?”
For a split second I consider making one up, but even though he’s a complete stranger, it feels wrong to want to lie to him.
“Callie. My name is Callie.”
“Short for…” He draws out the ‘r’ as he searches for a name to guess. “Calliope?” He seems really proud of himself for thinking of another name, and it’s disarmingly cute.
“Good guess,” I tell him. “It’s Callista. And your name is?”
“Nate.”
“Short for…Michael?” It’s an idiotic thing to say, but he laughs anyway.
“It’s nice to meet you, Callie.” My name sounds like heaven when he says it, and he takes my hand in his. His palm is a little rough, and I imagine what it would feel like sliding across the small of my back.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I say. For a very brief moment, I think about asking him where he’s headed, but I decide against it. One-night stands aren’t supposed to get invested, and I don’t even want to know the slightest bit about his personal life, including where he’s from or where he’s going. I wish there was a way for me to turn off my mind and think with my vagina. Sex should be easy, but my brain has a way of complicating things.
“I was pissed when my flight got canceled, but now…” Nate says, looking down at our fingers which are loosely entwined. Somewhere in the back of my head I know that he’s playing me, but I don’t care. I just really don’t care.
