by J. Saman
The next thing I know, he’s pitching me forward, lining his hard cock up with my soaking wet pussy, and then in one hot, deep thrust, he’s inside me. My body tumbles forward from the impact, the air fleeing my lungs.
I gasp, fingers digging into the glass, trying to catch myself.
“Take a breath, Amelia. I’ve only just started.”
His hands grasp my breasts, pushing them up and squeezing the hell out of them. His thumbs roll my nipples and then he unleashes himself in me. I try to speak. Try to say something. But I can’t. The only sounds I’m capable of are moans and whimpers and cries. His hips piston into me, setting a relentless pace as he uses those strong thigh and ass muscles to fuck me.
His hot breath fans against my ear, the pressure between my legs and on my breasts consuming me. “Open your eyes, Amelia.”
I shake my head and I feel his smile.
A rumbling groan hits my neck, his teeth biting into my flesh, and I moan so loud I’m shocked the windows didn’t rattle.
“Open your eyes,” he growls. “Are they watching you? Are they watching you get fucked so hard the only thing holding you up are my hands on your tits?”
“Oliver,” tumbles out of me.
“There it is. I was waiting for that. Do you like this, Amelia? Knowing people are watching you like this? Their dicks hard and pussies wet at the sight of you?”
I shake my head. I can’t. I can’t… “Yes!” Why the hell that’s such a turn-on, I have no idea, but it’s driving me higher, taking me closer. My hands press into the glass so hard I’m worried about cracking it. It’s all that’s keeping me up, that and his hands as he said. My heart pounds like a drum.
“You feel so good, Amelia. So good. I can’t get enough of you.”
He pumps harder and harder, hitting that spot, that sweet fucking spot inside me. It is so good. So good I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can only feel. Feel him as he abuses my breasts in ways I never knew I needed him to. As he consumes every inch of my body.
“Oliver,” I say again, my voice unrecognizable. “I’m…”
“I know, baby. Hold on. Not yet.”
Jesus. I don’t know how much more I can take.
Sweat drips from his forehead onto my fevered skin, his cock sliding in and out of me, his hips and thighs never slowing. Not once. Not even to catch his breath which is harsh and ragged against me.
“You ready?”
And without waiting on my answer, one hand flees my breast and finds my clit. It only takes two circles, a tiny amount of pressure, and then I detonate. I soar. I scream, his name and God’s name, and I can’t stop. Every cell in my body is on fire, my limbs convulsing with the effort to remain upright.
Oliver holds on tighter, grunting and groaning, pressing me against him tighter as he sinks in as deep as he can go one final time, his body stilling as he spills himself inside me.
“Fuck! Amelia, fuck!”
I shake, the feeling of this man like this inside me, losing his mind, practically pushes me over the edge again. I can’t breathe. My heart has never beat like this before. Never.
“Fuck.” He whispers it this time, his body relaxing some of its tension. His lips meet my neck, kissing gently. “Are you okay? Was it too much?”
I want to laugh at that, but I don’t think I’m capable. “You have a dirty mouth and a dirty mind, Oliver Fritz. Can people actually see us?” Suddenly a wave of nerves takes over. As hot as that was in the moment, I don’t think I actually want people to have seen us.
“No. Reflective windows. And I’ve never had a dirty mouth like this before. You bring out an animal from inside me.”
“Good. I like that I bring that out of you. Only me.”
“Only you,” he says to me, his arms wrapping around my body, his dick still inside of me. “Give me ten minutes and we’ll do that again. Only sweeter, slower. I want you, Amelia. I want you all the ways there are.”
I close my eyes, allowing his words to sink in. Allowing myself to believe them. To believe in us. Hoping, praying, we can make it through this. Make it through this madness we’ve placed ourselves in. Needing this to be the start of us when us feels nothing short of impossible.
21
OLIVER
“How is she doing?” I ask my father, holding the phone up to my ear as I pace around my home office in a circle, repeatedly running a hand through my hair and likely making it fall out.
“She’s okay. In a lot of pain and being stubborn about taking medication for it. But I managed to get some hydrocodone into her. She’s sleeping now.”
“And her drains?” I continue, trying to bring myself back to a baseline I can work with. Medicine. “What’s the fluid like?”
“Oliver,” my father reprimands. “Her drains are fine. She’s doing fine. This was all to be expected.”
Yeah, but her recurrent cancer wasn’t, I want to say but hold my tongue. I love my father, but sometimes he’s a bit too pragmatic. Kinda like Carter and Landon in that respect, or maybe they’re like him. Whatever. I don’t care. My mom being sick isn’t something I’ll ever be able to tolerate.
“Okay. Just call me if anything changes. I wish I could come—”
“No,” he cuts me off. “She was clear about that. No visitors until she’s up and feeling better.”
I sigh, shaking my head as I continue to work a hole in my floor. “It’s not weak to be hurting and need the help of your family. She doesn’t have to be like that.”
“But she is. It’s how she was raised. Her world is all about appearances, Oliver. Yours is too,” he says as a warning. “Which reminds me, how are things with Amelia?”
“Good,” I reply, grinning for the first time since I called my father about ten minutes ago, thinking about her this morning. “Really good.” She’s in the other room with Layla right now, playing Scrabble again since Layla loves to show off that huge brain of hers.
“And the girl? Did she get into Wilchester?”
The girl. That’s what he calls Layla. “She hasn’t gotten the official word yet, but it’s looking that way.”
My father huffs a breath into the phone. I haven’t told anyone about what I did to secure Layla’s scholarship. Wilchester was going to give Layla the full scholarship at my request, but only at the expense of another student. They told me point blank, they do not give full rides. In order for them to give one to Layla, they would have to take away from another student. Obviously, I couldn’t allow that to happen, so I paid for the half not covered by the scholarship.
For all four years.
That includes a stipend for uniforms and any technology she’d be required to have.
Amelia has no idea, nor can she ever.
She’d never let that stand, and I know from listening to the two of them talk that a full scholarship is the only way Layla can attend Wilchester. As such, it wasn’t exactly a difficult decision. I had promised Amelia Layla would get a full ride and she is. That’s me holding up my end of the bargain, just not the way we discussed it.
But in addition to Amelia not knowing, neither does my family. First, it’s none of their fucking business. Second, they’d have a lot to say about it, that again, is none of their fucking business. It was my choice, my money, and regardless of what happens between Amelia and me, I have no regrets about it.
Layla deserves this chance. End of story.
“I’m going to ask this again, what the hell are you doing with this woman?”
I grit my teeth, my hand fisting the ends of my hair. “Marrying her,” I tell him, because this shit just pisses me off.
“I get it. She’s beautiful and smart and different from the women you’re used to,” he drones in an almost mocking tone. “She doesn’t throw herself at you or care about your money. Or so you claim. But how do you know that for sure, Oliver? She’s a poor woman raising a teenager by herself, and you wouldn’t be the first rich guy to be taken for a ride at the hands of a pretty face and determined
mind.”
“For the hundredth time, she’s not like that. Not even a little.”
“I hope you’re right, son. I also hope you plan on having one hell of a prenup.”
I hate everything my father says about Amelia, but I also know it comes from love and concern for me. Because he’s right, there are plenty of men who attract pretty women and get manipulated simply because they’re rich. And it’s not like I can tell my father the truth of the situation, so all I can do is stand up for Amelia.
“When we get to that stage of this game, we’ll figure it out,” is my only response because we never will get there. We have a very real and firm expiration date. Something that is now complicated by what happened between us this morning. By the fact that we’re now actually dating.
Another thing I’m trying to learn how to stomach and not freak out about.
I can’t even ask my dad how he knew my mom was the one because he didn’t. Their marriage was essentially arranged. The Abbots and the Fritzes got together and decided their children should wed for financial and power reasons. They only met four times before they said I do and to hear my mom tell it, it took them a long adjustment period to get to know each other and fall in love.
Which they did. Lucky them.
But it’s not exactly the story you tell your grandchildren or write into a fairy tale.
“I’m crazy about her, dad. I wish you could be too.”
“Once I know the real state of her heart and mind, then maybe I will be.” My brows pinch in at that, at the way he phrased it. I’m about to ask him what exactly he means by that when he cuts in with, “I have to go. I think I hear your mother getting up.”
“Okay. Send her my love.”
“I will. Goodnight, Oliver. I love you.”
We disconnect the call and for another few minutes, I continue my pacing, all the while listening to Layla and Amelia go back and forth, shit-talking the hell out of each other the way they do while thinking over my conversation with my father.
At first, when we started this whole thing, I wasn’t sure I wanted my parents to like Amelia. I had decided that it would be better if they didn’t form any sort of genuine attachment to her when I knew she wouldn’t be in their lives very long.
But now… after this morning…
Exiting my office, I make my way down the long hallway to the great room where my girls are playing. I prop my hip against the far wall, watching them unnoticed. Layla is on her feet, doing her victory dance thing she likes to do, all swinging arms and hips.
Amelia is laughing, shaking her head. She’s wearing a Red Sox T-shirt that is beyond old and ratty, as well as those pants that are made to look like player’s pants. It’s the most absurd looking outfit, but Amelia doesn’t care in the slightest. The Sox are on, so that’s how it has to be.
“I’m going to post you like this on Snapchat,” Amelia teases Layla.
Layla scoffs. “Go for it. Tell the world how I whooped your butt at Scrabble. Again. Then I’ll take a pic of you and show off how ridiculous you look in that get-up.”
“Please, girl. This is a winning outfit, here. Besides, I let you win. How else am I supposed to boost your self-confidence though maybe I’ve overdone it at this point?”
“Ha! Nice try. No way on earth you were throwing that game. Did you not see that I got equalize and squeeze? Money. Boom.” She holds out her fist before opening it like she’s doing a mic drop.
“So modest, Layla,” Amelia smarts with an indulgent eye roll as she goes about cleaning up the game, putting the letter back into the bag.
“You know if you keep looking like a weird Red Sox bag lady, Oliver won’t kiss you.”
I hold in my laugh, rubbing at my smile.
“He’ll kiss me if the Red Sox win because I’m wearing this,” Amelia throws back.
Layla drops down into the chair, helping Amelia clean up. “Now that you and Oliver have updated your status from fake to official, do you think he’d let me makeover my room?”
“We’re still not actually engaged. Just… you know… casually seeing each other.”
Casually. That word hits me hard.
She’s not wrong and I get her saying that to Layla since we literally just decided to take things to the next level this morning, but for some reason, hearing her brush us off like that, stings.
I likely shouldn’t be listening in on such an intimate conversation between sisters, but I can’t stop myself either.
“So that’s a no then?” Layla presses as they fold up the board and close the lid over the game.
“That’s a no. We’re not moving in here and you need to understand that people date and things don’t always end with marriage and babies. I care about Oliver, but I worry about you getting attached to him when he and I might very likely not be forever.”
It’s like she just confirmed everything everyone has been saying about her. That the moment this arrangement is over, so are we, and she’s gone. The thought of that pecks at the soft, gooey parts of me that still roil from Nora’s betrayal. I take a step back and then another one, my secret words to her from last night hitting me all over again.
I was going to keep my distance to protect myself. But now, it almost feels too late for that.
“He’s not Travis. Oliver won’t hurt you the way he did.”
Amelia stares down at the now-closed box. “I know he’s not,” she says, but the turbulence in her voice is unmistakable. Evidently, we both still have a lot of fear and trust we’re working on.
“You like him, right?”
My pulse starts to race.
“Yes,” Amelia answers Layla. “I like him. I like him a lot. He’s an amazing man and I love being with him. But it’s new, and like anything new, it’s precarious. Especially given the situation we’re already entrenched in. I’m just trying to protect us both.”
“But you can’t protect yourself from falling in love. Love is love, Amelia. It’s the greatest thing in the world,” Layla protests, her tone indignant, her thoughts innocent if not a little naive. “He’s trying to help us. To take care of us. Oliver is your Prince Charming.”
“A real princess doesn’t need the prince to take care of her, Layla. A real princess does that for herself. Oliver is the best. No question about that. He’s someone who will always care about you and be your friend. But if I ran blindly to him without considering the repercussions of something like that, I wouldn’t be doing any of us a favor. I want things to work out with him, but you are my first priority, and I will always treat you as such. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” Layla says softly, staring at her sister. “I get it. I just want you to be happy the way you try to make me happy. You do everything you can and don’t think I’m oblivious to it.”
“Oblivious is a good Scrabble word,” Amelia quips with a wry smile, clearly trying to change the topic, and this is when I take my cue to enter the room, having heard everything I need to.
“Who won?” I ask like I don’t know.
“Who do you think?” Amelia stands up, taking the box off the coffee table and walking it toward me. “Girl kicked my butt, just ask her.” She reaches me, placing her free hand on my chest and staring up into my eyes with so much warmth and concern, I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt I don’t stand a chance. “How’s your mom doing? I tried calling her earlier, but she didn’t pick up.”
“She’s okay. In a lot of pain.”
Amelia frowns.
“My dad is on it. Making her take her pain meds and rest. I don’t think she’ll let us come visit before she gets her drains out.”
“If I can do anything, please tell me. I want to help.”
I lean in and kiss her lips. Not even caring if Layla sees. “You can put Layla to bed,” I whisper against her so only she can hear.
My thoughts right now are too chaotic, too scandalous to put to rest. I need to lose myself in her, with her. I need to look into her eyes as I sink inside her. I ne
ed to feel her body around mine. I need to snuff this fear out of both our hearts.
I need to stop thinking is what I need to do.
“Layla, Oliver and I need to talk. You good to go to bed?”
“Ugh. Gross. You could stop kissing when you ask me that. Oliver, I can’t believe you’re kissing her in that get-up. All she needs is a bunch of scruffy cats to complete the look.”
I laugh, unable to stop it. “Did the Sox win?”
Amelia turns her head toward Layla, pointing her finger. “See! I told you. This outfit is everything.”
“Not so sure about that,” I say. “But you’re adorable in it. Even if you do look like a crazy cat lady.”
“Ha! I told you,” Layla smarts, grinning from ear to ear. “Can I watch a movie on your massive setup in your media room?”
“Sure.”
“Nothing rated R,” Amelia adds.
“Twilight?”
“Deal,” Amelia agrees. “And no burning the house down with popcorn.”
Layla groans. “You keep harping. One time, Amelia. That was one time.”
I interlace my fingers with Amelia’s and glance over my shoulder in Layla’s direction. “Pick up the landline and hit the pound key. Tell the person who answers that you want movie-style popcorn and whatever candy you like. He’ll get it from the theater around the corner.”
Layla shoots off the couch, fist-pumping into the air.
“Oliver—”
“Amelia, don’t talk him out of it. Please.” Layla holds her hands in supplication, begging Amelia with full-on puppy dog eyes. “Pretty please.”
“Fine. But don’t take advantage.”
“I won’t.” She lets out a gleeful shriek.
With that, I drag Amelia behind me, all the way across the apartment. I don’t care what Layla orders or if she takes advantage. All I know is right now, I need Amelia beneath me. My body inside hers. The door shuts, and I lock it, much like I did in my childhood bedroom. Only this time, there will be no interruptions. This time, I am going to fuck this woman six ways to Sunday.
