by Emilia Finn
“Well, that felt good to hear.” Olivia climbs down again and grabs a length of cotton rope. Climbing onto the chair, she feeds an end through the O-ring, and then down to the fabric ends. “To hear about how unwanted and unnoticeable I am… sure is good for my ego.” She looks down and meets my eyes for a fast second. “I appreciate your kind words.”
“I didn’t say you’re unwanted or unnoticeable,” I huff. “I haven’t made a secret of how much I want you, Olivia. And I can’t seem to not notice you. I said he doesn’t want you. Not really. Maybe he says he does, and maybe he whines enough to make you feel indebted to him, but in his eyes, you’re to be seen, not heard.”
“Yeah, because you listen when I speak.”
“I always listen! I hear you, I just don’t always do what you tell me to do. Free will and all; it’s not just for the women.”
“Charming.” She finishes tying her rope with a roll of her eyes, then she climbs down, repositions her chair, and starts again about seven feet to the left of where she began. Drill in hand, sawdust sprinkling down over her face, she works the steel bit through the wood and creates another weakness for the structure above. “Go away, William.”
“What the hell are you doing?” I move to her, and grab her hips all over again. We’re closer to the edge, and three stories below, there’s nothing to break her fall but concrete and a stray dog. “Did you ask permission to drill holes into those beams?”
“Nope. And I’m not gonna. It’s fine.”
“Did you have someone approve what you’re doing? Ya know, for safety sake and all that?”
“Nope. I trust my handyman skills. It won’t fail.”
“And if it does?”
“Then that would be unfortunate, but also, it would free me of the whole ‘I cheated on my boyfriend’ thing, wouldn’t it? He would forgive me if I’m dead.”
“I doubt it. If you were dead, he would be pissed that his trophy is no longer available to look good at his convenience.”
“Trophy,” she scoffs. “You really know how to make a woman feel good about herself, William. It’s a gift, surely.”
“Surely,” I reply on a grunt and avert my eyes when dust trickles down and tries to blind me. “Olivia, get down off the chair. Please. You’re starting to give me reflux.”
“Probably should consider more dairy in your diet. That helps me.”
She pushes the drill through the timber, creates her new pilot hole, then letting the drill dangle by the cord, she lowers it to the ground and reaches into her pants for the second O-ring. “Almost done here. You didn’t see a second package downstairs, did you? I’m waiting on something, and I’m a little bit excited for when it arrives.”
I think about the main foyer downstairs, the bank of mailboxes, and the lack of any parcels lying around. “Nothing. Maybe it’ll come tomorrow.”
She shrugs and finishes with the nut and bolt. Despite my hands holding her hips and keeping her upright, she easily slides out of my grasp and climbs to the floor to collect her next length of rope. Stepping back onto the chair, she begins tying a knot that I know for a damn fact will unravel before the end of the week.
“Is there anything else you wanted, William? You know, besides the sugar. Because if not, you could probably leave. I’m done up here anyway.” She climbs down off the chair and pats her hands against the thighs of her pants. “The danger has officially ended.”
“A hammock.” I take a step back and study the light gray fabric, the white rope, the beams from which she hung the whole thing. “You did all that to hang a hammock?”
“Uh huh. Looks cool, right? And in the mornings, the sun shines right on this space, which means I can chill out with a cup of coffee and a good book.”
“Don’t you take an early class at the gym most mornings?”
“Uh huh. What’s your point?”
“You won’t be home for the sun.” When Olivia begins collecting her discarded trash, I grab the drill and release the thick steel bit from the end. “You just hung a hammock that you would like to swing in during your morning coffee… except you’re never home in the mornings while the sun is coming up.”
“But maybe at Easter,” she hedges. “I get a day off during Easter.”
“It’s cold at Easter.”
“I also get Christmas day off. Until, like, nine o’clock, anyway. That’s enough time for morning coffee.”
“Christmas day means snow, dummy. You’re gonna sit out here in the fucking snow and hope for a single ray of vitamin D to perk you up for your day off?”
“How about you mind your own business?” She arches a sharp brow and turns away to leave me standing all alone on the balcony. She sashays – sashays! – back into her apartment, and lets the door slam closed to make a clear statement.
Stay the hell out, William Quinn.
But of course, I don’t listen.
I wander inside to the mess she left in the living room – more rope, scissors, loose drill bits, another power cord, and the plastic wrapping the hammock came in – but when she’s not in here, I continue through to the kitchen and find her standing at the counter with a Pepsi in her hand, but her eyes trained on the door with a steely focus.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” I promise her. “Not a single soul. So for as long as you don’t snitch, no one ever has to know what we did.”
Her gaze remains on the door. On the chain lock. “But I know what I did, and I respect myself enough to not accept that kind of behavior.”
“You hold yourself to high expectations.”
She scoffs. “I wouldn’t think fidelity is setting the bar all that high, but okay. Says a lot about you.”
“Burn,” I growl. “That was a solid burn, Olivia, a nice slap at the man you love to hate. But I’ll have you know, fidelity is very important to me… when the person means something. Brenten is an idiot. He’s a seat-filler, and no matter how hard you try to convince us with your hoity-toity speeches about boyfriends and being a good girl, we all know he’s nothing more than a seat-filler. When you find the guy that is worthy, you’re not gonna cheat on him. You’re gonna be so fuckin’ busy loving him and riding the rollercoaster of passion we both know you’re destined for, that you won’t even have a second to consider anything else. Brenten is a stand-in, a trophy of your own, so that you look decent at functions. But I’m not blind, Olivia. Nor am I stupid.”
“Why’d you secure the chain?”
I frown and let my gaze wander back to the door. “Huh?”
“The chain on the door,” she explains. “Why’d you latch it?”
“How many folks have keys to your place?”
She shrugs and brings the can of Pepsi up to her lips. And yet, her eyes remain on the door. “I lost count. A few. Mom and Oz. Ben and Evie. Bean and Mac, since she’s my half-sister.” Finally, her eyes come to me. “Did you know that Bean is my sister?”
“The ballerina Bean? Jamie’s sister?”
“Mm. She’s just as much my sister as she is his. Crazy, huh?”
“I don’t… um… what?”
“My biological father – whose name was also Ben,” she explains, “was married to my mom. They had two little kids and a cute house with a picket fence in the suburbs. But at some point, my father decided he liked what he saw when Isabelle Kincaid walked on by. Her last name wasn’t Kincaid back then, but you get the point.” She sets her soda down with a huff of exasperation. “Ben was married, he had a family at home, and yet, he decided to cheat.”
Her cheeks pale as she brings a hand to her stomach. “Oh my god. It only just hit me now that we both cheated.”
“It’s not the same.” I cross the kitchen and stop in front of Olivia while she descends into her freakout. I grab her face, cup her cheeks, and bring her gaze up to mine. “He was married, he was living with a family, he had responsibilities. What he did was bad.”
“I cheated, William!”
“You are a woman who goes to dinner sometimes
with a dude. You’ve known him for a couple months, you’re not living together, and you’re certainly not fucking married or have kids. It’s not the same.”
“You’re justifying it, then? There are levels at which it’s okay to cheat?”
“No, I—”
“If I told you right now that Brenten and I were done, and I wouldn’t mind getting dinner with you tonight, what would you say?”
“I’d say I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Right. And then tomorrow, a new guy comes to town, and I kinda like what he looks like. Can I go fuck him too?”
“No.”
“But we’re just people who got dinner one time, William! We’re not married, not living together, we have no kids or true commitment to each other. So why the hell are you moving the goalposts? Why is it okay to screw around on Brenten, but not you?”
“Because Brenten doesn’t care about you!” I squeeze her face between my hands, and yank her forward until our lips clash and her breath scorches down my throat.
Tears glisten on her cheeks, and her breath is hot and intoxicating as it races into my lungs, but I hold on anyway and accept her anguished cry when our tongues dance and duel. I adjust my hold, cup her neck, and angle her head until our kiss goes deeper, and when that’s not enough, I reach down and lift her onto the counter so her legs wrap around my hips and her fiery core rests against my cock.
She’s a contradiction of lust and torment. Of longing and her own restrictions. She wants me, but she’s convinced herself that she’s not allowed. She wants so badly to have me without the guilt, and yet, the guilt is internal and unnecessary.
“I locked the door,” I tell her between nipping kisses, “because I didn’t want anyone to come in and find us even hanging out. I’m not going to be the reason you get caught. I won’t be the reason a guy wants to beat on you if you’re seen in the same room as me.”
“Just one more time,” she pants and slides her lips along my jaw and onto my throat. Her teeth nip, her tongue laves, and above it all, the inferno building between her legs becomes almost too hot to touch. “One time, William. Because I want you, even though I’m not supposed to. Even though it’s really bad.”
“It’s not bad to want me, Olivia.” I lift her from the counter and carry her through the living room and into the hall. “I promise it’s not a bad thing to want to be with me.”
“It’s so bad,” she whimpers and bites my neck. Is she punishing me for allowing her to have me? Is she punishing herself? “It’s going to ruin everything I’ve worked for.”
“We’ll worry about it later.”
I step into one of two bedrooms, note the leather couch, the computer console, and canvas prints on the walls. The yoga mat laid out on the floor, the tiny speaker on a tiny shelf in the corner. Office. Not her bedroom, so I back out again and easily carry her weight to the next door while she wars with my shirt.
She leans back and makes herself so much heavier because of her angle, but I don’t stop her as she drags my shirt up and catches it on my chin until my neck snaps back. I’m going to have to ice it tonight, or risk waking with a stiff neck, but in this moment, I can’t find a single fuck to give.
Before we reach the plush bed that homes a dozen pillows, Olivia tosses my shirt, and reaches up to remove her own. She’s already trained today, she’s hosted a class, and rolled around on the mats, which means tiny particles of black mat, along with dust and dirt from the drilling she was doing on the balcony, flutter from her bra and sprinkle between us.
Neither of us pay it any mind; instead, I stop at the end of her bed and toss her down. No finesse, no gentleness, but rather an “oomph” when she lands, and a cry of pleasure, pain, surprise, when I yank her pants down, and several threads pop from how rough I am.
I flick her shoes off, and toss the black pants to the floor, then I kneel on the bed between her legs and push the front of my shorts down. There will be no foreplay today, no warming or teasing. Instead, I press the head of my unsheathed cock against her fiery pussy, and meet her eyes for permission.
No condom, which means she needs to be on the pill.
When she nods without hesitation, and says “We’re good,” I slam to the hilt and roar out the pleasure that washes through my blood like floodwaters after a storm. My hamstrings sing, and my heart races, but I ride her the way I’ve dreamed for years. Hot, mean, savage, and fast, but it’s what we are. Beneath her glamour, and my hunger, we’re just two souls searching for the ability to give and receive pleasure. And not just any old pleasure, but the kind exclusive to us.
“So fucking tight, Olivia.” I groan and pump my hips so hard that my muscles burn. Beneath me, she arches her head back, so I’m met with a view of her snow-white skin, almost translucent above sky-blue veins and a thumping pulse.
She doesn’t look at me, she doesn’t speak; she only closes her eyes and accepts her pleasure with a heavy dose of denial.
“Look at me,” I grit out when I realize that maybe she’s not truly here with me. She might be with him, and if she is, I might break a fucking wall. “Olivia. Look at me.”
I grab her hips when she doesn’t look, I pull her up easily, and flipping our positions, I lay on my back and force her to ride me. “Open your fucking eyes, Olivia.”
I wrap one hand around her hip, use the other to push a red sports bra up so her tit drops free, and rearing up to sit tall, I arch my back and take her nipple between my teeth, sending her wild on my lap.
Her pussy is like a vise, locking around me and pulling me to the edge on every thrust. Her hips move in a smooth glide, like she’s been training her whole life for this one ride, and when I release her tit and look up to her face, my heart skips when her eyes lock onto mine and her pupils pulse wide.
She rests her forearms on my shoulders, bites her bottom lip and swallows her groans of pleasure, but she moves and uses strong thighs to keep her pace smooth. “I’m here,” she murmurs between panting breaths. “I’m right here with you.”
“Good.”
I arch up and take her mouth with mine so our tongues dance and her breath races into my lungs. Her sports bra is awkward to maneuver, but I simply push it up so it stops beneath her chin, pop her second breast free, and jutting my hips up to meet her on her way down, I groan at the fire that sparks in my blood.
I feel her in my stomach, in my core, in my cock, and in every single fingertip. I feel the fire she brings on every breath I take, so heat scorches my throat and makes me woozy, but I ride through the pain, I latch onto her throat when my orgasm threatens to unman me, but when she throws her head back and cries out, her pussy squeezes and drags us both over the ledge.
“Oh god!” she cries out and spasms in my lap.
Her orgasm is like a shot of electricity for us both. She bucks and goes wild, and the more she does that, the more she squeezes me, the more I come and fill her up. My orgasm wrings me out. Jutting spurts, clenching vise, fiery breath, until I’m all out and stars float in my vision.
“Jesus.” Releasing Olivia’s hips, I drop back on her bed and breathe through what may be complete body exhaustion.
She takes all of me, she accepts what we have – fast and dirty – without restraint, so when we’re done, I’ve given all of my energy and simply have to rest or risk passing the hell out.
And shit, but that might be a little embarrassing after a quick fuck with the girl I’ve been dreaming about for years.
“Are you okay?” Her melodic voice penetrates my semi-consciousness and sounds like a smile.
Cracking one eye open, I study her face – her smile – and merely grunt. Because I’m a fucking caveman now, I suppose.
Snickering, she leans forward and rests on my chest so her hot breath bathes my skin, and her racing heart thumps against mine. Her bra sits askew near her throat, and her breasts are a little sticky from sweat, but they’re soft, so fucking soft, and she’s resting, not running.
“You need a bucket or
something?” she murmurs on a quiet laugh.
“Spew bucket?” I ask on a low rumble. “You think I just did a thousand burpees for time?”
“You look like that might be what you just did,” she laughs. “Your face is a little pale.”
“Pain in my ass.”
When I catch my breath and am no longer at risk of passing out – or, ya know, spewing – I roll us again, drop Olivia to her back, and swallow her surprised squeals when she laughs and yelps in one. I slide my tongue against hers, first to swallow her laughter, and now to swallow her groan as I move my hips forward and play with her a little.
“You’re a minx, Olivia. And you seem to think you get to fuck with me.”
“God,” she moans and throws her head back when my hips move a little faster. “I was asking if you were okay. I was being caring and considerate.”
I duck beneath her chin and taste her salty skin. “You were teasing me, because maybe you like to make me crazy.” I push my hips forward and groan at the way my cock refills with the blood that evacuated only a moment ago. “Jesus, Olivia. You’re like fire, but I like it.”
“I like it too,” she whimpers and wraps her legs around my hips. “Maybe you could just keep—”
Her words cut off when I stop moving.
When I pull back, her eyes snap open and whip to mine.
And when I grin and pull out completely, she growls like a mongrel dog.
“What the eff, William?”
“I came. Didn’t you?”
“Well, yes, but—” She groans when my cum slides out and over her thighs.
I look down between her legs, grin when her clit continues to pulse and my semen coats her delicate skin, then I scoop a little up with the pad of my finger, bring it up to her lips, and say a prayer to some sex god when she opens her mouth and suckles every last drop off.
“Mm.”
“Fuck.” I drop back to my ass and tuck myself back inside my pants. “Dammit, Olivia.”
“You tease me,” she sits up and slides her tongue along the ball of my shoulder, “then I tease back. Your cum tastes delicious, by the way. Very healthy diet.”