by Tribue,Alice
“Don’t. Please don’t go there. I can’t talk about this with you, and I don’t want to. I just want to move on.”
“I understand that, but I need to make sure that you’re okay and at the same time apologize for my part in hurting you. I never meant to make you feel cheap.”
“How did you think I would feel?”
“I guess I didn’t think at all,” I tell her honestly because the truth is I didn’t think about her, not at all. Not one time in this scenario did I think about what I was doing to this girl. “I wanted—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Oliver,” she interrupts. “It doesn’t matter what you wanted, or what I wanted. What’s done is done. All we can do now is move on.”
“How so?”
“I’m off tonight if you want to see me again. I can be ready by seven.”
“Riley, It’s not …”
“Fine. Six, I’ll be ready by six. I’ll meet you at the hotel.”
“You don’t have to do this. Everything is still fresh.”
“We made a deal. So far you’ve stayed true to your word, so I intend to stay true to mine.”
“Okay but—”
“I’m tired, Oliver. I didn’t sleep all that well. Would you mind leaving so I can try to take a nap? I promise I’ll be ready and at the hotel by six.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, but she’s already shut me out. Nothing I say will penetrate her at this point, so I’m not sure it’s even worth trying.
“Fine. I’ll see you tonight.” I agree because I know she needs the space, and I’ve decided that I need to give her that. I’ll try to talk to her again tonight. I stop inches away from her on my way to the door, stare down at her for a brief moment, and press a kiss to her forehead. She doesn’t flinch, but she doesn’t react at all, not even to press herself closer to me. I wanted her reaction … good or bad, I wanted it. Nevertheless, I step away from her and see my own way out of her house, hopeful that things will go better tonight.
CHAPTER TEN
RILEY
Nothing is worse than feeling something for someone and not being sure about how they feel about you. Nothing is worse than giving a damn about a person who quite possibly doesn’t give a damn about you, or anyone else for that matter. I’ve known Oliver for no time at all, yet I can’t stop myself from caring about him. I can’t stop my emotions from being tangled up in the web of bullshit he’s created around us. Oliver and I are messy, and I can’t seem to get my head and my heart to agree on how they feel about him. There’s no way to explain how when he showed up at my front door earlier today, part of me was angry that he was there, but an equal amount was excited. My heart fluttered, actually fluttered at the sight of him.
I want so badly to stay mad at him, but how can I be mad when I’m the one who didn’t tell him the truth from the beginning? He made an asshole decision to bribe me to sleep with him—there’s no denying that. But maybe if I had told him that I was a virgin, he would have done the right thing. I should have told him, but I was just too scared he wouldn’t give my mother her job back. I was too scared we’d end up on the street, so I went along with his idea. I gave myself over to him, even though I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. So I guess, in retrospect, there’s blame to share. Now, what’s done is done, and the only thing left to do is to move on and move forward. I’ve already lost my virginity to the man, so what’s the point of ending things now? What good would that do? I’ve already gone this far to keep my end of the deal, so I may as well go all the way. Besides, it’s not as if it’s a forever type of thing. He’ll be going back to New York soon enough. I’ll be nothing but a distant memory, and he’ll never realize he’s taken a permanent piece of me.
Bringing my car to a halt in front of Oliver’s hotel, I wait for the valet to give me a ticket before getting out and making my way inside. I’m grateful he chose to stay at a different hotel because I would hate to run into my mother while she was at work and have to explain why I’m dressed for an evening out but headed to a guest room. Definitely not the kind of conversation I’d like to have with her.
My heart rate spikes the minute I step foot onto the elevator. The doors close, and I watch the numbers light up as it ascends, taking me closer and closer to another encounter with Oliver. The thing is … the thing I haven’t let myself think about is the fact that what we did, how he was with me … it felt good. The way he worked my body was beyond what I could have ever imagined, and the end result made the pain I felt at the beginning worth it. That’s what makes this so difficult—the fact that my brain doesn’t want to be anywhere near Oliver Parker, but my body is a traitorous whore. I take a deep breath the moment the doors open and quickly walk to his door and knock. No use in prolonging the inevitable; I’m here now, so I stand up straight and hold my head high. He doesn’t need to see how unsure I really am about him and about this.
“Riley.” He says my name as the door opens up. His eyes are warm and inviting, his stance is relaxed, which is a complete contrast from the way he normally is. Gone is his normal suit and tie, replaced by a pair of dark blue jeans and a deep green t-shirt that look insanely good on him. My body reacts instantly to the image before me. He’s like a magnet pulling me in, and it’s a constant battle to keep my wits around him.
I catch a whiff of his cologne as I walk past him. It makes me think of how it felt to have him over me, kissing my neck while he fucked me, and I want to bury my face in the crook of his neck and wrap myself up in him.
Where the hell is that coming from, Riley?
The door shuts behind me, and I can feel him at my back. He’s so close, but he doesn’t touch me right away. I wait patiently for him to do or say something, and my eyes automatically close when his fingers glide along my hair. Pushing it to the side, he lets it fall over my shoulders.
“You look beautiful.” His breath at the nape of my neck is warm. It feels so good; I hate that it feels this exquisite.
“Thank you.” I exhale, and with that, his arm slides around my waist pulling me to him with a gentle tug. Instinctively, my head falls back, resting on his shoulder, and I swear I don’t recognize myself. I don’t know who I am when he’s around. His presence is consuming; it’s intoxicating, and with no effort at all, he makes me forget what’s happening outside these four walls.
“I like this on you.” He gives the material of the pale blue strapless dress a tug. “I like that you wore it for me.”
He runs his nose along the base of my exposed neck as his hand roams. I let out a pleasured sigh, unable to stop myself from enjoying the feel of him.
God, I have no control when I’m around him.
Up until Oliver, the most I’d ever done was kiss a guy or two, so to go from that level of inexperience to standing here damn near willing him to have his way with me is shocking, to say the least.
His hand slips inside my panties, and he practically growls in my ear when he glides his finger back and forth, feeling my wetness.
“Oliver.” I whimper because it feels beyond incredible when his finger lands on my clit. My hand grips at his arm, trying to get him to stop because I don’t think I can just stand here like this while he touches me. I need to get him to move this over to the bed, but he just uses his free hand to hold me still.
“Don’t move, Riley,” he commands, and I shudder at the sound of his words. His grip on me gets a little tighter as his finger glides gently in and out of my pussy. There’s nothing for me to do but stand there and let myself feel every bit of what he’s doing to me. I cry out when he inserts a second finger crooking them both and making a come-hither motion inside me.
“Oh, God.” I moan. The sensations building in the pit of my stomach are indescribable. I don’t know how he does this to me. How he makes me forget everything except how good he is at turning my body against me. I’m so close to the edge when he pulls his fingers out of me, again running his finger through my folds as my breathing slows. When he’s satisfied that
I’ve fully recovered from my nearly there experience, he once again begins circling my clit, gently rubbing it and building me up again. But this time, he moves with an increased sense of urgency.
“Oliver.” I whimper, afraid that my knees are about to buckle. “Please. I’m going to fall.”
He ignores my plea, tautening his hold on me and increasing his rhythm.
“I’ve got you,” he says, and I know he means it. I’m starting to lose all control as he’s relentlessly working my clit. Whispering in my ear, he tells me that I sound so good and how he wants to hear me come for him. At the sound of his words, I fall over the edge, crying out his name while my body convulses.
“That’s it, baby,” I vaguely hear him say while I breathe through the aftershocks of my orgasm. He gently removes his hand from my now drenched pussy and slides the material of my dress back into place. He never lets go of me, not even for a second. He turns me in his arms and tugs my body against him. My body stiffens when I feel his hardness against my belly, but I relax as he splays a hand along the small of my back.
“Hi,” he whispers, softly brushing his lips along my jaw. I want to return the greeting, but his lips make me forget what I was going to say. There’s no time for me to recover when he crushes his mouth over mine. I hesitate, I swear I try to pull away, but it’s no use. The battle is lost when his tongue tangles with mine, not because he overpowers me, but because I completely surrender, angling my head so he can take the kiss deeper.
My hands explore his chest, loving the feel of him and not caring that this is wrong on so many levels. Not caring that this man has basically blackmailed me into being his glorified whore.
So wrong …
I’m dazed and sated by the time he finally breaks the kiss, looking at me through liquid eyes. A strange sense of warmth washes over me, but I still manage to detach my hands from their comfortable resting place.
“I ordered dinner. Are you hungry?” he asks me, and I notice the table set for dinner in the corner of the room. Turning my attention back to Oliver and staring at him with obvious confusion in my eyes, I feel like I’ve entered some sort of alternate universe.
“You ordered dinner?”
“Well, I have to eat, and I assumed that you might not have eaten yet,” he says, placing a hand on the small of my back and leading me over to the table. He holds out a chair for me and pushes it in as I take my seat. My eyes never leave him as I watch him sit in the chair across from me. I thought he’d have me in bed by now after how the evening started, but astonishingly, I was wrong. He wants to feed me. He reaches over and pulls the cover off my plate.
“Butternut squash ravioli with spinach, grape tomatoes, and toasted pine nuts.”
I look from my plate to him, again unable to hide my confusion.
“I ordered steak if you’d rather have that. I just presumed you’d like pasta.”
“I-It’s fine. It looks great.” I stutter a thank you before placing a napkin over my lap and picking up my fork. I avoid making eye contact, and instead, I concentrate on the meal he’s so accurately picked out for me. I stab a piece of ravioli with my fork, and I can feel his eyes on me as I take a bite. It’s unnerving.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I truly am sorry for the way things happened the other night.”
“Why are you sorry?” I murmur, still avoiding eye contact. “You didn’t know. I should have said something.”
I place all the blame on myself, and I hate that I do that. I should be blaming him for his part too, but at this point, keeping the peace is my main priority. Besides, he’s already apologized twice, so I’m pretty sure he’s accepted his part in this.
“Yes, you should have, but given the situation, I can see why you didn’t. I didn’t exactly make it easy for you to trust me.”
“Is that what this dinner is? An apology?”
“It’s just dinner.” He says it casually, and I almost believe him, but I’m quickly learning that nothing about Oliver is what it seems. There’s always something else, something more, an ulterior motive. Even still, that insane attraction I feel toward him won’t go away, and with the way he started the evening, I’m not sure it ever will. I put my fork down, place my hands on my lap, and finally make eye contact.
“Do you think we can just start over? Forget about what happened the other night and move on?”
“Kind of a hard night to forget,” he comments with a smirk that seriously does something to me. “But we can try.”
His voice is smooth and rich, and it goes through me like a drink of whiskey, warming me from the inside. Doing my best to ignore what I’m feeling, I drop my gaze back to the plate, pick up my fork, and continue to eat my meal. He allows this, even though I can tell he’d like to stay on the topic of conversation. He takes my plate once I’ve finished my meal and places it on a nearby tray. I thank him and watch his eyes land on me. My heart rate speeds up when he walks toward me, stopping only a few feet away.
“Are you up for taking a walk?” he asks quietly. Again, he throws me for a loop. He’s asking me to take a walk when he probably should be leading me to the bed and stripping me out of my dress. I mean, that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?
I arch a brow in confusion. “You want to take a walk?”
“Yeah, it’s a nice night. I haven’t really gotten to explore the town since we went on our tour.”
I sit there and stare at him for a moment, wondering what’s going on in his head. Why would he lead me out of his hotel room when he has me conveniently here? His behavior doesn’t make sense, but rather than spend any more time trying to decipher what his motives might be, I agree to take a walk with him. We walk together out of the room, and I try not to tense or think too much about how my entire body tingles when he grabs my hand. He leads me onto the empty elevator, and though there’s plenty of room to spread out, he keeps me close. Very close.
A warm breeze blows the hair off my shoulder as we walk out into the clear night. The streets are unusually quiet, and he keeps hold of me as we stroll down the path, heading closer to the riverfront.
“You’ll be happy to know that your mother is getting along nicely. She’s fitting in and seems to be doing a good job. A definite improvement from the previous employee,” he says, breaking into my thoughts.
“Good. She really likes it; she’s happy.” It’s true. I haven't seen her this happy since before my dad died. Back when we didn’t have to worry so much about where the next mortgage payment was coming from. Things were a lot easier then, a lot simpler; it almost seems like a lifetime ago. It makes me sad to think about it now … Memories that should make me feel happy are just bittersweet.
“How’s the hotel coming along?” I ask trying to shake the hint of melancholy that has crept in. He gives my hand a squeeze and looks down at me with the faintest hint of a teasing smile.
“Miss Sims, am I actually supposed to believe that you care about my work?”
“Believe what you want,” I reply with more sass than normal.
“All right, then I believe you do care. Maybe just a little bit.”
Oh God, is he flirting with me? Would Oliver actually know how to flirt? I doubt the word even exists in his vocabulary.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, hoping that he can’t see the unwanted smile on my face.
“Right.” He gives me a gentle bump with his shoulder, and I wish he would stop being so unlike the Oliver I’ve come to know. More importantly, I wish he would stop touching me so maybe my body would stop betraying me every single time.
“Do you want to stop for a drink?” he asks, the cocky grin still on his face.
“I’m not really in a drinking mood.” Because I can barely keep my wits around him when I’m sober. Oliver and alcohol are absolutely not a good combination for me.
“Yeah. Me neither. I’m kind of in a dessert mood, I think.”
Yeah, I wonder what kind of “dessert” he has in mind. Is tha
t his way of telling me he wants to take me back to his room and screw my brains out? I find myself starting to tense up again, while at the same time feeling stupid and mad at myself for buying into his nice act, when he breaks into my inner tirade.
“Riley?”
“What?” I clip, as we come to a stop because he’s come to stand in front of me.
“I asked if you wanted ice cream.”
And now, I feel like a jerk for jumping to conclusions when he actually did just want dessert. I do my best to school my features and to keep the blush of embarrassment from creeping up to my cheeks. Forcing my best smile, I look up at him and reply.
“Sure, ice cream would be great.”
He nods and smirks at me as if he knows what I was just thinking and finds it amusing. I’m unwittingly providing all sorts of entertainment for him tonight. I look away from him, focusing instead on his shirt, which, by the way, does amazing things for his chest. With a gentle tug, he pulls us into motion, leading us inside the ice-cream shop where we both order cones. We stroll down the riverfront in companionable silence, and I can’t help but think that this feels more like a date than it should. Further proof that Oliver exists solely to mess with my head.
“I think it’s going to be really beautiful.”
“What?” I question, feeling like I’ve just missed something.
“You asked earlier about the hotel. I think it’s going to turn out really well. It’s coming along nicely.”
“When will it be done?”
“Not soon enough,” he mutters with a hint of contempt, and I don’t know why, but it hurts me. I know. Deep down, I know that I mean nothing to him, that finishing this job and going back to New York are the most important things to him, but it still hurts to have it confirmed.
“Is it that horrible for you here?” I ask quietly, trying to disguise any emotion that may be lingering in my tone.
“No.” He responds immediately, coming to a stop and pulling me down to sit next to him on an empty bench. “I didn’t mean it like that, Riley.”