She cried out and, with her free hand, palmed the back of his head and pushed his face against her breasts.
He eased a second finger inside of her, and she moaned, thrashing her head back and forth on the pillows. “More, Oliver,” she begged. “I need more.”
He groaned in agony. He didn’t know how to give her more and keep his word to keep this just about her. He was at the edge of all reason.
Her grip on his erection changed slightly, and after a moment of uncomfortable pressure, he realized she was pulling him toward the place his fingers filled.
She wanted him inside her gorgeous body.
“Farrah,” he warned, bracing himself as hard as he could with one arm.
“No,” she said on a sob. “I need you.”
“Damn it!” His entire body was shaking.
“Please, Oliver.”
He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, admitting to himself that he wasn’t strong enough to say no. With a shuddering sigh, he eased his fingers from her body.
She whimpered.
“Hold on, beautiful,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her brow. He blindly groped for the end table, jerking the drawer open and fishing around inside until he felt a condom wrapper. He tore it open with his teeth and quickly covered himself.
Last chance to do the noble thing.
He didn’t even hesitate.
Propping himself on both elbows, he slowly lowered his hips until the crown of his erection brushed against her clit.
She moaned and immediately moved her hips, trying to push him inside.
Now that he knew he was going to get a second chance to make love to her, his body was finally calming down, and he had his first opportunity at clarity in a long time. He pulled his hips back, momentarily severing contact, and cupped her face with his hands. “No rush, my baby.” He kissed her softly. “I won’t hurt you again.”
His soft, slow, husky words seemed to wash over her, and, before his eyes, her frantic pace abated.
She turned her face slightly, nuzzling into one of his palms, and smiled up at him. He thought for sure the sight was going to break his heart in two.
She placed her hands on his biceps and stroked upward, over his shoulders and then down his sides. He dipped his head, covering her lips with his, and leisurely licked inside. She moaned, quick and soft, and opened wide for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss.
Those hands of hers kept stroking up and down his sides, and before he realized what he was doing, he was undulating his hips in time with her, sliding his erection up and down against her slick entrance.
Her soft strokes now had a bit of bite to them, her nails scraping over his ribs, her hips synced with his.
The next time he moved against her, the crown of him slipped inside, and he held there. Farrah clutched at his back, her nails digging in, her breathing accelerated. He kissed her chin and then drew back to watch her face.
Slowly—more slowly than he thought he had the strength for—he pushed his hips forward, watching her eyes for any flicker of discomfort, until he was seated to the hilt inside of her.
They both sighed.
Her body’s grip on him was tight. Hot enough to burn him deep down. Pressing his forehead to hers, he drew his hips back and thrust forward once more and then again, forcing himself to keep a measured pace.
Her breathing hitched each time he pulled away, and she released a throaty moan each time he returned, and Oliver knew immediately that he was addicted to her sounds and would seek them always.
She raised her knees on each side of his hips, and on his next thrust, he went deeper than ever before.
He groaned her name and buried his face in her neck, picking up speed. She clasped him to her, winding her arms around him as tightly as they would go. Her fingers wove into his hair, and the scrape of her nails against his scalp drove him right to the edge.
He tried to keep gentle, but his thrusts took on an edge. He made a noise of distress, grappling for control with all of his might, but then she cried out and bit his ear.
“Just like that,” she panted.
He groaned heavy and low, feeling his climax already rising. Desperately, he wedged his hand between their bodies, finding her clit with his thumb and rubbing it in fast, hard circles.
Her nails scored his back down to his ass. She grabbed him there with both hands and furiously thrust her hips into his every movement.
It’s over. Stars shot behind his closed eyes, and a primitive, harsh noise punctuated each of his harried thrusts as his climax erupted.
He barely heard Farrah cry out his name through the cacophonous noise he was making. Immediately after, her hot, slick body seized around him, milking his cock for every drop he had to give her.
He pulled away from her neck, his gaze roaming her face as her eyes widened. She bit into her bottom lip and undulated her entire body in a way that would have immediately sent him over the edge again if she hadn’t already drained him dry.
Her moans tapered off. Oliver brushed a damp tendril of hair from her forehead as he slowed his thrusts to a lazy circling of his hips. His pleasure was achieved, but he did not want to quit loving her body yet. Every move he made now was out of a desire for comfort—for relaxation.
She gave a shuddering sigh and smiled up at him, placing a palm over his heart, which was still thundering.
“You are cured,” she whispered, her eyes soft.
Oliver froze in the middle of a lazy circle of his hips. He closed his eyes slowly. Holy shit. She was right. He’d never experience death because of the Impulse cycle again.
Some dark, heavy, throbbing pain struck his chest. He hadn’t thought about the Impulse the entire time. He’d been more focused on Farrah. On her every response to his touch and how loving her with his body had felt natural and right and like coming home.
That the first thing she’d said to him right after making love was that he was cured…hurt.
Is that what she thought about the entire time? When she cried out his name, was she thinking about his death?
Confused by the lump in his throat, he swallowed hard and clenched his lips together, worried that something pathetic would trip out of them. He forced himself to take a deep breath, and then, grasping the condom, pulled out of her.
She made a noise that sounded like disappointment, and Oliver’s confusion deepened. He rolled to his feet.
She reached out for him. “Where are you going?”
He grasped her hand and bent down to kiss her fingertips. “Be right back.”
He padded into the bathroom and cleaned himself up. Wearily, he braced his hands on the sink and allowed his head to loll forward, hanging down. He indulged in a few minutes to get his thoughts in order and then glanced over his shoulder at the bathtub.
She would be sore.
He turned the faucet on and plugged the drain. As he turned back around, he caught a glimpse of his back in the mirror and saw the already-fading claw marks Farrah had given him.
With a quick grin, he craned his neck to see them better. She’d marked him up good from his shoulders all the way down to his ass. He was only sorry that they were healing so quickly. He’d have liked to see them again in the morning.
She’ll just have to give me more.
The thought was so natural and optimistic, that Oliver didn’t fully realize the import of it for a few seconds.
His grin vanished.
She would be leaving tomorrow.
He cleared his throat and left the bathroom. He found Farrah dozing in their bed—his bed—and his heart lurched in her direction as soon as he clapped eyes on her. “Baby,” he whispered, leaning over her and brushing a thumb down her cheek.
“Hmm?”
“I’m making you a bath.”
She sighed and smiled, her eyes fluttering open. She held her arms up to him, and, like they’d done this a thousand times, Oliver scooped her up against his chest. He kissed her temple and ca
rried her into the bathroom, depositing her gently in the tub. He smoothed her hair back.
She grabbed his wrist. “Join me?”
His throat dried out. “Give me a minute.”
She kissed his forearm, and he had to fight himself to leave. He trudged back into the bedroom, quickly stripped the sheets, and remade the bed before nearly sprinting back into the bathroom.
She sent a dazzling grin his direction as soon as he entered the room, and then she sat up and scooted forward. He slipped in behind her, settled her against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her.
She’s leaving tomorrow.
Oliver didn’t know if he’d ever felt such utter sorrow, and it made no sense. He’d done it: he could have his life back now.
But for some reason, all he could think about was how she’d never taught him to make firni. How he’d never shown her the rest of the original Star Wars trilogy. How he’d never gotten to taste her between her legs and lick her orgasm down.
As she drifted off to sleep in their bath, the water cooling around them, Oliver’s chaotic thoughts boiled down to one:
He wasn’t ready for her to go.
22
It took Farrah a while to realize that the erotic dream she was having about Oliver was, in fact, reality. In her dream, he was spread out on his belly between her legs. His tongue was hot and soft as he suckled on her most sensitive parts, and his hair was tickling the insides of her thighs.
But, when she reached down in real life and was able to weave her fingers through that hair, she woke up with a moan, already at the verge of climax.
“O-Oliver?”
A soft kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Morning, baby.” He returned to licking her intimately again.
Oh, my goodness. This was wicked. It was heavenly. It absolutely must continue. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and he grunted. Horrified that she’d hurt him, she jerked her hands away, which, even more distressingly, made him stop what he was doing.
“Put ‘em back. Now.”
A direct order. She hesitated a moment, but, needing to feel him touch her in this new way, she put her hands back in his hair.
“Now, don’t hold back.” Immediately after he said the words, his mouth opened over her…clit—the word he’d used repeatedly last night.
The things he’d whispered in her ear, things he did not even seem to realize he was saying, should have scandalized her. They were filthier than anything she could have ever imagined. Clit and cock were the mildest things he poured into her ear in that gravelly, panting voice.
He couldn’t talk dirty to her now with his mouth otherwise occupied, but the loss was a sacrifice she was willing to make as he licked her thoroughly, bringing her to completion in a matter of seconds.
She realized she was yanking at his hair as her back bowed, and she cried out for him to touch her harder. Harder.
He was growling against her, nipping her with his teeth, and she thought she would die from the pleasure.
As her body loosened, he kissed a trail up her belly until he lay upon her, tucking his face against her neck and pressing a languid kiss over her pulse.
She struggled to get her breathing under control. “Good morning,” she said finally between breaths.
His husky chuckle made her nipples pearl all over again.
She smoothed her hands over his back. “Your turn?”
“Actually,” he murmured, “I already…uh.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s just say I really like waking up in the morning with you wrapped around me. Makes it…difficult to keep my hands off myself.”
Farrah’s lips parted. He’d brought himself to orgasm? Simply because he was so aroused by the sight of her? She didn’t think it was possible to be aroused again herself so soon after coming against Oliver’s tongue, but…. “Next time, I want to be a part of that,” she whispered.
He stiffened the slightest bit, and Farrah closed her eyes. Next time. There was no next time, was there?
Almost as soon as his body had reacted, it relaxed. He moved back, kissing her softly on the lips. “Be right back with breakfast.”
Farrah nodded, trying her best to keep her sadness bottled away until he left the room. When she heard him banging around in the kitchen, she covered her face with both hands and sighed.
She had just managed to save a man’s life, take control of her own sexuality, and secure a safe and prosperous future for herself and her mother. Why, then, did the thought of leaving Oliver today and embarking on her new life make her want to curl onto her side and weep?
By the time he returned, she had herself under tenuous control. They propped themselves up against the headboard and ate toast and firni in a silence that was both comfortable and awkward at the same time.
When Farrah patted her belly and leaned back, Oliver spoke. “I’ve taken the liberty of securing a bank account for you.”
Farrah’s stomach dropped, and she wished she hadn’t eaten.
“It will have as much cash as you need to set down roots anywhere you want quite comfortably, and if you decide you want more, you only need to let me know.”
Farrah nodded weakly and tried to smile.
“But,” Oliver said. There was a pause. “It will take several days for the transaction to go through.”
His words were muffled slightly, as though he had turned away from her to say them. After another pause, Oliver said, “You are…uh…more than welcome to stay. Here. You know, while the banks…conduct their business.”
He made the offer casually. Almost flippantly. Inside Farrah, joy was dancing with abandon. “Oh,” Farrah said softly.
“If you want to leave today,” he said, his words still aimed away from her, “I can find a way.”
His words gave her pause. For a moment, she had hoped that he was orchestrating a reason for her to stay longer with him, but this last addendum—maybe it truly was a problem with the banks? She had never had money before. Didn’t know what banks did or how long things took.
But, oh, how desperately she wanted to believe he wished her to stay. Because she wished it with every fiber of her being. Not for a long time. Just for a few days.
Where else would she go while she waited for news?
“There is no reason to do any more,” she heard herself say. “If the banks take a few days, I can take a few days.”
He blew out a long breath. “All right,” he said softly.
His fingers brushed hers, and then he squeezed her hand.
She tilted her face toward his and smiled. “All right,” she whispered back.
23
Two Weeks Later
Farrah’s legs swung back and forth as she sat on the kitchen counter. She cocked her head to the side as she listened to Oliver hum while cooking. From her perch, she could easily reach over and snag a taste of what he was making whenever she wanted to and offer suggestions where warranted.
Though, in the last two weeks, her need to offer suggestions had dwindled. They’d been having fun teaching each other what they knew. She taught him how to cook; he taught her much, much more enjoyable matters.
There was still a slight stinging heat along her neck where the stubble on Oliver’s jaw had scraped her as he’d taken her on this very countertop just half an hour ago. She bit her lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.
Yes, he had taught her a lot.
She dipped a finger into the dish that was nearly done and sneaked it into her mouth. Oliver clicked his tongue; she’d been caught.
She shrugged with one shoulder. “It is perfect.”
“Of course it is,” he said. She could hear his smile and answered it with one of her own.
His hand squeezed her hip, and his lips brushed a quick kiss across hers before he returned to his task.
For the first time in Farrah’s life, she was happy. Not in a fleeting manner, like she had experienced in the past, but a bone-deep, roots-in-her-feet type of way. She had not even called Ibrahim to up
date him about the duration of her stay. In all honesty, she did not need to: he would call the last number he had for her if there was news, whether it was outside of the timeline she’d provided or not. But, in the past, she had fastidiously updated Ibrahim to the point that she risked both of their discoveries—a fact he often scolded her about.
Oliver’s thumb stroking her cheek startled her. “My girl looks deep in thought.”
His tone did not deceive her. In recent days, he’d steadily pressed her to trust him more and more—to reveal her secrets to him. So far, she’d held steadfast, remembering the repercussions when secrets were revealed in the past.
But—God help her—she was tempted to unburden herself. To even ask Oliver for aid. How quickly would she find her mother if she had the help of such a man as hers? What were the chances that he posed a threat to her in any way, this man who had lost his mind at hurting her while taking her virginity?
He wanted to know her, and the constant loop of what does he want in return did not seem to fit her situation anymore.
She opened her mouth, but at the last moment, shut it and smiled tightly. “Just…happy.”
The sounds of Oliver cooking ceased abruptly. “Are you, now?”
They’d never approached declarations or speaking feelings to each other; they’d been together for such a short amount of time and still had “the deal” between them that had not been dissolved. Dissolved officially that is. Farrah couldn’t help but feel that it was no longer in play, and the things she felt for Oliver, they were…deep. Deeper than she could have imagined ever feeling for a man.
With a steadying breath for courage, Farrah nodded. “Very happy.”
Oliver cleared his throat. There was the sound of spoon scraping against pot. “Me, too.”
The silence between them grew thick with things unsaid, and Farrah could feel tension radiating from Oliver.
There was a clang, as though he’d thrown the spoon in the sink, and then he muttered something that sounded like screw it. He grabbed her hands tightly. “Farrah, I think you should—”
Of Blind Fate (Operation: Middle of the Garden Book 5) Page 18