by Ash Harlow
He noticed my shiver. “If you’re cold I have a few ideas on how I can warm you.”
“I’m freezing, do it now,” I told him, lightly raking the nails of the hand I’d sneaked beneath the table, along the broad muscle of his thigh.
Oliver snatched my wrist, trapping my hand between his legs. “You’re killing me, Darcy, and you’ll pay for it.”
“I hope so.” Forget dinner, I was ready for bed.
The Minister for Trade and Enterprise took the stage and the award ceremony began. Tech companies seemed to dominate the first few categories and I wondered how a company like Oliver’s would compete but was thrilled when he won Exporter of the Year. He looked magnificent in his tuxedo as he stood on the stage to accept his award. His speech was typical Oliver, smooth and confident. When he returned to his seat he pulled me in for a kiss.
“Not bad for a guy who builds big dinghies,” I teased.
“Oh, you are in so much trouble,” he replied, tweaking my hair.
His was the last award for the night before the supreme winner would be announced from among all the category winners.
Tradewind Super Yachts won again and as we all stood to applaud. Oliver enveloped me in his arms and gave me a kiss that had others at our table cheering. I returned to my seat with flushed cheeks and bursting with pride. Oliver wasn’t one to brag and although I understood he had a very successful company, from what I’d learned this evening he won contracts over other companies around the world that were many times the size of his, and supported heavily by their own governments. His yachts, too, were winners in excellence of build and quality, and the yard’s turnover and ability to bring in export dollars was tremendous not only for Waitapu, but for New Zealand.
Somebody delivered champagne to the table and Oliver was accosted by a throng of people wanting to congratulate him and interview him. It looked as though it would be a longer night than we’d anticipated.
He pulled me with him to go through for interviews and held me close as we were photographed. I knew most of the press photographers, and was neither pleased nor surprised to see Deidre’s gossip-column friend, Monica, and her sidekick photographer among them. I pushed aside the chill that trickled along my spine. It was completely expected for them to be at events like this and I could only hope that Deidre wouldn’t add any heat to whatever story they chose to run.
It was after one in the morning by the time we got out of there. During the short cab ride back I was still buzzing and I rambled excitedly about the way Oliver could maximize the awards, what it could do for his business, and Waitapu, if he wanted to dive into some strategies. All the way he played with my hair and the strap of my dress. As the car pulled up to the apartment building he nuzzled my neck and told me in the filthiest language possible what he wanted to do to me the moment the door was closed.
But when the door closed the thing that had bothered me at the start of the evening launched itself into the forefront of my mind. Something I’d said before we’d left for the function had made him uptight, offhand, unbalanced. Everything I’d pulled together when I’d landed back in New Zealand gave me courage to speak up because if there was one thing I’d learned it was that leaving an itch unscratched created a huge fucking welt that would fester until lanced. Better to scratch the irritation right off.
Inside the door Oliver shoved his awards on a table that held a stunning sculpture, turning quickly to capture me.
I held up a hand to stop him as he leaned in for a kiss. “Wait.”
Oliver stepped back.
“Before we left here you were annoyed with me. What was that?” I watched his face trying to read what he might attempt to hide.
He shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t recall.”
He did recall, I could tell by the tension around his eyes. “It seemed I either did something that troubled you, or said something.”
Oliver passed me and went to the liquor cabinet pulling out a bottle of scotch. He held it up. “Nightcap?”
Jesus.
I was not going to be blown off. Oliver had one chance. If he continued to stray along this road of avoidance, I was ending whatever it was we’d started, immediately, because I had no intention of repeating behaviors of a past relationship.
I sighed and followed him into the living room.
“A drink, sure, why not,” I said. My question hung between us and I sensed he hoped that during the time it took him to pour drinks, my need for an answer would evaporate along with the strain between us.
I was wrong.
16 ~ DARCY
He carried our drinks and placed them on a coffee table before pulling me beside him on the sofa. “You said something that resurrected some Annabelle shit. Little things I thought I’d dealt with, but there you go. One random phrase and I found a new trigger.”
“Tell me what it was,” I said, taking the heavy crystal tumbler in which he’d poured a generous two fingers of scotch. I wasn’t a big spirits drinker and that amount would probably put me into a coma.
“Ah…let’s see.” He raked his hand through his hair, and fuck, it made it look even better than ever. “You mentioned something about the clothes, about feeling unworthy. That was a phrase Annabelle used to trot out. I think she thought it made her sound sincere. I’m sure you wouldn’t bullshit me about something like that, Darcy.”
My heart thumped hard, accelerating at the thought of Oliver still being fragile about Annabelle. “I do feel unworthy, Oliver. That’s genuine. Sometimes I feel as though we’re tearing along at breakneck speed, especially when you do things like spend so much money on clothing for me.”
“It gives me pleasure.”
“As long as you know I don’t expect it. I don’t want anything from you.”
He watched me with those licorice eyes as if searching for the one thing that would allow him to cement his belief in me. I wanted to give that to him, wanted him to know that I would be honest and truthful to him from this moment forward, but in order for that to happen, we had to leave my past alone.
I turned it back onto him. “If you ever want to tell me about Annabelle, I’m happy to listen.”
His fingers grazed my neck and across my shoulder, and my need for him consumed me. I didn’t want to know about Annabelle tonight, about the woman he’d loved deeply enough that he’d asked her to marry him, but I knew that for us to move forward we had to have that conversation some day. And with that would logically come questions about Rob. It was only fair.
Perhaps we’d be better off both holding our secrets.
“She’s not important.”
His eyes were aflame with hunger, the air between us charged and dry. When he took my glass of barely touched scotch from me and placed it back on the table, I was surprised there wasn’t an arc connecting our hands. He seized my hand and stood, drawing me from my seat, leading me out of the sitting room, along the vast hallway and into the master bedroom. Instead of words he used a trail of kisses along my jaw, down my neck and across my shoulder, slipping the thin strap of my dress so that it hung loose down to my elbow.
“You stun me in this dress, and you blow me away naked. Turn around.”
His voice still affected me the same way it had the first day we met. I did as asked, swivelling in the heels I wore to face the bed.
The kisses continued, down my exposed spine sending a ray of heat along my nerves. His mouth followed the slow glide of the zipper and everything about me tightened, trying to hold the sensation and the moment in place. I’d never been treated this way, my body worshiped, and I had this need to contain it lest I fall and smash into a million fine shards.
The delicate fabric of my dress collapsed with a languid shiver at my feet.
“All night I thought about looking at you in this underwear, and now,” he nipped with his teeth at the top of the soft lace of my panties, “the only thing I want to do is get it off you as quickly as I can.”
I reached for the waistband t
o rid myself of them but a firm grip on my wrist stopped me.
“Keep your hands at your side, I’ll do this.”
He knelt behind me. In the mirror I could see him completely focused on my half-naked body. He still wore his suit pants, his shirt loosened at the neck. His jacket lay abandoned in the sitting room.
He had me step out of my panties that he’d rushed to my ankles. “Shoes stay on,” he muttered releasing my bra with a quick flick. “Walk toward the bed.”
I stepped forward until he ordered me to stop.
“Bend over and rest your upper body on the bed.”
I was still some distance away and to obey him put me in an erotic pose, ass high, legs stretched.
“Fuck me, Darcy, you’re stunning.” His hand ran quickly up the back of my thigh, squeezing my buttock, holding my flesh tight until I gasped. He toe-tapped my legs further apart, never relinquishing his hold on me. I ached for something more than a motionless, clamped hand. It pulled arousal from my depths so that between my legs felt swollen, achy, wet.
A finger traced the back of my other thigh down to the back of my knee, hard, pressing in a way that drew all that desire from my pussy down the back of my legs.
“Please, Oliver.”
“Begging already?”
“Yeah, begging.”
He moved his finger, up, up, and all I wanted was it stabbing inside me.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You. All of you.”
His response was a huffed breath and a motionless finger.
“Let me tell you what I want. I want this.” His hand fluttered between my legs, stopping when it struck the slick wetness at my entrance. “And here, right here.” He moved onward across the ripple of my ribs to tap at my chest, my heart. “And right up here, this clever mind.” He cradled the top of my head now, turning it slightly as he stepped in behind me. The fabric of his pants brushed against one thigh sending a shock of sensation even though the brush of cloth was light.
“Here you go.” Responding to my tremor, Oliver pushed his hard thigh between mine. I was shameless as I backed onto it, gripping tight.
“Wanton hussy. Perfect,” he said, layering himself, one shirt button after another over the notches of my spine. My head remained twisted, right cheek flat against the bed, held there by his splayed hand. Then his lips met my ear. “You’re making my pants wet. They’ll need to go to the cleaners. I’ve scarcely touched you and you’re ready for me.”
All I could do was nod. Our breathing was already intermingled and rough so that I found it unnecessary to respond with words.
He released my head and I listened to the scrape of his zipper, felt the insistent, needy press of his hard cock.
“I’m going to fuck you hard, Darcy, because you’ve teased me all night long.”
Then he was gone, his presence missed like air. I heard the slide of a drawer and the unmistakable sound of the tearing of a foil package. I turned, wanting to see him but he was behind me in seconds, obscured from sight, although his presence filled the room. Then, the exquisite pressure at my entrance. As he sank into me I flattened against the bed cover.
He barely gave me time to adjust to his size, the way he filled me, before he withdrew and plunged into me again. I whimpered. It was a sound to coat my pleasure.
Oliver slipped his hand beneath my throat, lifting me from the bed, holding me, my back arched to him as he continued to fuck as hard as he promised.
“I never knew two people could fit together so perfectly, Darcy.”
His thrusts were relentless. His hand around my throat became an odd sort of comfort, making me feel so vulnerable, yet cared for because he chose not to choke me. I must be crazy, but the way he fucked me took me to a primitive place in my mind that allowed me simply to be part of this mass of energy we created.
I’d never felt anything like it. Close to shattering, I’d be nothing more than glittery matter, dust motes fluttering in a shaft of light, if I allowed an orgasm to rise up and take me. It lingered, poised, waiting for the touch of a finger to my clit, the match to my fuse, a signal to detonate.
I said his name, over and over, pleading that this was too much.
“It’s not, it’s perfect. I want you to come with me, Darcy, fuck, tell me when you’re ready.”
“You’ll break me,” I said.
“And I’ll put you back together. Ready?”
His other hand slipped to the front of me, fingers splayed.
“Ready?” He asked again, his voice deep and harsh.
“I can’t,” I moaned, overcome, talking nonsense.
The hand on my throat slipped up to cover my mouth at the same time his fingers slid further down my front to my clit. I threw my hands behind me, grabbing his sides.
“You’re okay,” he soothed. “Come with me, on the count of three, come with me, princess.”
He thrust three more times, counting down, rubbing my sensitive nub, and when he called out my name as he buried himself deep inside me, my orgasm shattered me. I’d never seen stars before, but everything went bright as Oliver forced me to ride the waves of pleasure that swamped me.
Finally he eased me down. Down onto the bed, down from the wild ride we’d just taken. I heaved breaths through his fingers and he eased up his hold, stroking my cheek, holding my pussy in a firm grip, rocking me gently as we lay now, spooning on the bed.
I was a tree felled by a ferocious storm.
“I’ll never move again,” I muttered.
Oliver’s lips worked gently on the back of my neck, his breath over my skin soothing me. My hair was plastered to my face, my neck damp, and our perspiration mingled as he continued to tend to me.
“You amaze me, Darcy. You’re fucking stunning.”
“Thank you. This might sound trite, but it’s never been like this for me before.”
“Are you broken?” he said with a light chuckle.
“Repaired,” I told him.
17 ~ OLIVER
“The camera loves you, Darcy.” I pushed the newspaper over to her and she slammed her palm flat over the photo.
“Nope, not looking at anything in that section. It’s gossip, Oliver.”
We sat on the apartment balcony eating breakfast. I’d offered to take Darcy out somewhere but she said she preferred to lounge around in her robe for a bit. I didn’t mind in the least. I’d ducked out and bought coffee, pastries, some fruit, and the morning papers.
“What are they saying?” she asked.
“Ah-ha, see, you really do want to read it.”
“No, look, this is better; great write up about Tradewind, and they used the bit you sneaked in about the fundraiser. Nice work.” Darcy pushed the paper she was reading across the table to me. “We need to maximize the interest in the award through the press. I’ll get you some radio and television slots, too. Once they find out the country’s most successful exporter is hosting a fundraiser, the charity A-listers will be all over it. I need to get onto this while it’s hot. Pass me my phone.”
I grabbed her hand as she reached for her phone. “It’s Sunday, you’re supposed to be taking a day off. Slow down, Darcy.”
“The media never sleep.”
“Neither do you if last night was anything to go by.”
“Can’t help it if I’m sharing a bed with the sexiest man in New Zealand.”
“New Zealand?”
“All right, the world, happy?” I teased.
“Better.”
“Good. Now, you can give me my phone.”
I dropped it down the front of my T-shirt and spread my arms.
“You’re in trouble, Sackville, if you want me to dive down there to retrieve it.”
“I love your trouble, Darcy, but sadly, we need to get back to Waitapu. Drinks at the boatyard this afternoon for the staff.”
Darcy jumped up. “Right, tell me what I have to do.”
“Shower. And don’t look too sexy, or I’ll drag you back to bed.�
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Darcy came around the table and straddled my lap. Her robe fell open and I tried to ignore her breasts. She spider-walked her fingers up my chest, tucking them behind the neck of my T-shirt, then slid her hand down the front. Her hand was cool, and I sat there while she played around, pretending to search for her phone, tweaking a nipple as she slid her hand around. After last night, my cock should have been begging for a holiday, but, nope, it was ready to go again. I seized her hips and held her firmly on my lap. She wriggled on me and gave a little moan.
“Are you wearing anything under this robe?” I pulled the front open so that I had full view of her breasts. We had to get back to Waitapu, but I wanted more of Darcy, now. Compared to how she’d been when we arrived in Auckland, she seemed completely relaxed. Her playfulness was invigorating, and every hour, this was feeling more like a relationship.
Relationship. I thought that idea would trouble me more than it did.
“Why don’t you see for yourself,” Darcy replied. Her hand was making its way out from behind my T-shirt and I grabbed her wrist through the cloth.
“Drop the phone,” I growled.
She ducked her head down and bit my wrist. I grabbed a fist of hair at the back of her neck and tilted her head back.
“Play nice, or there’ll be trouble.”
She responded with a saucy grin.
“You like that idea, don’t you?”
Darcy gave my cheek a quick peck then swung off my lap. “Can’t say. I have to shower.”
I pulled her back to me. “Kiss me like you mean it.”
She folded against me and gave me her mouth. She tasted of coffee and the fresh pineapple she’d been eating. And she kissed me the way she fucked, without shame or mercy. I took her shoulders and stood her back up.
“The guy on the balcony over there is getting all hot and bothered.” I slid my hand up her thigh and found her naked pussy. “Not happy that he might have got a glimpse of this, bad girl. Into the shower with you.”
I watched the sway of her beneath the filmy robe as she set off for the bathroom. My siren. Her appeal impossible to resist. I hoped she wouldn’t wreck me.