by S. M. West
Shuffling from one foot to another, she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, her top teeth sinking into the luscious pink flesh. Boy, what I’d give to trade places with her teeth right now. If only we had the time. Later—I’ll definitely come back to it later.
“Yup, and I think you know my preference.”
Pulling her to me, her chest against mine, my lips grab hers for a quick, deep kiss. Unable to resist, I snare her bottom lip in my teeth and lightly tug, sucking and teasing her sweet, plump flesh. She moans, melting farther into me. Shit, I wish we could blow them off. “Let’s go shower. You’ll have to behave yourself Ms. Cassidy. Keep your hands to yourself,” I warn teasingly.
Light, melodic laughter fills the air as Olivia replies, “Right. I have to keep my hands to myself? That’s rich. You’re on mister. You so much as touch me and I get to order for you tonight.”
Knowing it’s a bad move and that there’s no way I’ll win this deal, I agree. Sure enough, I’m an idiot, and the loser. There’s no way I can keep my hands off Olivia, naked and wet, looking like she’s made to be devoured by me. Not going to happen.
So here we are, having dinner with Daniel and Yasmine, and Olivia’s ordering for me. Both Daniel and Yasmine watch with keen interest as she orders me the steak frites, medium rare. She’s loving every minute of it with a contented smile on her face. Yasmine is mildly annoyed at the whole thing, her eyes glancing down to where our hands are joined. Perhaps that’s what has Olivia smugly satisfied.
After dinner, Daniel insists on showing me the restaurant’s wine cellar. I suggest we all go, but it’s evident he wants to speak with me alone, and Yasmine works with her father to have us separated. I dread leaving them alone. Every time Olivia’s been alone with Yasmine, her mood has shifted and she has withdrawn.
We’re back in under fifteen minutes. My discussion with Daniel was uneventful and it makes no sense why we all couldn’t have gone—until I see my phone resting on the table. Olivia’s quiet and Yasmine is all smiles as she hands me the phone.
“Sam, I’m guessing this is yours. I have no clue how your phone wound up in my luggage, but I found it when unpacking from our trip to Vancouver.”
Stiffening my spine at what she’s obviously implying, I look to Olivia. She’s readying her purse to likely excuse herself. I need to act fast and set things straight.
“Thanks. That’s strange—I had it in the airport and I was never in your room, so how could it end up in your things?” I ask pointedly, not hiding I’m aware of what she’s up to and that I don’t like it one bit.
Yasmine laughs, and it’s obviously fake. “I’ve no clue. Anyway, I’m glad I was able to return it to you. Please excuse me.” Cutting off any further conversation, she stands and leaves the table.
Olivia is now studying me, her face expressionless, and I can’t tell if she’s angry, hurt, or couldn’t give a shit, though I highly doubt the latter is the case. Daniel stands awkwardly at the edge of the table and when the server comes with our bill, he mumbles something about paying at the bar.
Taking her hand, I gently stroke her knuckles. Her eyes rise to look at me, guarded and confused.
“I never went to her room and she never went to mine. She did the same shit she did in Toronto, she just showed up. I fired Patti for breaching my privacy. There’s no other way she would have known I’d be there unless Patti told her, and come to think of it, Patti couldn’t stop apologizing and never denied my accusation.”
She nods, clearing her throat. “Okay Sam, really, you don’t need to explain yourself to me.”
“What?” I ask, incredulous. “Why would you say that?”
“We’re casual, remember? No labels. If you had gone to Vancouver with Yasmine, that’d be fine. None of my business. And if you’d shared a room…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence, and that’s when I know every word out her mouth is a lie. She doesn’t mean it. Not at all.
“Olivia, we may be casual”—we’re not, but if that’s what she needs to hear to help her sleep at night, so be it, for now— “but you have a right to know. Besides…” Both Daniel and Yasmine approach the table, causing the conversation to abruptly stop.
That night we have sex again. It’s hard, primal, and raw. If Olivia thinks we are casual and words weren’t enough to convince her otherwise, I need to show her. Fuck her senseless. Fuck her ‘til she no longer remembers what life was like without me inside her.
I take her against the fridge, over the sofa from behind, and again on the bathroom counter as we get ready for bed. Olivia’s satisfying screams ring loud and clear throughout my place. I have no clue how thick the walls are between lofts, and I don’t care.
In fact, knowing I’m the one bringing her this pleasure, knowing it’s my name she’s screaming and I’m the one causing her to lose all her inhibitions—it does something to me. She’s come undone because of me and it feeds the beast in me, gives it life. A visceral, palpable stirring within my body grows and takes over as I’m driven to dine on her, to bring her ecstasy.
Morning comes too quickly as we spent barely any time sleeping. We lazily have breakfast and coffee on my terrace, trading sections of the newspaper in easy, comforting silence. Afterward, I hop in the shower, then Olivia takes her turn while I check in with Jerome on how things are at the restaurants. I’m hoping we can spend the entire day with Bas and Alec.
Coming in from the terrace with our coffee cups, Olivia’s phone is outside on the table, and it buzzes as I go back to get it, lighting up the screen with an incoming text.
Pete: Dinner tonight? You and me, 7? We could go to one of our favorites? Padano?
Why is Pete making dinner plans with her? Is this a regular thing? Fighting the temptation to swipe and read the full conversation, I shove the phone in my back pocket. I won’t breach her privacy because of my insecurity.
“Ready?” Olivia calls, purse in hand. She’s lovely. Every time, I have to stop and stare at her, even if only for a moment.
“Yes, let me just grab my keys.” I head to the kitchen counter and then course correct, turning on my heel toward her. Like defusing a bomb, I need to get rid of her phone before I explode. “You left it outside.”
I hand it to her and she glances down at the screen, swipes, and then proceeds to read. I’m not sticking around to watch this. It’s bad enough that he texts her for dinner dates and who knows what else, and who knows if she goes out with him. After all, he is her ex-husband, the father of her kids. He’s always going to be in her life.
Having dinner isn’t a big deal; it’s not, but the ‘you and me’ and the ‘one of our favorites’ are. Those words are just too personal for me, a bit too cozy.
Olivia
Rapt by the sight before me, I stand in the doorway gawking at the two equally striking men, each sporting silver hair and a bold, handsome face. Bas and Alec are in a deep, animated conversation by the stove with hand gestures and all, touching each other in adoring and tender ways. Love radiates from and around them.
I never considered myself one to watch another couple, but shit, as the heat rises to my cheeks, I seriously consider grabbing some popcorn, a glass of wine, and watching these two. I can’t explain it, but they’re beautiful together. Instinctually, it makes you yearn for what they have, but not in a covetous way, more because every person should be looked at and loved like that.
Alec is tall and fit, his hair wavy but neatly in place, and his gray dusting of scruff gives a slight edge to his debonair features and hazel eyes. Bas is ruggedly handsome with a strong jaw lined with trimmed stubble and spiky white hair that’s short but eye-catching and a complement to his deep, bold blue eyes. Each man is different, but no less good-looking.
Scintillating aromas of whatever is simmering on the stove waft through the air. Alec turns to the source as Bas shuffles over to a kitchen chair, draping a blanket over his shoulders. It’s summer, hot and humid outside, yet he’s covered in layers of clothes.
“Bas, Alec,” Sam says, bringing me fully into the room. Turning toward us, their smiles widen. “This is Olivia.” The tenderness and, dare I say, pride in Sam’s voice is clear.
Both greet me with hugs, the French multiple-kisses thing, and with ease, we settle on the deck outside. I’m nestled beside Sam on a wooden bench, Alec sits to the side in a Muskoka chair, and Bas rests in one beside him, cocooned in his blanket in the middle of sweltering July. Shit. He doesn’t look good.
“Olivia, tell us what you’ve been up to since arriving,” Alec encourages, his accent thick and smooth like chocolate melting in your mouth.
“Not much.” Before I can catch myself, my heated gaze looks up at Sam. Images of us—in the shower, him behind me, in me, on his furniture, in his bed—flash through my mind like a heart-searing slideshow. Heat stirs low in my belly as Sam rakes his hungry eyes over me like he’s reading my mind. Exhaling a burst of air and my sudden yearning, I look away. “We went to dinner with the Thibaults,” I awkwardly offer.
“Daniel and Yasmine?” Bas asks. We nod. “Sam, I told you to walk away. They’re bad news, trust me,” he implores. Sluggishly standing, he walks to the railing overlooking his backyard and huffs. His frail hands curl in on themselves. The Thibaults clearly piss him off. “Fine don’t trust me, but talk to Sal Lyons before you do anything.”
“Sal? Why?” Sam asks, puzzled.
“Daniel invested in his first restaurant, Voltaire. Ask him about it.”
“Voltaire? I’ve never heard of it,” Sam says.
“Exactly,” Bas snaps.
I wish I knew more about why he has a strong dislike for Daniel. I, too, don’t particularly like the Thibaults, but I’m sensing now would not be a good time to ask for further explanation. Alec goes to him, gently squeezing Bas’s shoulder before moving the conversation into more amiable territory.
“Bas, Alec, perhaps you can help me out.” All three pair of eyes land on me as I smirk. “I’d love some dirt on Sam. What was he like as a child? Anything I should know or could use to torture him with?”
Bas chuckles, a slight twinkle in his gray eyes. “Ah, Samson, I like this one. She’ll keep you on your toes. Ma chérie, I could tell you many things,” he cunningly quips.
I love that he calls me his dear, ma chérie, so sweet. His immediate fondness for me warms my heart.
“Hey, let’s stop right there,” Sam interjects.
“Nope, I think Bas and I need to talk.” I attempt to stand, but Sam’s hands firmly grip my waist, pulling me onto his lap.
With his arm holding me still, the warm breath of his sexy, low voice skitters across my neck. “Nice try. You’re not going anywhere.”
His fingers dance along my sides. Damn, I’m ticklish. Unable to keep this tidbit a secret, I squeal and squirm. He chuckles at my reaction, continuing his playful torment.
“Stop, please, stop,” I beg, fruitlessly wriggling, powerless to escape his hold.
Alec nears and then reaches over, tickling Sam’s sides, which immediately provides me relief. Sam yelps and he too squirms and laughs. Ha! We’re both ticklish—good to know. “Arrête,” he calls, raising his hands in surrender.
Our laughter fills the air. Bas clings to the railing, chuckling, deep lines of mirth etching his features, but there’s also a sadness, a sobering shadow in his eyes, in his not quite full smile. My chest tightens. I can only imagine his melancholy thoughts, the idea of not being around to enjoy this, to be with those he loves the most.
“Garde cette femme,” Bas says out of nowhere. I think it means something like keep this woman. Their eyes lock as Sam straightens, seriousness setting into his expression. Nodding once, as in a promise to Bas, his gaze turns to me, soft and open, a small smile creeping along his lips.
“Samson hated his name,” Bas continues, as if he’s having a conversation with himself.
“Pardon?” I ask, looking to him.
“When he was a teenager, Samson hated his name. Insisted on being called Sam. Never answering to his given name. A formidable, noble name, Samson. Alec respected his wishes, but I refused.”
Sam’s smile is rueful, his eyes fixed on Bas, mesmerized by this man who is a father to him.
“What happened?” I want to know more, all about Sam and his life, his loves and passions, dislikes and dreams.
“After about a year of it, I’d had enough. He was sulky and difficult. Stubborn. I sat him down and told him that his name was something to be proud of, to cherish and live up to. It was his grandmother’s maiden name. His dear, poor mother.” Bas pauses. The tone in his voice is reflective and haunting. A slight chill runs through me, and I don’t know why. “She gave him that name, wanted him to have her family name. His name is proof that she adored him. She loved him with all of her heart and wanted him to have a part of her, if not all of her.”
Silence ensues, all of us caught up in his words. I try to interpret his meaning as Alec stares pensively at his husband, seeming to fully understand the magnitude of what Bas just shared.
Bas and Sam stare at each other, gazes locked. Eyes penetrating, boring into each other. Speaking a language we can’t hear or decipher. I wish I could. I wish I had the code to unlock their unspoken words. The moment is poignant.
Bas is the first to break the spell, saying we need to grab food for dinner. With that, we head out and spend the day shopping, selecting fresh produce, meat, and delights from both the Atwater and Jean Talon Markets before returning to their place for a bountiful and delicious meal.
Later that night, we return to Sam’s. His loft is in total darkness except for the thin slant of moonlight casting a silvery hue on the open space. In silence, he interlaces our fingers and leads me to his bed.
On the way, his free hand removes his shirt the way guys do—with one swift pull over his head. He reluctantly releases my hand to allow the fabric to fall from his arm and then immediately claims me again. Next are his pants and boxers, gone.
When he stands gloriously naked before me, my hands instinctively reach for him, needing him. Removing my clothes, he takes time to caress my skin as it is revealed. Long, calloused fingertips glide across my collarbone and chest.
As if that wasn’t enough, his lips worship, gentle and hot, with the slight zing of his stubble grazing my flesh. Each kiss erases all my past lows and insecurities, every single moment of sadness, neglect, and loneliness.
He removes my jeans, then bends, twisting his torso to kiss my lower back. Teasing a path along my hips with his tongue, he returns to kneel in front of me and wraps his arms around my middle. His face nuzzles my stomach, placing hot, wet kisses on my midriff while his tongue dips into my belly button, sending shivers up my spine and curling my toes.
After peeling off my panties, he plants a hard, possessive kiss on my pussy. His tongue then licks from my entrance up to flick my clit, and I moan at his gentle yet passionate dominance. His lips continue a blistering path up my body, only stopping his glorious mapping of me to unclasp my bra.
Both naked, our gazes lock as he lifts me to straddle him on the bed. His adoration is evident and staggering in his heavy-lidded eyes. His hard cock presses snugly against my sex, and I’m unable to stay still as a breathy sigh passes through my slightly open lips and I slide along him.
Riding out my climax against him, his molten stare only serves to spur me on as my core heats, aches for release, my breasts heavy with need. His devotion consumes me and is weakening my resolve to keep us free of labels and expectations.
I scream his name like it’s the meaning of life as my orgasm rips through me. He seals
my open mouth with his and our kiss lingers while his hands roam my body, one gripping my breast. With the other, he guides his cock to my entrance. Gradually and eagerly, I lower myself onto him.
The sense of finally being full, cherished, and awakened washes over me. His arms envelop me, one across my back, the other on my bottom as we leisurely move together like yin and yang, inseparable, our foreheads connected, eyes locked, mouths open, sharing the same breath as we climb to our release.
“Sam,” I whisper reverently.
“Livvy,” he groans, thrusting to the hilt as we come together. We’ve never been closer, now moving as one.
That isn’t sex, it’s love, much more than two naked bodies entwined. Our strong connection lives and breathes in every caress, every moan, every embrace. It’s remarkable and intense, and it scares the hell out of me.
It’s amazing what time and distance can do for a girl’s perspective. It’s a week later and my fear has faded. I came home muddled and worried; the weekend with Sam had been out of this world, but I feared it had been unwise.
All our obstacles still exist—our age difference, the distance, not to mention being in two different stages in our lives. I have my family, and he’s just starting out. I have no clue if he wants children or even to marry. I never want to marry again, and even at that, I am getting ahead of myself. Marriage! Who said anything about marriage? Again, my age is showing.
But a week later, my fears are gone. We are back to texting and talking daily and somehow this invisible, protective shield is back in place now that we are separated and in our own domains.
What also helped was my conversation with Yasmine Thibault. Surprisingly, she helped put things in perspective. While I still dislike the woman, what she said did make some sense.
At the restaurant that night, she was quick to speak her mind. It had been very clear that both Daniel and Yasmine wanted each of us alone. Yasmine’s reason became apparent the minute Sam left the table.
“Sam and I were in Vancouver together this week,” she says unprompted. Hiding my shock at this revelation—Sam never mentioned she was there—I nod and deeply inhale. “Olivia, I’m not sure what you think is going on with Sam, but you’re not cut out for his world. You don’t know the first thing about being a chef, and a celebrity chef no less. Sam is wildly successful and needs someone who can support him, who can help him further his goals and dreams. Really, Olivia, you’re not the one.” Her tone is disparaging.