by J. Saman
“I heard you talking to Layla,” I admit because suddenly, I don’t like having secrets from her. Well, maybe just this particular secret.
“You did,” she hedges, taking a step back and out of my arms. “Oliver, I said those things—”
“You’re just looking out for her. For yourself. But it’s like I told you this morning, we’re doing this. And Layla was right. I’m not that guy. I’d never hurt you like that.”
“Right back at you.”
I inhale a shaky breath, those words, that promise slaying right through me.
She swallows thickly and then reaches down, pulling off her top. “I want to take us slow. I want to do this the smart way.”
“And that involves you getting naked with me?”
“With any hope, regularly.”
I grin like the devil at midnight, attacking her awful pants and sexy panties. Naked. Naked is how I like Amelia best. Bare and open and sweet and shy and frisky and dirty and wild and brazen and motherfucking perfect. This girl. This woman. She wrecks me.
Her body. Her mind. Her heart. All mine.
Fuck anyone who tries to argue it, including ourselves.
Two fingers reach down, rubbing up and down along her soft flesh. I tasted it this morning. I screwed her wild up against my window. But I told her I also wanted sweet, and I meant that. I want to look into her eyes. I want to feel her around me.
I want to get lost.
Firm hands grasp the backside of her thighs, just beneath her supple ass and then I’m lifting her, carrying her, placing her down on the bed, and with one swift motion, I’m inside of her.
She’s wet. So wet and ready. No foreplay is even needed because I swear to all I will make her come so hard she sees stars. “Eyes on me,” I tell her, cupping her jaw with my hand as I start to slide deeper into her, only to withdraw slowly, nearly to the point of leaving her body. “Have I told you about your eyes?”
She shakes her head, her red hair flying every which way.
“I love your eyes, Amelia.” Thrust. “They stun me stupid.” Thrust. “They knock me senseless.” Thrust. “So beautiful.” Thrust. “Just like you.”
“Oliver.” She grasps on to the back of my hair, tugging, holding on for a mercy I will not grant her. I want to feel her come undone. I want to bring her pleasure, so much pleasure there is nothing else. Plus, I think it’s already been established that my name on her lips makes me harder than fucking steel.
“That’s right, baby. It’s just me here. Just me inside you.”
My lips fall upon hers, turning our kiss into a caress, a sonnet of crazy-ass shit I have no business thinking at this point funneling through my chest. My body worships hers. My thrusts dominate both of us.
Lifting her up I flip her over, reentering her from behind with deeper, harder, longer thrusts. The headboard slams against the wall, bam, bam, bam. Her tits fly, jiggling and swaying, my hand coming down in a hard clap against her ass.
“Fuck! Oliver.”
“Yes,” I hiss, doing it again and again, alternating hands until pink prints are all I can see against her alabaster skin, my cock driving in and out of her. And God, what a fucking sight that is. My cock glistens, coated with her arousal, slipping and sliding into her tight heat. She holds me in, greedy, like she’s afraid if I pull out, I’ll never dive back in again.
One hand presses firmly into the mattress, the other wraps around her hair, tugging her head and neck back until my lips can reach the skin beneath her ear and along the slope of her neck. This woman makes me feral. Insatiable.
I position her head to the side, taking her mouth that way as I use my other hand to find her clit. She emits a deep, raspy moan into my mouth as I rub her in circles until she’s a trembling mess beneath me. A gruff, desperate cry flees her lips that I quickly swallow down.
“I think I told you this was going to be sweet.”
She half-laughs. “There’s always next time.”
“And a next time there shall be.”
Moans and whimpers hit the air; her sounds the end of me. My balls draw up tight. My dick ready to explode.
“Harder, Oliver. I need it harder.”
Fuck! I clench my eyes, lock my jaw, and breathe out through my nose as I slam into her, over and over, my fingers rubbing her until I feel her body start to lose control. Her sounds echoing off the ceiling. Her fists clutching my comforter, wrinkling it in her fists as her head falls forward on a harsh scream she tries desperately to muffle.
Her pussy convulses around me, milking my own release from my body until blinding spots of light cover my vision. I grunt, my face dropping in between her shoulder blades, my teeth biting down as I explode inside her, shooting out an orgasm like none I’ve ever had before. I fuck her until I can’t, my body spent, my limbs boneless, and then I fall against her, shifting to the side and taking her with me, holding her back against my chest.
“I’m leaking.”
I growl, my dick somehow finding life enough to jerk against her. I’m a beast of a man, utterly untamed.
“I like my cum leaking out of you.”
“I got that impression.”
“I’m possessive. Not gonna apologize for it.”
She sighs, sagging back into me, so sweet and suddenly gentle and shy. “I like you possessive. It means you’re mine.”
My lips meet the crook of her neck. “You’re mine too, you know. You and Layla both. I want you, Amelia. I want this.” So much so I’ll fight for it. Even when the odds seem stacked against us.
22
AMELIA
This isn’t what I expected. Not at all. In fact, it’s way, way better.
I stand up and stretch out my limbs, the hot afternoon sun blazing down on my face, almost as if it’s mocking my fair skin, the sound of the rowdy Fenway crowd loud, music to our ears even from up here in the Fritz luxury box. It’s a slice of heaven.
Especially for a girl who has only ever sat out in the bleachers.
“Does anyone want anything?” I ask since we’re in between innings. Weird as it sounds, you can’t pee in the middle of an inning unless your team is losing and you need to change momentum. “I’m running to the restroom and then I’m re-lathering myself in SPF 50. I’m starting to char out here.”
Layla’s head pops up, her lips smeared with ketchup as she chews on her bite of hot dog. “I’m good,” she grumbles with her mouth full.
“Do you want another beer?” I offer to Oliver just as he polishes off the last sip from his cup.
He glances down at the plastic and then up to me, debating. “Do you think it’s bad luck if I switch it up?”
“Huh?”
“This was a Harpoon. And the first sip of it I took, the Sox got a triple and since I’ve been nursing it, we’re winning. But I’m not really in the mood for another beer. I was thinking maybe a Jack and Coke instead.”
“I think you get me,” I tell him.
He grins. “I do. It’s why you’re going to pee now instead of before.”
God, I think I love this man.
“I think you’re fine with the drink switch up so long as you don’t move seats. That’s what our dad always used to say. The seat is the key to success. If they’re losing, you switch it up. If they’re winning, you don’t mess with it.”
Oliver considers this as seriously as any superstitious sports fan does and nods, his gray hat with the large red B on it bobbing up and down. “Right. That makes so much sense I don’t know why I never considered that before.” He looks to Layla. “Your father sounds like he was a very smart man. I’m sad I never really knew him.”
Layla just shrugs a shoulder because she never really knew him either. At least not so much that she remembers. Still, hearing him say that and watching her reaction to it, makes my chest ache.
“So, a Jack and Coke?”
“A Jack and Coke would be great, baby. Thank you.” I start to walk away, catching Oliver tell Layla about a time when our fathe
r caught him in the locker room marking up the lockers before a big game and how he made Oliver clean it all himself.
The fact that Oliver knew my father at all means something to me. He even knew my mother though he never had her for a teacher in middle school. Oliver and I talked about it, figuring out that we’ve known each other since we were in sixth grade. He had a crush on me, and I had a crush on him, and yet we never did anything about it.
All these years later, here we are.
Right, fake engaged to a man who is never serious and if he is, he’s never serious for long.
I hate to think about it that way, but it’s true. Oliver is smart, sexy, devastatingly gorgeous, the most charming man I’ve ever met. But to say since Nora, he’s turned fickle is an understatement.
He doesn’t commit.
His career as a cereal dater is well established, but it goes beyond that. He’s loyal as hell to his loved ones, yes, but he grows bored quickly with every other aspect of his life. I mean, his switching up drinks now is a prime example. Never does he have the same drink back-to-back. He can’t stand to eat in the same restaurant more than once or twice and never ever orders the same meal because he’s a variety is the spice of life guy. Even in his career choice, he works in family medicine because he likes all ages, from birth to death and everything in between. He wants to treat all different types of cases instead of specializing in one particular field.
I don’t know how to compete with that, so I don’t try.
I couldn’t resist him any longer. I’m the one who showed up at his place. I started this and I take responsibility for that. Despite the mess I made; I wouldn’t change a single second of any of it. Still, I can’t help but hope I’ll be different. That we’ll be different. That we’ll defy the crushing odds stacked against us.
He cares about me. I know this. He tells me and shows me all the time. We’re having fun. The sex is incredible. He loves spending time with Layla and me. It’s the absolute best and I’m loving every second of it. Loving every second of him. Even if the reality of our situation sticks to me like gum on the sidewalk.
With Oliver, I have one absolute truth.
I’m head over heels in trouble.
I use the restroom, washing my hands and then generously reapplying sunscreen so my already freckled face doesn’t start looking like one giant brown spot. My old hat isn’t doing anything to keep the sun off me. I should have agreed when he offered to buy me a new hat the way he did for Layla, but I hate Oliver buying me stuff. I’m a woman who has earned her own way always, and it’s a hard thing to adjust to. I don’t like relying on others. Especially when people have a tendency to be here one second and gone the next.
I already feel like I’m taking advantage by having him get Layla that full scholarship—especially now that we’re sleeping together—so him buying everything for us just makes me feel more indebted.
Exiting the bathroom, I order two Jack and Cokes, one for Oliver and one for myself from the attendant they have here in the booth. That’s another thing to adjust to. The wealth and opulence of this family still astounds me. While I wait for him to make them up, I survey the buffet of food they have laid out, trying to decide if I’m hungry at all.
Just then cheers erupt throughout the box and I spin around to find everyone on their feet clapping and whistling. I glance up at one of the televisions in time to catch the replay of a home run over the Monster seats.
“Yes!” I squeal, clapping my hands.
Oliver and Layla are high-fiving, and I watch as he tosses his arm around her shoulder, giving her a playful shake, gleeful smiles plastered over their faces.
He spins around, searching and then finding me, that smile growing the second he does, his full set of white teeth gleaming. “This seat, baby. This seat.” He points to me and then his chair. “Let it be known now,” he calls out to his entire family minus his parents, who didn’t come today, “this is my seat from now on. This is a winning seat, right here. And I’m thinking Layla is my good luck charm and must attend every game I do.”
She whoops so loud everyone, including Stella who is sitting in the corner reading, laughs.
“Fantastic,” I groan. Now there will be no stopping her.
“They’re having a good time,” Carter says from beside me. I hadn’t even realized he was there.
“They are,” I agree, swallowing down the flood of emotions as they threaten to rush up and over me. “I think sometimes Oliver is more of a kid than Layla is.”
Carter laughs, finishing off whatever it was he was eating, licking his fingers. “I think his birthing order is to blame for that. He was the baby of the family until Rina came along, but they treated her more like a princess than a baby. Oliver got away with murder. We still know he’s the favorite.”
“Layla was treated like that too. The princess and the baby. Likely because she’s so much younger than me and they tried for her for so long. Stella doesn’t seem to be in on the fun of the game,” I note.
“Poor Stella got dragged here.” He points to his niece in the corner who is face-deep in a book, completely indifferent to all that’s happening around her. “She hates sports. It’s good that you and Layla like them since Oliver is so into them. He mentioned you’re crazy about the Sox and more superstitious than he is.”
“I might be, but if you’re going to tease me about it the way Layla and even occasionally Oliver does, I will deny it.”
He laughs. “I’d never dream of ribbing on a fellow Sox fan. How is Layla feeling about getting into Wilchester?”
“Great,” I exclaim, my smile rushing back. We got the letter and phone call on Wednesday. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so excited about anything.”
“She got a full scholarship, right?”
I glance up at him, finding his deep brown eyes pinned on me. “She did.”
“Must be a relief for you.”
I swallow and nod. I hate talking about money, especially with someone who has more than the Queen of England.
“Well, this is certainly a fun way to celebrate it.” He rocks back on his heels, returning his gaze to the field and I do the same, finding Oliver who has his arm around the back of Layla’s chair as they sit and watch the game, talking with their heads close.
“It was wonderful of Oliver to set this up with everyone. To bring us here. It’s truly a dream come true for us, well, at least for me it is.”
Carter chuckles, leaning into me and nudging my shoulder, almost conspiratorially. “Amelia, I think at this point, it’s pretty obvious Oliver would do anything for you. And for Layla.”
My eyebrows pinch in at the way he says that. At his tone. Like there is something I’m missing. “I don’t think that’s the case. He was just excited about her getting in. About her scholarship.” I have no idea what his brothers know about our arrangement. If they know the terms I set for this fake engagement or not.
“I think we both know that’s not all of it.”
“What do you mean?” I press, because that tone. Still with that tone. Almost like he’s warning me. Like he’s about to drop a bomb in my lap and watch it explode.
“I’m thrilled he has you. I truly am.” He looks back at me, his expression serious. “You make him happy, and Oliver hasn’t been happy in a very long time. Hell, if we’re being honest, I’m not sure he ever has been. Not even with Nora though he told himself he was.”
“Why does it feel like there’s a but coming.”
He grins down at me, tall and impossibly good-looking, same as all of Oliver’s brothers. Carter looks different from the rest. His hair a bit darker, his eyes brown instead of green. Tall, dark, and handsome.
“Because there is. I like that you’re smart and candid, Amelia. It makes this easier for me to say. I’ve been holding my tongue about it because what’s done is done.”
“Then say it,” I bristle. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
“Okay, then.” He turns to fac
e me, and I do the same. His smile is warm, maybe trying to calm me a bit. “I won’t pull any punches with you because I both like and respect you. I’m worried about what you and my brother are up to.”
Me too, I think but don’t say. Instead, I go with, “Which part?”
He laughs. “Good question. Well, the business side of this was kind of my idea, so I can’t say that. And I still don’t regret it. That side of things is turning out exactly as we had hoped and planned. It’s everything else that’s getting complicated.”
He’s right about that. Oliver’s mom is undergoing chemo. She’s already had her first round and so far, she feels okay. I went to see her with Oliver the other day and I could tell it made her happy we were there together. She went on about engagement parties and picking a wedding date and our upcoming Boston Magazine interview—since I got talked into agreeing to it—and I felt like shit.
Oliver did too, I think, and when we left, neither of us had much to say.
Lying to her isn’t easy and I know it eats at him, but I could also see the joy on his face every time she smiled and focused on us instead of her diagnosis and treatment. He’s the baby boy, as Carter said. The people pleaser. The one with the biggest heart I’ve ever seen.
Sometimes to his own detriment.
The media are also all over us. Still. They follow me and they follow him, and they follow us. They write articles and people post tweets and Instagram photos of us. Everything, thus far, is going exactly as planned.
Layla got into school with a full ride. Oliver’s mom is happy. The media too.
But Carter is right. I believe that Oliver and his brothers stepped into this idea with the best of intentions. But now it’s complicated. So very complicated.
And I’m the one who complicated it.
“I know,” I say. “I knew it was stupid. He knew it was stupid.”
“But you couldn’t resist each other. That much is clear. It’s what happens when you guys get serious that I’m worried about.”
“It’s only been two weeks, Carter. I think we’re putting the cart before the horse, so to speak. Oliver and I are just having fun right now. Nothing serious. We are talking about Oliver, after all.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince more with that. Me or him. I don’t even believe the damn words I’m saying.