Page 50 of Creed

It will be hard when I head back to San Francisco; however, we’ll make it work, and I’ll come here every chance I can. I’m even toying with the idea of moving my headquarters to San Diego, something I’ve never contemplated because San Francisco is my home. But I’m willing to be wherever Sophie is.

Christ, I’m a lovesick bastard. I can already hear the taunting my brothers will give me, but I don’t give a fuck.

I smirk, mopping up the sweat on the back of my neck from my workout. Leaving my home gym, I walk down the hall toward my office and hear Sophie talking.

“Ollie,” she groans.

She’s speaking with her roommate, who Sophie hasn’t orwon’ttell her anything about me. That fact sets me on edge, but I haven’t pressed it because I haven’t told anyone about the two of us, either. Andro knows because he’s here with me in San Diego, and I’m giving all my free time to Sophie. I’m not trying to hide Sophie from my family; however, right now, I want her all for myself. I’m becoming an obsessive, possessive bastard.

I also haven’t told my family yet because I need to get over the hurdle of telling herwhomy family is first. But it’s only been a week, and I rationalize every day that I have time to ease her into the idea.

I stop in the hallway, outside the office door, and shamelessly eavesdrop.

“Yes, Ollie, I swear he isn’t married… No, he’s not butt ugly. He’s actually hot as fuck…”

I grin, not only at her description of me, but at her swearing.

My sweet little angel rarely swears, unless I’m denying her orgasms and continuously bringing her to the brink, only to pullher back. Edging and orgasm denial makes my girl drenched andexplodewhen I finally allow her to come.

My scalp still aches from her pulling on my hair this morning as I ate her out after bringing her to the brink six times. She had gripped my hair so tight as she sobbed her frustration and ground against my face, using my nose on her clit, so she could finally get off. She soaked my face as she came, and her screams echoed off the walls.

I squeeze the head of my instantly rock-hard dick as I remember and contemplate what I’ll do to her tonight.

“No, he’s not a serial killer…” I know she’s rolling her eyes based on her tone. “Well, I guess when I’m dead, then I’ll know for sure, won’t I?” she snarks, then laughs. “Is this all you want to talk about? Because if it is, then I gotta go… No, I warned you, Ollie…”

“Shut up.” She laughs again, and I love hearing her relaxed banter. Sophie doesn’t have many friends here, not that she lacks personality or anything. She’s like me, an introvert who focuses on quality relationships over quantity. “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow. Bye, Pep-Rally. Like you a little.”

I know from Sophie that Ollie’s reply will be ‘Bye, Killjoy. Love you a lot.’

The rustling tells me Sophie has gotten off the sofa in the office, and I stay leaning against the wall just outside the door. When she exits the office, her eyes widen when she sees me.

Those copper streaks in her brown irises get me every time. My favorite thing about this penthouse is the cream-colored marble floors with rich bronze and copper swirls, just like her bronze-hued skin and the copper streaks in her eyes. It’s like the universe was preparing me for her.

“How much did you overhear?” She leans her shoulder against the doorway opposite from me. Her curvy hip in her stretchy jeans juts out with her stance.

I reach out and rub her hip, needing to touch her. “Close to the end where you assured her I’m not married or a serial killer. And you told her I was hot as fuck.” Both my hands grip her hips, and I tug her to me, loving how her breath stutters and her eyes dilate.

She wets her full lips. “You’re not, are you?”

“What? A serial killer? If I was, do you think I’d tell you, angel?” She swats my chest, and I smile. “I’m neither a serial killer, nor am I married.”

She chews her bottom lip, and I lean forward, tugging it free and suck on it. “This is mine to chew, angel.”

My actions and words don’t give me the response I was hoping for—a shiver and her obvious worry easing.

She pulls back from me, serious and searching my face. “Maybe you live common-law with someone?” she presses, her eyes darting between mine. “A girlfriend back in San Francisco. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

I resist the urge to stiffen because I don’t want her to misunderstand or doubt our relationship. “There’s no one but you.”

She sags and rests her head against my chest, her cheek pressing over my heart. “I still expect the other shoe to drop, you know? Like this is too good to be true.”

Cupping her head, I hold it to my chest. “Do you feel and hear that, angel? That heart beats only for you.”

She snorts. “I’m not a physiology major, but I know that’s not how it works.”

But the emotion in her voice tells me my statement affected her.

The phone ringing interrupts my next thought. I pull my phone out from my sweatpants, glancing at it and seeing it’s my father “I have to take this,” I murmur. “It’s my father calling.”

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