Page 50 of Oliver
I took a sip, unable to look away from his intense gaze. When I was done, his fingers found my chin, tilting my face up to his. The kiss, when it came, stole my breath—deep and possessive and perfect.
He pulled back just an inch, but his attention shifted immediately to the side, checking Ryan's position. Right. This was for show. A very good show, but still just part of our arrangement.
"Thank you," I whispered, hating how breathless I sounded.
"I've got your back, Lumina." The first time since our friendship fractured that he’d consciously called me by my old nickname.
The air left my lungs in awhoosh, my heart pounding in my chest as I struggled to comprehend what it meant.
I searched his face, but he was already scanning the crowd again, back to professional mode, though his hand lingered on my waist.
I couldn't tell if the slight tremor in his fingers was from restraint or remnants of our kiss, and it was more than I could bear. I turned my back to him, pretending to order shots, my hands braced against the bar as I tried to regain my composure.
Then Oliver pressed into me from behind, his hand splayed over my stomach.
I didn't need to ask why. I felt Ryan's gaze on me, the slow progression in my direction as he waited for an opening to pick up where he was forced to let off on the dance floor. But the way Oliver held me, like he was staking his claim, got to me. He wastoo good an actor, and very dedicated to his role, considering how this position in itself violated about three clauses in our contract.
And then he did something completely out of left field—he bowed his head and kissed my shoulder, feathering his lips up the curve of my neck until they were pressed against my ear.
"What are you doing?" I asked breathlessly, both my hands covering the one he had on my stomach.
"Making a point." His breath brushed hot against my ear. "Now, can you act like I'm talking dirty to you, or do I need to actually talk dirty to you to make you blush?"
I gasped, my body pressing into his instinctively, and Oliver groaned, the sound vibrating from his chest through my entire body.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say the idea of me talking dirty to you turns you on."
"It does," I said, blurting the confession out before my brain managed to catch up with my thoughts. Oliver tensed behind me, his fingers flexing over my abdomen as his breath grew short in my ear.
"Fuck, Zahra, don't do this to me," he growled in a low voice, and if it weren't for the bulge growing in his jeans and digging into my lower back, I would have thought he was angry.
My breathing came out shallow, my lip trembling as I fought a losing war. I wanted him so badly. My eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, I allowed myself to push.
“What would you say to me if you had to talk dirty?” I asked. “Hypothetically speaking.”
Oliver’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into my stomach just enough to make me feel the restraint he was barely holding onto. His lips brushed my ear again, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent heat pooling between my thighs.
“Hypothetically?” he murmured, his tone dark and measured, like he was calculating every word for maximum impact. “I’d tell you how I’ve been plagued with thoughts of how you’d feel if I slid my hand under your dress right now. If you’d be wet for me. If you’d let me tease you until you’re trembling for me.”
My breath stuttered, a broken sound betraying me as his words coiled around my spine like a live wire. Heat licked down my neck, my thighs clenching on instinct, and my fingers gripping his hand like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. It was pure sin, low and deliberate, designed to unravel me.
“I’d tell you how much I want to taste you,” he continued, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear. “How I’d take my time, mapping every inch of you with my mouth until you’re begging for more before Iravishedyou. I’d make you feel every second of it, Zahra—every touch, every kiss, every thrust—until you’re falling apart in my arms, screaming my name so loud that bastard would hear it all the way to his room and know who you fucking belong to, who you fuckingchose.”
Each word was another match lighting a fire that spread through my body, leaving me dizzy with want. I pressed against him more firmly, feeling the hard evidence of his arousal, and a low groan rumbled in his chest.
The shrill sound of a whistle cut through the fog in my brain, followed by Parisa's voice over a microphone. "Wedding party! The bus is here. Time to head back to the hotel."
The hotel.
Where we shared a room.
Where there was only one bed.
Where the pillow wall always crumbled.
Where the line between our objectives and our desires was always blurred.
Where, tonight, they were in danger of burning to ashes.
