Page 85 of Oliver
He offered his hand, and I took it, my breath catching at the tenderness of his touch as he tugged me up from the sofa and cupped my face.
And then he was kissing me.
Not like before—not desperate, not drunk, not for show. This kiss was slow, soft, intimate. Each brush of his lips was deliberate, focused, like he was memorizing the feel of mine beneath them.
Something had shifted. The man kissing me wasn't the Oliver who'd shut down last night, or the professional date I'd hired, or even the man who'd claimed me against our hotel room door in a haze of bourbon and adrenaline.
This was different.
When he pulled back, his thumbs traced my cheekbones, his expression open in a way I'd never seen before.
"I want this with you," Oliver whispered, pressing his forehead against mine. "All of it. The real deal. And it terrifies me because I don't know how to not be alone, but I also don't know how to not be with you."
I paused, searching his face, waiting for the mask to slip back into place, for the cold calculation to return. But all I found was vulnerability—raw, unguarded, genuine.
It surprised me, this sudden openness after days of walls and secrets. It should have made me wary, skeptical, questioning his motives.
Instead, it melted something inside me. The final barrier I'd been maintaining against the inevitable conclusion that what was happening between us had stopped being fake a long time ago.
“Say it with science,” I whispered, needing to hear it in his words, see it through his eyes.
Oliver chuckled softly, the tip of his nose grazing mine.
“I don't know how to maintain my orbit without you at my center, my Lumina.”
I released a shuddering exhale.
This was real.
No hidden agenda, no acting, no plan.
Just Oliver Beck, laying his heart bare.
I circled his neck, rising on my toes to press my mouth against his. Slow. Unhurried. Savoring the taste of sweetened black coffee and the promise of a future together.
“I need to tell you something,” he murmured against my lips.
I shook my head. “No more words, Oliver. Show me.”
He pulled me in, tilting me back slightly so he could deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping through my mouth, firm yet tender.
We made our way to bed, taking our time with every button. Oliver’s hands skimmed the skin of my belly once he finished unbuttoning my blouse. My fingers traced the hard planes of his chest after I pulled his polo off.
His lips trailed each increment of skin he uncovered as he slid my blouse off my shoulders one inch at a time—the curve of my collarbone, the dip of my shoulder, the sensitive spot just below my ear—his breath hot and teasing, sending shivers down my spine. My skin flushed under his touch, a soft moan escapingmy lips as he worshipped me, his kisses a trail of fire that left me trembling, aching for more.
Then he froze.
Shit.
I’d forgotten about the bruises Ryan left on my arm.
“I should have killed him,” Oliver mumbled, before continuing to peel my clothes off, distracting me from pondering his words too deeply with that wicked tongue dragging from the valley between my breasts up to my mouth, where he thrust it deep and possessively.
Then he stepped away, working his belt loose with practiced efficiency, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft hiss that shot desire like I’d never experienced through my body. Before I could process what he was doing, he looped it around his wrists and through the decorative slats above his head, catching the end between his teeth.
The slick gliding sound as Oliver pulled the makeshift leather bonds tight made my core clench, and he smirked when I let out a startled gasp.
“That’s…” I trailed off, unsure which of the million questions and sensations flooding me I should verbalize.
