Page 56 of Face Off
“And you’re addictive,” he whispers back, pressing another lingering kiss to my temple. “I don’t think anyone’s ever made me feel like this.”
I smile, heart fluttering, fingers tracing the curve of his shoulder. “I think we’re both dangerously reckless.”
He laughs, low and warm, and tugs me closer. “I don’t care. Reckless with you? Worth every second.”
We settle into that quiet, soft space together, the world outside forgotten. My pulse slows, the fire in my veins tempered by warmth, by tenderness, by the way he holds me like I’m the most precious thing in his life.
Eventually, sleep drifts close, but I stay awake a little longer, thinking of his lips on mine, the feel of his hands, the reckless joy of surrendering to him.
And I know, absolutely, that I want more.
The sunlight spills through the blinds, painting stripes across the bedroom floor. I blink against it, warm and heavy, and groan softly when I realise Ollie’s arm is draped over my waist, his chest pressed against my back. I can feel the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath my hand, and for a brief, suspended moment, everything is perfect.
“Morning,” he murmurs into my hair, voice husky and half-asleep.
“Morning,” I reply, voice thick with sleep and something else, something like contentment that’s still new and unfamiliar. I stretch, careful not to disturb him too much, and his hand twitches, sliding a little lower along my side. I bite back a shiver.
He shifts, nuzzling against my shoulder, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes. “You’re ridiculous,” I murmur.
“Mm,” he hums, grinning against my skin. “Ridiculous and yours.”
I twist slightly to face him, hands tangling in his hair. His eyes flutter open, still heavy-lidded, but the spark is there. That same teasing, mischievous glint that made me melt in the hallway yesterday. “You really know how to make a morning memorable,” I say, voice low, almost breathless.
“You slept through the good part,” he replies, mock offense in his tone. “I had some world-class cuddling skills going on.”
I roll my eyes, laughing, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “World-class, huh? And here I was thinking you were just pretending to be tender.”
“Pretend?” he repeats, mock scandalised. “I don’t pretend. I’m naturally this good.”
I tug him closer, laughing again, and the blanket slips off both of us, warm skin pressing together. He grins, eyes darkening as our hands wander in the soft morning light, a playful yet intimate rhythm building between us. There’s no rush, no urgency, just the slow, delicious stretch of being close, tangled in sheets and each other.
He presses a kiss to my jaw, then my neck, soft and lingering, and I shiver, tilting my head into him. “Stop teasing me,” I murmur, voice breathy.
“I’m not teasing,” he says, voice low, warm, teasing all at once. “I’m making sure you remember what you’ve got.”
I laugh, rolling onto my back, pulling him with me until he’s hovering, hands bracing either side of me. His smile is lazy, boyish, that same mix of puppy-dog charm and raw heat that made me surrender yesterday. “Dangerous,” I murmur, running a hand over his chest.
“And irresistible,” he replies instantly, leaning down to press another kiss to my lips.
We stay like that for a while, lips brushing, hands exploring, soft laughter mingling with sighs. It’s intimate and complex and exactly what I didn’t know I needed until now.
Eventually, we disentangle just enough to grab our clothes, laughing at the chaos of tangled limbs, blankets, and the lingering heat of the night. He makes coffee while I grab breakfast; scrambled eggs, toast, a tiny bit of chaos in the kitchen that makes me grin.
He sidles up behind me, draping his arm around my waist, whispering jokes about my “chef’s hat of chaos” and pretending to critique my butter-to-toast ratio. I nudge him playfully, and he pretends to recoil. “I’m serious,” he says. “That’s an art form. I’m your biggest critic.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I reply, rolling my eyes but secretly loving every second of the banter.
We sit at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee, still brushing hands, exchanging smiles that are quiet but electric. No one is around to see this; no expectations, no pressures, just us. And I realise, as I watch him grin at some small, silly thing I said, that I’ve never felt more at ease.
Finally, he leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “So, are we officially a disaster together now?”
I laugh, resting my hand against his cheek. “We might be. But I like it.”
He grins, playful and soft at the same time, and kisses me again, lingering, slow, grounding, the heat of last night nowtempered with warmth and tenderness. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t plan on stopping.”
I roll my eyes, laughing softly, but my heart is hammering. “You’re relentless,” I murmur.
“And you love it,” he teases, eyes sparkling with that irrepressible energy.
