Hitched: Volume Two Page 7

Olivia heads into the master bath, and I hear her soft groan when she sinks into the water.

  Knowing she’s undressed on just the other side of that door is sweet torture. But she’s told me she’s ready for sex, and that means I need to do the right thing—tell her about the heir clause in the contract.

  While she bathes, primps, and dresses, I wait in the living room, trying to get my thoughts in order. Tonight might be the most important conversation I’ve ever had. The future of Tate & Cane depends on how carefully I can break this news to her.

  But then she steps out from the bedroom and I forget how to breathe, let alone form coherent sentences.

  “Wow. You look . . .”

  “Is this okay?” She spins, treating me to the 360-degree view.

  The knee-length dress is modestly cut in the front, not showing too much leg, or really any cleavage. But the back plunges all the way down to just above her ass. And the deep wine color contrasts with her milky skin beautifully.

  Sweet Jesus.

  “You look edible,” I stammer out.

  A sly grin spreads across her berry-stained lips. “Edible?”

  So much for being smooth and playing it cool. “They’ll be plenty of time for that later,” I say, recovering only slightly from the sight of her. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, but you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

  My cell phone chimes and I check the notification. “The car’s here. Come on. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  I take her hand and guide her to the door, where she picks up a little silver purse and a tube of lipstick.

  When we reach the street in front of the penthouse, Olivia pauses on the sidewalk. “You got a limo?”

  I open the door to the sleek black town car and nod. “It’s a special occasion.” Olivia slips inside and I lean down to meet her eyes. “Plus I’ll be able to feel you up without crashing the car.” I grin.

  Olivia chuckles, warm and deep, and the sound goes straight to my head. I love putting a smile on her face. Honestly though, not driving means I can focus one hundred percent on Olivia.

  Tonight will be more than just the first time we have sex. Tonight is the first time I’m going to be intimate with my wife. My wife. Shit, I’m still not used to that—both the idea of having a wife and the idea that it’s Olivia. But I take this shit seriously. Tonight means much more than just some random hookup. I really like Olivia. I want us to work. Plus, I haven’t fucked anyone in months. My body is more than ready for this.

  She slips inside the car and I climb in behind her. Since I’ve already given the driver tonight’s agenda, he whisks us away without a word.

  After dinner at a nice seafood restaurant where we enjoyed lobster and wine and shared the lemon cheesecake for dessert, Olivia and I visit one of the city’s best jazz clubs, seated at a tiny round table for two with a perfect view of the stage.

  She reaches over and squeezes my hand while the band warms up. “Thank you. I can’t believe you planned all this.”

  I shrug. “It’s nothing.”

  She frowns. “It’s not nothing. Believe me when I say that no man has ever planned a date this extravagant.”

  Never? That simultaneously relieves me and pisses me off a little. I’m glad that she’s impressed, but it’s a damn tragedy that she’s never been romanced properly. Of course Olivia deserves all this—and more.

  “Well, you’re stuck with me now, babe.”

  She chews on her lower lip, and for the briefest flash of a moment, I read the hesitation on her features. I might not have been who she’d choose as a husband, but that didn’t change the outcome. Whatever happens next, wherever we go in life, I will always be her first husband. Part of me hopes I’ll be her one-and-only husband, as crazy as that sounds.

  During dinner, the conversation flowed well. True, we did talk mostly about work, but it was the type of gossipy small talk that kept us both laughing. And now, we’re each on our third glass of wine, and the soft jazz music floating through the air has created an undeniably romantic atmosphere.

  Olivia has a subtle smile painted across her lips as she looks out over the stage. But despite the perfect evening, I can’t escape the thoughts that have lingered in the back of my head all evening. The guilt stewing inside me has reached a boiling point. As much as I want to just enjoy our date, I can’t put it off any longer. I need to tell Olivia about the baby-making that’s supposed to happen. Like, now.

  “Olivia, I . . .”

  She reaches over and touches my hand. “Dance with me?” Her eyes are filled with a hopeful longing that I never thought I’d see her direct at me. I find myself nodding and rising to my feet.

  Then we’re swaying on the dance floor—her fingertips on the back of my neck, her sweet honeysuckle scent surrounding me, my hands molded to the curve of her hips like they were made to fit there. And I . . . just can’t. Not right now. This moment is too perfect to ruin.

  It seems like she’s finally starting to warm to me, to the idea of us. I promise myself that I’ll tell her as soon as we get home. For now, I push the words I need to say down my throat, and I just hold her.

  • • •

  The instant the penthouse door closes behind us, Olivia’s lips are on my throat and her hand is on my cock.

  Hello there, instant hard-on.

  “Whoa. Slow down, baby. We have all night.” I grip her wrist, drawing her hand away from my cock. Plus, we still need to talk. We have to.

  “Fuck going slow. I’ve gone slow my entire life. I overthink every decision to death. I haven’t had sex in . . .” She pauses and looks down. “Years.”

  “Years?” I don’t mean to blurt it with such force, but holy hell. Seriously?

  She frowns. “Don’t make fun.”

  I touch her cheek softly. “I’m not.” Then I lean in for a chaste kiss. “I just want to make this good for you.”

  “You will.” She kisses me back. “I have no doubts about that.”

  And then her hands are on my dick again, and I couldn’t stop her even if I wanted to. She’s unbuckling my belt, tugging down my zipper, shoving her hands inside my boxers to palm my erection. Her hands are so delicate, so warm, and it’s the first time she’s touched me.

  “Christ, Olivia.” I grunt, pushing my pants down my hips so she can stroke me freely.

  Is marital sex hotter than hookup sex? The answer to that question seems to be a big fucking YES. Because just the thought of banging my wife has me harder than ever before. So hard that my cock is leaking pre-cum from the tip, something Olivia seems to have noticed. She rubs her thumb along the head, smearing the warm fluid against my sensitive skin, making me groan.

  I look down between us to where Olivia’s gaze is glued as well. Her hand moves up and down my shaft with a firm, yet tender grip.

  “You’re so big, so sexy,” she murmurs.

  “That’s right, baby. Now stroke that big cock.”

  I take her mouth in a hungry kiss, our tongues dueling as her hands slide up and down. Oh God, I can’t think, but I need to stop this. Man up and push her off. Tell her what’s on my mind.

  Instead, what do I do? I pet her cheek with my thumb and say, “Get down on your knees and put your mouth on me, baby.” I’ve fantasized about Olivia’s sassy mouth wrapped around my cock for so long, this is sure to be a dream come true.

  Without a trace of the hesitation I expected, she drops to her knees before me and grips my base with both hands.

  I don’t ask her to suck it, because unless she’s secretly a blow job expert—or she can unhinge her jaw—I doubt I’ll fit in her mouth. So instead I stroke her hair, and caress her cheek, and watch her lick me like a lollipop and swirl her tongue around the tip. Her efforts are cute. And the languid, wet kiss she leaves on the crown feels incredible. She murmurs little enticing noises as I pet her hair. She fits the tip of me in her mouth and suckles lightly, making me groan.

  Hauling her up to her feet, I kiss her one m
ore time. “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

  She nods eagerly and turns to walk ahead of me, swinging her hips in that backless dress.

  I can’t believe she’s mine. Can’t believe that she’s about to give herself to me. A flash of pride tinged with guilt whips through me, and I give chase.

  In the bedroom, Olivia watches me as she lets the straps of her dress fall down her shoulders, until the whole thing is just a puddle of fabric at her feet. Having forgone a bra, she’s left standing in a lacy black thong and her black stiletto heels.

  “So fucking sexy.” I groan, stopping in front of her to kiss her lips and then her neck.

  My pants are still open in the front, and Olivia reaches inside to take me in her hands again.

  “Christ, woman.” I’m putty in her hands. Whatever she wants to do, I’m game. But I can’t give her all the control. “On the bed,” I growl, taking a step back.

  Olivia obeys, stepping out of her heels and moving to lie down in the center of the bed. Our bed. Shit, that’s going to take some getting used to. It should make me nervous that this woman will be here when I wake up, that this isn’t just another one-night stand. If I fuck this up, if things change and get weird after, there will be no escaping Olivia.

  Strangely, though, that isn’t what’s making me nervous.

  It’s the sweetly hopeful way Olivia’s wide blue eyes are watching me. She wants this erotic experience with me, wants to experience all the pleasure I can show her. But what if this encounter goes the way it’s supposed to and she ends up pregnant? What then? Are we ready for a baby? Are we even cut out to be parents? Will she hate me?

  But the time to talk has passed. I blew all my chances to talk about the heir clause tonight; I’ll just have to tell her tomorrow. Because right now Olivia is waiting for me, and I’ve never left a woman in need.

  Pushing all those troubling thoughts of babies from my brain, I strip, then lie down beside Olivia so we’re facing each other.

  “Are you nervous?” I ask her, stroking her cheek, trying to get back into the moment.

  She gives me a careful nod. “That’s stupid, right? We’re married now.”

  “Nothing you’re feeling is stupid.”

  She smiles at me. “It’s just . . . been a while.”

  I caress her upper arms, unable to stop touching her. She looks so sexy lying here in just her thong, looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf who’s ready to eat her up.

  “We can go slow,” I murmur, my lips on hers.

  “Okay.” She nods, kissing me back.

  In the moonlit room, we lie side by side, our arms and legs intertwined, kissing for a long time. My tongue explores her mouth and she matches my eager pace, meeting me lick for lick. Her tongue tastes of champagne, and I’m having a hell of a time holding myself back from stripping off her panties and diving between her legs. The taste I had last night wasn’t enough. When it comes to Olivia, nothing can ever be enough.

  A sound of frustration rises up her throat. “We don’t have to go that slow.”

  “No?” I chuckle. Thank fucking God. I peel her thong down her legs and toss it over the side of the bed. “My kind of woman.”

  I shift closer and part her legs, sliding her top knee over my hip, so she’s open for me. Then I rub the head of my cock over her clit, coating myself in her warmth and making her moan at the contact.

  “That feels so good, Noah,” she cries, circling her hips, pushing herself closer.

  “Need to make sure you’re ready for me.”

  I bury my face against her neck, breathing in her familiar scent while I push one long finger inside her. She’s snug, and I take my time adding another finger before slowly withdrawing.

  She reaches up to palm my cheek, feeling the stubble on my jaw. Her eyes never leave mine as I pump my fingers in and out.

  “I want you, Noah.”

  Her voice is just a whisper, and when I look in her eyes, I see the amount of courage it takes her to admit that. She’s been so strong, so resolute for so long, that sex will only complicate our business arrangement. I have no idea what changed her mind. Okay, so I have some idea—it could have been that orgasm I delivered the other night. There’s plenty more where that came from.

  Just do it. “I know, baby. Soon. Nice and easy . . .”

  I line myself up, shuddering at how warm and soft her wet opening feels on the tip of my cock. Easing in just an inch, I bite back a groan. Her body grips mine so tightly, it’s perfection.

  Everything inside me wants to pump her full of my cum and watch her squirm, breathless as she comes down from the multiple orgasms I know I can give her. Instead my brain is screaming at me to stop this. To tell her the truth.

  “Wait,” she says, placing one hand on my chest.

  I’m almost relieved when she stops us. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t we need a condom? I’m not on birth control.”

  “I . . .”

  My heart is pounding and I feel light-headed, almost dizzy. Whether it’s because I’m desperate to feel her around me, or because I’m not cut out for the deception and devastation that lies ahead, I have no idea.

  “I can’t do this,” I bite out.

  “What? Why not?” Olivia sits up, peering down at me with confusion all over her features.

  I look away. “I just can’t,” I repeat uselessly, unable to think of anything else.

  “If this is about the condoms, I’ll run down to the drugstore. It’ll take ten minutes. Fifteen tops.” Her voice rises in concern.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’m suddenly not feeling well.”

  That’s not a total lie; my stomach is certainly churning. I climb out of bed and grab my boxers from the floor, slipping them on while Olivia scowls at me.

  “What the hell, Noah?”

  I don’t reply; I just grab my pillow from the bed and head to the couch. It’s going to be a long fucking night.

  • • •

  “So let me get this straight?” Sterling says around a mouthful of pancakes. “You feigned a headache like a bitter old housewife instead of fucking her?”

  I jab my fork at my eggs, stabbing the runny yolks, my appetite gone. Of course I wasn’t sick last night. It was an attack of shame and regret.

  “I couldn’t do it.”

  Sterling shakes his head. “Of course you couldn’t. You need to stop behaving like a grunting caveman and talk with her about the contract. Use your words and have a real conversation about this. Which has been my position since the wedding, I’ll remind you.” He waves his fork at me for emphasis.

  “Yeah, yeah. Shut it.” I take a sip of my tea while Sterling continues eating. At least one of us has an appetite.

  After a sleepless night spent tossing and turning on the couch, I got up early and asked Sterling out to breakfast before work. We’ve never met up so early before, but he practically jumped at the invitation. He knew from the start that my arranged marriage was going to implode, and I think the bastard just wants a front-row seat.

  “I don’t even know if she likes kids, if she wants kids,” I muse out loud.

  “Yeah, that’s a problem.”

  Damn him for always being the voice of reason. He makes all my conundrums sound so simple and obvious.

  What I’m starting to realize is that there’s the spark of something more between Olivia and me. I can’t deceive any woman about this, but especially not Olivia. She isn’t just a means to an end. We can have the seeds of a real relationship here, and I’m not ready to fuck up that possibility.

  At the same time, though . . . the fate of our entire company is still at stake. How do I protect both Olivia and Tate & Cane? How do I convince her?

  I toss some cash onto the table and stand, unable to stomach any more. “I’ve got to get to the office. Thanks for the chat.”

  “Anytime you need a therapy session, I’m here.” Smiling, Sterling gives me a wave before digging back into his pancakes.
>
  When I arrive at work, I go to the one place I know Olivia won’t find me.

  “Hey, Rosita,” I call, clearing off a countertop in the mailroom and sitting down.

  “I’ve missed you, mi amor,” she says, wheeling a cart full of packages over. As she approaches, she makes a tsking sound under her breath. Then she stops in front of me and runs her thumb under my eye. “You don’t look well. These dark circles aren’t normally here.”

  I shrug. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “Oh?” She gives me a knowing smile.

  “No, nothing like that.” I guess I need to preface my statement; otherwise, people are likely to think I was burning up the sheets with my blushing bride. We are newlyweds, after all. “I slept on the couch last night.”

  Her expression instantly falls. Frowning, she gives my cheek a pat. Then she lowers herself into the chair across from me. “Tell Mama Rosie all about it.”

  “Things between me and Olivia are good . . . they’re just kind of complicated.”

  “Complicated how?” Rosita raises her eyebrows.

  “How did you know you wanted kids?”

  From her surprised expression, that’s clearly not the topic she was expecting. “I don’t know. I guess I always just knew from the time I was small that I wanted to be a mother.”

  I nod. Makes sense. I think women just know. They have that maternal instinct, that ticking biological clock. Only I don’t know if Olivia feels that way.

  “Do you want children? Is that what this is about?” Rosita asks in her calm, yet confident voice.

  I have always wanted at least one kid, hopefully two. But this situation isn’t about what either of us want. Our know-it-all, matchmaking fathers thought it best that we start a family in order to take over their massive corporation, and now I’m feeling the pressure of putting a bun in Olivia’s oven ASAP.

  Does Rosita really need all that background information, though?

  Deciding to keep this conversation as simple as possible, I just answer, “Yeah. But I don’t know how Olivia feels.”

  Rosita smiles warmly at me and rises to pat the back of my hand. “You have plenty of time. The ink is barely dry on your marriage certificate. Enjoy life with just the two of you for a few years first. Once kids come, you can never go back. This time is precious.”