Page 24 of Knocked up By the Minotaur

“But you still want to leave.”

He blinks, his warm, dark eyes darting all across my face as if he’s trying to read a book but doesn’t quite know the language. Still, his silence is answer in itself. I take another sip of my cocktail, and fall back against my couch, too.

“See, I have the exact opposite problem to you,” I sigh. “Apparently, I latch on to the first pretty idiot I see, give him my heart, and ride on through past thousands of red flags until there’s nothing left of our relationship to burn. And even then…” This time I take a heartier gulp of my liquid candy, and belatedly realize I’ve finished my martini glass of deliciousness. “Brad had been cheating on me for a year, probably even longer, and I still didn’t break it off when I found out. I clung on to us for nearly a month more, trying to make it work, believing him when he promised to be the man he was when I’d first met him, and what did he do? Continue cheating, that’s what. I think somewhere in the back of my mind, I even knew and just refused to believe it.” I dump my empty glass on the low table before us, and then dump my chin in my hand and my elbow on my knee, flicking absently at the loose waves of hair that fall over my shoulder.

I flag a waiter down for another cocktail, and Oli cocks his head as he watches me.

“Maybe you just need to try something different?”

I roll my eyes, but amusement starts trickling through me again. “Let me guess… you?”

“Well…” He smiles cheesily and stretches an arm out over his backrest. I allow him to steer us back to our lighter flirtations, because it’s fun and I’m tired of feeling weighed down.

“Please,” I scoff, chin still in my hand as I mirror his smile. “I’m sure your ego doesn’t want to hear it, but you’re just like the rest of them.”

“First of all, how dare you,” he mutters.

“A handsome, charming, sweet-talking fuckboy,” I continue, feeling a bubble of mirth try to escape me at his affronted expression, as the waiter deposits another cocktail before me, and I take a sip. “Self-proclaimed, I might add, so don’t go giving me that face!”

“I’m forty-nine years old,” he huffs, “you can’t call me a fuckboy.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Look, no matter what happens between us, I would never do to you,or to anyone,what that wet potato did.” And I snort, because wet potato? Where the hell is he pulling these descriptors from? But his brows lower, and though there’s still a hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes are turning serious.

“Okay fine, I’ll bite,” I say. “What did the ‘wet potato’ do?”

“Lie,” he says with certainty. “He lies to you every time he opens his mouth, I don’t even need to know your history to know that. He lies, cheats, uses you—and arguably, even worse—doesn’t see how incredible you are. He speaks to you as if he already owns you and isn’t impressed with what he’s got.”

“Ouch,” I whisper, because that’s my last four years in a nutshell, and I allowed it. Like I always do.

Oli abruptly leans forward, resting both elbows on his spread knees. “I have never lied to you, and I never would. I’m an open book, Grace. I want you.” His deep brown eyes are intense, and he places his tumbler on the low table between us with a quiet click. “You’re incredibly beautiful, I itch to run my fingers over every inch of your gorgeous body. And you have a sharp mind and a tongue like a sledgehammer, which I find to be quite sexy, by the way.”

“You like it when I insult you?” I raise my brows, trying to ignore the fluttering in my stomach at his words.

“You’re never really all that insulting.”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

“Lash me with your words, sweetheart,” he rumbles. “I’ll take anything, if it’s coming from you.”

I let out a puff of air. “Oli…”

“You could keep telling me you’re not interested, and I’d continue to respect that,” he says quietly, leaning just a little further forward as he spears me with his gaze. “But know that I would never break a promise to you.”

I find myself captivated by his intense gaze, by the quiet depth in his voice, and all I can do is stare back and try not to forget that I’m still holding a martini glass.

“And I promise that if you trust yourself to me, I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re beyond happy with that decision. I’d put you before myself. I’d lavish that sinful body of yours with every lick of attention it deserves, and I’d never, ever forget how gods-blessed lucky I am just to have you near.”

My lips part as I stare at him, unable to look away. His eyes are flaring with desire, and I have to wonder if he’s been suppressing it this whole time, or if I simply wasn’t paying enough attention.

“If you ever let me touch you, Grace…” He trails off briefly, his tongue darting over his bottom lip with a wet flash as his eyes rake across my figure. “I would do everything in my power to satisfy you. I dream of tasting you, of feeling your thighs squeeze my face as I lavish pleasure on you over and over until you’re begging me to stop. I want to learn your body, play you like an instrument until you sing for me.”

Goosebumps race along my skin in a wave of tingles, and the space between us suddenly feels like it’s shrinking. I try to say something, but when it’s clear that I’m incapable of speech right now, he smiles softly.

“You dominate my thoughts when I should be focusing on everyday tasks.” His voice is low and silky, and his broad hand plays with the tumbler before him, fingers lightly tracing the rim as he twists his glass back and forth. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your lips on mine. I’m desperate to know what you taste like, what sounds you make in the throes of your pleasure, how it would feel to hear my name on your lips when you moan. I’m a male obsessed, and if you tell me not to speak to you like this again…” He takes a small breath and blinks, as if coming out of a trance himself. “I swear this will be the last you’ll ever hear it. But I wanted you to know, I’ve never felt desire for anyone this intensely before. You are uniquely alluring, and I can’t get my mind off you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Olistaire.” I take a huge gulp of my cocktail, trying to cool my suddenly overheating body—and then I take one more for good measure, and put down my once more, empty glass.

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