Page 31 of The Retreat

Slowly, he turns his head to look at me and blinks.

“There’s not enough Xanax in the world for this.”

“You know what helps calm the nerves?” I bat my lashes at him. “Orgasms.”

The doors slide open, and he ushers me out. “Get in the car, husband.”

We’ve been to four different places, and Owen is getting more tense with every one. Admittedly, the first one was basically a shoebox. I’ll give him that.

It was a joke.

Mostly.

“Enough,” Owen says in no uncertain terms when we get back in the car. “Are you purposefully arranging these places to torment me?”

I smirk out the window before schooling my face. “Maybe a little.”

“I’m not going to see any more places without seeing the listing first.”

“I like it when you get demanding,” I purr.

He closes his eyes and leans back against the seat, clearly exhausted. Okay, I might have pushed him too far. That last one was on the seventh floor and didn’t have an elevator. I’m honestly surprised he even climbed the stairs to look at the place.

Reaching for the back of his neck, I squeeze the muscles until he groans, then run my fingers up into his hair. My nails scratch lightly at his skin, and I gently pull on his hair.

“Come here,” I coax, but he side-eyes me. I pull on his hair until he lays across the back seat, putting his head on my thigh as I play with his hair.

“Caffeine. I need caffeine.”

“You just had one after the last apartment.”

“Dealing with you is exhausting.”

“I want to argue, but you aren’t wrong.”

I tell the driver to stop someplace for coffee. He doesn’t ask what Owen wants, so this is clearly not the first time he’s done this.

Owen is finishing his cup when we pull up out front of our building.

“Oliver is going to be insufferable,” I sigh as I get out.

“You’ll get a taste of what it’s like to live with you.”

“No, no. Oliver is a much bigger asshole than I am. I’m a brat. There’s a difference.” We step into the elevator. “And it’s very easy to get me to comply. You are choosing this for yourself.”

“I’m not rewarding bad behavior.”

When the doors open in the penthouse, we can hear a moan echo from the hallway that has to be Isaac. I smile broadly and turn to Owen who is slightly pink and wide eyed.

“They are having a much better afternoon than we are.”

“Don’t start.” Owen walks off toward the kitchen and turns on the espresso machine.

Slapping of flesh on flesh is added to the mix of grunts and deep moans. Lucky Isaac. Are they in the office? I wonder…

“Don’t even think about it.” Owen’s growl has me freezing in place, almost to the hallway. That tone has me starting to harden. Fuck. What I wouldn’t give for him to talk to me like that while sex was involved.

“If they’re going to fuck in public spaces, they should expect an audience.” And porn is not doing it anymore. Do Owen and Oliver fuck the same? Gods, I want to know.

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