Page 27 of The Southern Thirst Trap

I cast a glare from him to Hayes and point my finger his way, looking for any way out. “Why can’t we leak the news about Hater popping out kids with his hot debutante wife? That would show a softer side of the leadership, and the media already loves them, so it would be easy to focus on that.”

Hayes stiffens, but quickly relaxes, with a small smile softening his hard expression as he likely thinks of his wife who is about three months pregnant. “We’re working on that, but we can’t announce anything yet, so stop deflecting from what’s asked of you now. If you have a child, you need to be more than a sperm donor. You’re a fucking Olsen, act like it. Own your mistakes and stop being a coward.”

Fuck. He’s hitting below the belt, cutting off the legs of any other possibility I can latch onto. The worst part is he’s right. I am being a coward. But there’s a bigger obstacle in place than just my own hesitance to accept the mantle they want to saddle me with.

“Harlowe wants nothing to do with me,” I grit out.

“Change her mind, idiot.” Hayes’s look is withering. “You’re the hotshot CEO who can close any deal. Consider this the challenge of a lifetime. Make it work or prepare to watch the company you love so much be picked apart and crumble at your feet.”

sixteen

Harlowe

Five Years Ago

“Isthisreallyourlast day in paradise?” I ask, as we walk hand-in-hand along the beach back to the villa after our final incredible dinner.

It was bittersweet and extra special to have Chef and the staff at the little restaurant that has fed us so well these past weeks all come out to wish us well. They have been so kind and taken great care of us and even let me into their kitchen whenever I felt like whipping something up to impress Zander. One playfulwok offwith the Michelin-starred chef was all it took to gain access to his sacred space as well as earn his blessing to win my man through his stomach as well as his cock. It didn’t hurt that he liked my lobster ceviche, as well. We’ve exchanged contact details, and I hope to keep in touch with them.

“It doesn't feel like it’s been two weeks, right? It feels like it’s been two days and two years at the same time. I don't know how time can work like that sometimes,” Zander says, sounding relaxed. He raises our clasped hands over my head and pulls me into his side without letting my hand go, so he has his arm around me now as well.

“I wish we could stay here like this forever,” I say, feeling wistful and nostalgic, knowing that things will inevitably change when we get back home. They have to, just for the sake of normalcy and leaving this delicious slice of paradise and vacation mode for the real world.

God, it will be torture to not sleep in the same bed as Zander. To not wake up next to him. To not have his hands on me or see his gorgeous gray eyes drinking me in every time I turn around. At the very least, we’ll have to figure out how we’ll work long-distance with us living on opposite coasts, and my modeling work taking me all over the world without a real set schedule while he works Monday through Friday seven to seven or something hideous like that.

Should I try to find a job that is more stable and less nomadic? Would he be willing to move, or to travel with me? Should I move back to Atlanta? These are just the surface level questions that pertain to our physical geography, though. What about the deeper questions like, what are we? Are we an official couple? It sure feels like that, saying we belong to each other, that I am his and he is mine, and using words like forever.

It’s a far cry from the no attachments condition and nothing more after the trip that was promised when he invited me to come with him two weeks ago. Those bridges were burned, and those lines crossed too thoroughly to imagine ourselves able to go back to that reality now. I have given in completely. Stopped playing my role. Let him see me fully and unconditionally, and embraced everything he has given me in return.

We spend our last night in paradise slowly making love, the moonlight spilling in through the open windows gilding our bodies in pale light as we whisper secrets and make promises that neither of us is sure we can keep. The sound of the ocean joins our soft moans and the whimpers Zander wrings from me, creating a soundtrack that will forever haunt my memories and remain the most evocative of symphonies. We play with each other, but not in the roles we took when we arrived. Our fingers lace, and our lips twist, chasing one another across the huge bed as I giggle and he growls. We’re relaxed and silly and serious all at once.

He expertly navigates my body, knowing every spot, knowing everything I could want, and delivering before I can think to ask for it. He turns me, positions me, holds me, and applies the right amount of pressure to all the right places, so it’s one orgasm after another bowing my back and keeping me clutching at him. My pleasure continues until I’m sweating, limp, and tear-streaked in his arms, begging him for just one more, because I don't want him to stop, even if I don't think I can physically bear it. I don't know what changes tomorrow holds, and I want all the pleasure he can give me, just in case I have to go without for an extended period of time.

“You’re insatiable,” he murmurs into my neck as his hips still against mine. “You’re shaking. I’m going to break you if I make you come again.”

“Please, Zander,” I whisper, voice hoarse from crying out so many times. “I just want you so damn much.”

He places soft kisses across my face, stilling when his lips are hovering directly over mine. “How can I say no to that when I want you just as badly? One more. Then you’re going to sleep. We have to be up early.”

He stops talking and starts kissing me again. He adjusts our bodies, raising my hips just so, dipping his so he hits me just right on his next stroke, and his skilled fingers begin to lazily circle my overstimulated clit with the softest of caresses, and immediately the orgasm begins to build.

Zander’s kiss grows harder as he feels my body tensing, trembling, my gasps caught by his mouth. I don't know how his movements can feel so unrushed, lazy even, yet stoke such a fire in me, each slow thrust, in and out, hitting me in every perfect spot to light me up and set me off. Or the way he kisses me with an unhurried grace, the way his tongue can sweep against mine and take exactly what he wants and leave me begging for more.

I didn't think it was possible for someone to know my body this well, to love it this well, this thoroughly, to give it everything it needs, and so much more. Zander is showing me care, affection, and love, even if he can't say the word. I don't expect him to. I won’t make him. This is more than enough for me. More than I ever expected from him. I am satisfied.

I gather the sheets in my fingers, twisting and pulling as that delicious tug starts low in my belly, my muscles growing taught and my lungs freezing as I hold my breath before the orgasm breaks and I lose my fucking mind once again for this man.

This man who once told me no attachments and I had agreed. This man who I once thought was solely a fuckboy with no capacity for caring, but I now know is capable of so much affection and care, it is absolutely staggering. This man who holds me like I’m precious. Who calls me his. Who puts finger-sized bruises on my hips and thighs from the times I need him to fuck me hard, but holds me gently in the comedown and worships me like he wants to keep me forever.

I feel the sheets tear under my fingers, holes ripping straight through the thousand thread count like it’s tissue paper. My voice breaks on the choked sob that is ripped from me as the release barrels through me.

Still, Zander thrusts into my raw, well-used pussy, but his movements are growing erratic, no longer controlled and slow, his hands now gripping my hips as he swells and finds his own release while my muscles clench and pull at him. He growls a feral sound full of manly satisfaction, head thrown back and hips locked tight against mine, the sight one of stark male beauty, the moonlight shining off his sweat-slicked skin, his muscled body tight, trembling, and finally, he collapses over me, panting with effort. I’m more in love with him in this moment than I thought possible.

I wrap my arms and legs around him, pulling him against my own sweaty body and hold him as he comes down from the high. I pepper soft kisses against his face and run my hands soothingly along his back as it rises and falls under my touch, the beat of his heart against my own chest gradually slowing.

“Thank you,” I whisper, feeling my raw throat protest, and know my pussy isn't the only thing that is feeling the effects of two weeks of sex with Zander Olsen. The man has fully lived up to the rumors. He is truly a legend, an absolute god. Any title that has been bestowed on him is well-deserved, but the one most-fitting ismine.I’m sure we’ll shock everyone when it becomes known that he’s off the market and will be leaving his one-and-done ways behind.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, nuzzling into my neck and huffing a sigh of contentment.

---