Page 75 of Rough Around the Hedges

Just one was all I needed. One measly little reason to never desire his touch for as long as I lived, because there was no way it was right that I was as attracted to this man as I was.

So why did it feel less like hate and more like desperation?

Why was it that the rougher he fucked me and the harder he held onto me, the less it felt like he was pushing me away and was pulling me in instead?

And why, when that wave of euphoria hit me, did I reach for him? Why did I bend my arm back to grab his forearm while sending my other blindly waving behind me?

Why did he link his fingers through mine, bending forwards to cover my body, and bury his face between my shoulder blades? His guttural groan as he came inside me was accompanied by a hot breath that seared itself into my skin, and as if that was what I needed to relax, my body went limp.

We were a hot, heavy-breathing, sweaty mess entangled in one another, and I couldn’t begin to guess how long we stayed like it. Neither of us said a word, and the only movement was Oliver releasing one of my hands and shifting his weight away from me a little.

“Ow, ow, owww.” My leg twitched away from the desk, and as my skin peeled away from the edge, a sting shot across the front of my thigh.

Oliver jolted. “Are you all right? Shit—did I hurt you? Here, use this, and I’ll—”

I turned my head to the side and peered up at him. “It’s my legs against the edge of the desk, that’s all. You didn’t hurt me.”

He froze with a wad of tissue in his hand. “Are you sure?”

“Mhmm. It’s just where I’m pressed against it. It’ll be fine once I’ve moved.”

“Right.” He ran his gaze over my body. “Well, you’ll still be needing these.” He shoved the tissues into my hand before grabbing more and standing up straight. Then, gently, he pulled out of me and pressed the tissues between my legs. “Yep. You need those.”

“You sound awfully proud of yourself,” I grumbled, wincing as I moved. “Ouch. Why is your desk so big, by the way? I’ve just been sprawled across it and not knocked a single thing over. It’s ridiculous. Who needs a desk this big?”

“Jesus Christ, not even orgasms can make you stop running your mouth, huh?”

I sat on his desk, leaning back on my hand, and grinned at him. “That’d be a waste of my superior wit, don’t you think?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but someone knocked on the door. We both jumped, and I quickly scrambled with the robeto cover myself up as he did the same with his trousers and his shirt.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s me,” Eleanor said.

Oh, shit.

I stumbled over to the sofa and dropped myself down onto it, trying to look casual. Oliver shot me a look that screamed, “You’re an idiot,” before opening the door and poking his head through the gap. “Yes?”

“I have clothes for Rose. Her friend gave them to me, but I didn’t know where she was.”

“Oh. She came in here to yell at me then fell asleep on my sofa. I’ll give them to her.” He shoved his hand through the gap.

“Nice try. I heard her voice just now.” Eleanor’s head popped over his shoulder. “Hello, dear.”

I flinched. “Um, hi. I just woke up.”

“Mhmm.” Her gaze flickered to the side. “Do you often nap with men’s undergarments near your head?”

I followed the path of her eyes, and my gaze landed on Oliver’s discarded boxer briefs.

Great.

Of all the clothes he didn’t put on, why was it his boxers?

And why were they even on the sofa? How far had he flung them, the savage animal?

I coughed into my hand. “I am the resident weirdo, so who knows?”

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