Page 43 of Depths of Desire
So I gave in to him.
I surrendered.
I let the rising tide of lust and longing fill me to the brim, then shatter me.
Cum spilled in violent ribbons of whiteness, spraying my abs with its heated kisses, and trickled over Oliver’s tight fist. He stroked me still as I panted and cried. He jerked his fist harder, squeezing every last drop out of me until the throbbing of my cock waned and the last of my jizz had drained.
His dick pulsed hard inside of me, and I hated the condom with irrational viciousness. It was the first thing I would do tomorrow, get the tests and drugs and the whole thing done, because I needed more of him. I needed us to join without that last barrier.
Oliver came with grunts and rough thrusts of his hips. He wrapped his arms tightly around my waist and yanked me down, his balls pressed against my ass, his dick calming down inside my body.
It was only then that I let myself inhale again.
For the longest time, we stayed there, shivering, trembling with exhaustion and pleasure, until I lifted my ass a little, letting his semi-soft cock slip out of me.
Oliver took care of the condom, then pulled me down.
I lay half-sprawled over him, skin still damp with sweat and cum, my thigh tucked between his legs, my arm heavy across his chest. His heart beat against my wrist, steady and strong, like the rest of him. One of his hands rested lightly against my ribs, fingers splayed as if he hadn’t decided whether to hold me or let me go. His other arm was folded behind his head, baring the curve of his bicep and the long line of his neck. I watched it rise and fall with each breath.
He stared at the ceiling, jaw slack, lashes dark against flushed cheekbones. He looked wrecked in the best way. Quietly, almost suspiciously, at peace.
And stupidly, dangerously beautiful.
I let my gaze travel the sharp edge of his profile. That proud nose, the slight flare of his nostrils, the little twitch in his jaw when he was deep in thought. And I knew that I was screwed.
Utterly, completely screwed.
Because I wasn’t just looking at a hookup. I wasn’t even looking at the boy from the cabin anymore. I was looking at Oliver Hayworth like he was something permanent. Like he had embedded himself in the marrow of my bones and I hadn’t noticed until now, until my chest felt so swollen with it I could barely breathe.
His skin still tasted like salt and heat. My lips brushed the top of his chest, right where his collarbone dipped, and he exhaled slowly, eyelids fluttering. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The way he shifted, letting his leg slide over mine, drawing me closer without words, was enough.
If I had a single ounce of self-preservation, I would’ve gotten up. Started dressing. Cracked a joke. Changed the subject. Instead, I melted into him, resting my head over his heart, feeling every thud like it was syncing with my own.
He brought his hand up and threaded his fingers through my curls lazily. My eyes fluttered shut.
I was in trouble.
And I never wanted to solve this problem.
ELEVEN
OLIVER
The room had gonequiet again, the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled. It curled around us like warmth, like sheets. The only sound was Lennox’s breathing, steady against my chest, his cheek pressed just under my collarbone. His fingers traced a slow, aimless pattern across my stomach. I could feel every inch of it like it had been carved there.
I knew I had to leave soon.
Rhett would be back at some point. And while I didn’t think the guy would care too much, I cared. Not because I was ashamed of this—whatever this was—but because it was fragile. It was new. And I didn’t want anyone else’s nose in it just yet.
Still, I didn’t move. I stayed there, holding him like I had nowhere else to be. Like I hadn’t spent the last two months pretending this didn’t matter. Like I didn’t feel like I could breathe again for the first time in weeks.
Lennox was the one who broke the quiet.
“So…this isn’t a onetime thing, right?”
His voice was low. Not hesitant, exactly, but careful. As if he were trying not to ruin it by asking.
I didn’t answer right away. I felt the question hit somewhere deep, felt my gut tighten around it. “It can’t be,” I said finally.
