Page 29 of Ms. Lead

“I think someone might be eager for some fun,” he growls into my ear, his breath hot. I reach out for him, but he’s slid off the couch and is kneeling on the floor beside me. “Keep your eyes closed. Focus on my touch.”

I do as he orders, but I want that touch even more now. He’s driving me wild, but I can’t reciprocate. I can only take what he’s giving me.

All I can do is run my hands through his hair and give myself over to the sensation of his hands and lips on me, exploring and enticing with every move. He pushes my underwear aside, and his fingers find my center with a brief caress that makes my back arch and breath catch.

Jesus, if that’s what one touch can do… Another whine or moan is about to erupt as the ache deep within me is becoming too much to bear, but I keep it to a desperate whisper, “Oliver, please.”

“Are you ready, Bianca?” His voice is back in my ear, low, demanding, and so fucking hot it’s almost enough to push me over the edge. I nod, unable to speak since I can’t seem to catch my breath. “Good.”

I’m dying to open my eyes, to see his expression as he says these things to me, but I keep them closed. Though, I am curious about what he would do if I opened them. Would I get punished somehow? Is he into that sort of thing? I’m not sure I want to find out right this second.

He slides a finger inside me and then another while his thumb expertly presses circles around my clit, and within seconds I am pulsating around him. Fire ripples through my veins as I throw my head back, again arching into his hand. This is the quickest and most intense orgasm I have ever had, and the aftershocks are still trembling through me.

Working his way up my chest and then my neck, his mouth eventually finds mine again once I’ve somewhat controlled my ragged breathing. As my fingers rake through his silky hair, the kiss hits differently than earlier ones. This one is gentle and sweet, but not in an innocent or naïve way. It’s a kiss that assures things I don’t think either of us can say out loud, or want to at this point. But we know. The two of us absolutely know.

Chapter Seventeen

OLIVER

COWARDS

Fuck. That was the most sensual thing I’ve ever witnessed, let alone been a part of. The sight of Bianca climaxing under my touch and her whispering my name while in the throes of passion, begging for me, is now seared into my memory bank. I will be making withdrawals from that account regularly once I leave just to relive this moment. I want to remember how good it feels to hold her like I am now, her breathing still uneven from her orgasm, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my arm as she comes down.

“So, how’s that for fun then?” I ask, maneuvering to lie next to her again on the couch. While kneeling gave me a great vantage point and access, it didn’t do much for the pins and needles pain in my leg. Sliding an arm around her, I pull her closer to me, the heat of her body a comfort against me.

She turns her face to me, trying to read my eyes, so I keep my expression as close to neutral as possible. I can’t let my genuine emotions surface, and they are so close it’s scary.

Since we first kissed in the parking lot, my control has been slipping minute by minute. That cannot happen. We’re in this now, but I can only let myself go so far.

“Yeah…that was…fun.” Tearing herself away, she sits up sharply, rearranging her clothing back to where everything belongs, and then stealthily rolls over me to get off the couch without us touching.

It’s quite an acrobatic move, and my mind starts to wonder how that skill might prove useful in the future, but I force myself to focus. There’s been a drastic shift in the mood here, and I need to keep up with what’s happening.

“Bianca? What is it?” As I sit up, she’s already halfway down the hall. “What’s wrong?” I know for a fact that she just enjoyed herself, so I don’t know where this new mood is coming from. It’s like night and day.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she calls from what I think is her bedroom, though I can tell from her tone she’s lying. How is it that I know her so well already that I can tell she’s not telling the truth?

I wait to see if she’s going to expound on that answer.

Silence.

Apparently not.

“Bianca.” I’m not letting this go. Not after what just happened. I refuse to believe that she can switch off like this so easily. It makes everything feel cheap. Tawdry. While I don’t want us to get too involved with each other, I also don’t want us to be cold or uncaring. Maybe it’s a finer line for her than I thought. I get off the couch and head down the hallway toward her bedroom. The door is closed, so I lean against it and talk through the painted wood. “Talk to me, please. It’s obvious that something is bothering you. What is it?”

Silence again, though I do hear movement.

This will not do.

I reach down and open the door to find an empty room. For a second, my heart stops, thinking she’s somehow magically left the apartment. That would be difficult to do from the eighth floor with no fire escape. Then I notice light flooding in from an attached bathroom.

As I approach, I catch Bianca wiping under her eyes with a tissue in the vanity mirror reflection, but I can’t tell from where I’m standing if she’s been crying or not. She’s changed clothes and now wears a deep red sundress that looks magnificent. She’s absolutely staggering.

“I’ll just be a second.” Her tone is subdued, and it’s a giveaway that she was crying.

Before I can ask about it, a second door is closed on me, and I can’t barge in this time. That would be rude.

What the hell has gotten into her? We’ve been having a great time. She, especially, had a great time. We didn’t even address the issue of my having a good time or not, as the case may be. And I’m more than okay with that, but this makes no sense whatsoever.

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