And he was going to do it all.
When the lights flickered on, she gasped. But he was already pulling her T-shirt over her head. “God, Renee,” he whispered, starting where he’d left off at her breasts. This time, he tugged on her nipples a little harder and was rewarded with a shudder. “You truly take my breath away.”
“I do?”
It just about broke his heart to hear the doubt in her voice. She truly didn’t see it.
This was a problem—but he had the solution. He’d make her believe she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen or he’d die trying. And given how much he was aching for her, she might be the death of him.
With the last of his control, he spun her around. For the second time today, he hooked his fingers into her pants and pulled, baring her. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Because the sight of her bottom begging for his touch really was going to kill him.
So he touched. He slid his hands down her full hips and then to her backside, where he dug his fingers into her generous flesh. She shuddered at his touch. Good. “I’m...I’m getting an idea.”
“Not good enough. You need to know how badly I want you.”
But when he looked in the mirror, he could see her struggling. “Oliver...”
“Babe.” It was rude to interrupt her but he could see that she was going to do something terrible, like ask if they could turn the lights off and hide under the covers and he couldn’t let her think that there was a single thing about her he didn’t want. “Watch,” he commanded, falling to his knees so he could skim his teeth over the soft skin of her bottom. “Watch what you do to me. Watch what I do to you.” Then he bit her. Not hard enough to bruise. He’d never hurt her. But he needed her to stop thinking and start feeling.
It worked. She sucked in a ragged gasp as he kissed the sting away and slid his hand between her legs.
Slow. He needed to take this slow. Because...reasons. Good ones, he was pretty sure.
But those reasons were lost to him as Renee shifted her legs apart for him. She put her hands on the mirror, her gaze moving from Oliver to where he was touching her and back again. He could see her surrendering to her needs—her eyes growing darker, her chest heaving as her breath came faster and faster.
He dug deep for words that were more than just mine. “Do you see how pretty you are?” he asked quietly, kissing his way up her back. “Do you see how luscious you are?” He cupped her bottom and squeezed. “God, I love your body.”
“Even though...”
If she was trying to convince him that he couldn’t want her because someone had told her she was fat, he was going to lose it.
He surged to his feet. “Renee. Look.” He gripped her by the chin—again, gently—and turned her face so she had no choice but to look in the mirror. “I don’t care what anyone else says. I only see you. I see your beautiful eyes and your delicate collarbone,” he said, letting his hand drift down to that bit of skin. “And your breasts. God, your breasts.” He cupped them again. Since he couldn’t kiss them from this angle, he settled for kissing her neck—which he did without breaking eye contact in the mirror. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t tease,” she said but at the very least, it came out as a breathy sigh. “I’m sorry I pushed you in the pond.”
“I’m not.” That moment when she’d fought for herself had been glorious.
That was what she needed to do right now—fight for herself. “This is the only way I’d tease you, darling.” He slid one hand over the swell of her stomach again and down between her legs. “God, do you see how pretty you are? See how your eyes darken with want?”
“Yes,” she moaned, her head dropping back on his shoulder. But she didn’t look away as he tormented her nipples, her sex.
He thrust his hips against her backside, his erection chafing behind his pants. “Do you feel what you do to me?” This was where they’d been earlier at the window before she’d allowed doubt to crowd out desire. She sagged against him, bearing down on his hand, but he wrapped his free arm around her waist and held her up. “Look at you,” he said, breathing hard as he stared at where he was touching her. “Look at us.”
“Oliver,” she said, her voice straining.
He pulled back only long enough to shove his pants aside. “Feel what you do to me?” he moaned against her skin.
Then she reached back and circled him with her hands. When she gripped him tightly, he had to brace himself against the mirror to keep from falling to his knees again. “Who else gets you like this?”
“You. Only you.”
Her hand slipped lower to cup him. “No wife? No mistress or...” She squeezed and he made a noise that might be considered undignified, but he didn’t give a single damn. “Or a girlfriend?”
He shook his head, trying to think. But what she was doing to him—there was no thinking. “Nine months—no, eight. Eight months since my last lady friend.” Her grip shifted again and he was helpless to do anything but thrust into her hands.
“What am I, Oliver?” Her voice was so soft that he had to look at her. “What am I to you?”
Not a wife, obviously. But the moment that thought crossed his mind, he had to close his eyes against it.
He’d never wanted to get married. Never wanted to bring someone into his messy family life. He had enough responsibilities—how could he add a wife or children to managing his father and running Lawrence Energies and, who could forget, the
