I slide my hands around his lower back, shoving them beneath his boxer-briefs to latch our hips into steady alignment. My fingertips sink into firm muscle, perfectly carved like everything else about him. He hardens into steel against me, a pained grunt rumbling from his throat when my legs wrap around him to pull him in further. My body is an inferno, taut with need. I feel him pressed against my opening, but there’s still too much fabric between us.
“Let me get a—”
“Are you clean?” I ask, panting.
“Yes, but—”
“I’m on the pill. I trust you.”
Did I just say that? I haven’t had sex since my break-up with Darryn months ago, but suddenly I can’t imagine not being with Oliver right now. No consequence seems important, no barrier too big. His beautiful eyes search mine. What’s he thinking? For a split second, I see the hunger. The animalistic impulse that’s driven him to the top of his sport. I shudder with anticipation; a deep longing burns low in my belly to experience that instinctive primal drive. But he quickly shields it, shaking his head as he straightens and reaches for his jeans.
“Thank you for trusting me. That means a lot.” He fishes a condom from his wallet, and somehow I’m not surprised that the guy who resists partying and other carnal temptations would fight this one as well. Honestly, right now I don’t care how it happens; I just need it to happen.
He returns, and I forget all about the negotiation when he braces over me again. He’s art in this moment, beautiful and strong. A force I suddenly need to experience in full before I explode. I position him in place, gasping as he pushes inside.
“Is this okay?” he asks in a labored voice.
“So okay,” I breathe. “Oliver… ah!” I buck my hips, seeking more of him, and he obliges with a deeper thrust. His groan at my ear is more of a growl, like a part of him is escaping after being caged. The sound fires through my blood, hot and angry, stirring into shivers of desire. My legs wrap around his, pulling him further into me. His breathing comes in heavier gasps as well, matching mine as we start to move.
“I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you,” I gasp out, moaning when his expert movements trigger tiny ruptures in my blood stream.
“So did I,” he says.
My eyes clench shut against the building current, sparks flaring white hot through my core. My heels dig into the back of his thighs, his large body braced over me, close but not close enough. I latch my hands around his thick, toned biceps that anchor both sides of my head, pulling hard with each lunge. It’s still not enough, and a small whimper of frustration filters out of me. I want his entire essence inside me, everything he is incinerating the void and brightening it with his light. He seems to sense my need and pushes harder, taking my breath away and forcing the sparks into explosions. One, two, three, four… hotter, brighter, building into volatile, unstable collisions of lust. The urges become penetrating aches I can no longer bite back with restraint. The fire rages, a gushing river of flame that plunges through my stomach and lodges deep in my core. He reads me perfectly through my agony, driving hard with several deep thrusts as I crash over the edge seconds before he does. My lips lose the battle against the scream, my body completely shattering in its sweet death. Am I crying? Oh no, it feels like I’m crying, and I blink in rapid succession as I come down, riding the intoxicating wave he continues to rock slowly inside me. I squeeze him harder, suddenly panicked at the thought of ending this moment, this connection. I never want him separate from me again.
“Oliver.” I whisper his name with reverence, and he blinks those beautiful brown eyes at me. Lazy and sated, they scan my face with a mix of awe and concern.
“Are you alright?” he asks, searching my gaze, probably noticing my tears. He starts to pull out, and my legs clamp around him.
“Don’t. Not yet,” I say, tucking myself further into his arms. He sighs, content this time, and allows his weight to drop slightly on his arms. I feel the strain of his muscles as I run my hands up and down his biceps again. But I need his lips too, and release one hand to lock my fingers in his hair and guide him back to my mouth. With a deep kiss, we cement what seemed surreal just a moment ago. I didn’t know I could feel like that. So whole and uninhibited. So open and honest. I was flying. I was real. He knows it too. I can see it in his satisfied smile. The way his gorgeous gaze traces my face in wonder and love. I wasn’t Genevieve Fox just now.
I was the girl in the mirror.
CHAPTER 7
Five, the fingers on my skin, dragging streaks of fire
Four, the times I’m lost in soothing reckless eyes
Three, the cries that bind at the peak of harsh desire
Two, the lips that bloom into drifting desert flowers
One, the sun whose steadfast glare
Shines beyond the mirror’s stare
OLIVER
“Your voice sounds different when you sing your own songs,” I say, tracing Genevieve’s collarbone as we relax in her bed. Her purple sheet is tucked mid-way up her bare chest, and I run my finger down her ribs to outline the slightly exposed swell of her breasts. I love that she shudders from that light touch, her gaze going hungry again when she turns it back on me.
“Different how?”
I shrug, enjoying the feel of her soft, smooth skin and a lazy moment with the woman I’m starting to want in more permanent ways. Maybe Carlos was right in his warning. What happens when she’s bored and ready to drop me for the next adventure? I’m still
