“Me either, but honestly, this is kind of perfect. It’s like college again.”
Except that I didn’t want to strip her naked when we were in college. “In a way. While the movie and being with you is perfect, we’re missing something.”
“What?”
“Food.” I grab the phone and call down to the staff to bring us up room service.
When I hang up, Maren is clutching her chest. “My hero.”
“I do try.” I puff out my chest.
“I am starving. It’s so sad that we barely had five minutes to shove some food into our mouths.”
I’d like to shove my tongue—or something else—in her mouth.
I mentally slap myself. “I agree. I know this was supposed to be a test run, and while I can say the staff was great, I have no idea about the food.”
She purses her lips. “Hmm, you know, no one complained about anything, really.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just the whole weekend. My family was so happy the whole time, and we ate all our meals here, so you know the food was good. If it wasn’t, you guys would have heard about it, but no one bitched.”
That’s true. I was so caught up in all things wedding I didn’t pay attention to everything around me.
“I feel like an ass for not doing my job.”
Maren’s hand settles on my arm. “You did so much more than your job. You took care of everything. My point was a compliment, Oliver. Not only were you the most amazing fiancé but also you handled the resort smoothly.”
I try not to let her words sink in. “I think my siblings did that.”
“I think you had a much bigger role than you believe. This resort is going to be fantastic. I can feel it and see it.”
“And what makes you so sure?” I ask.
“Because I believe in you.”
Those words don’t bounce off. They seep into my soul like a balm that I didn’t know I needed. It covers the wounds, starting to heal the broken shit inside.
Damn her.
Before I can bristle about it, she’s scooting closer. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Just relax,” Maren says softly.
Then she moves to her side so she’s pressed against the length of my body. Her leg hooks with mine, her arm drapes over my stomach, and her head settles on my chest. “Maren . . .”
“It’s cuddling, Ollie. I think we both deserve it after the day we’ve had.”
My official protest comes in the form of me wrapping my arms around her, holding her tighter, and watching the movie. Yeah, after the day we had, I guess we do deserve it.
Eighteen
MAREN
Yes. Yes. Yes.
I keep my eyes closed, wholly focused on the sensations that grip me. A hand that cups my breast, lips at my neck, and pleasure—so much pleasure everywhere.
My fingers slide into thick hair, holding his mouth against my skin.
A low groan fills my ears, and I grin.
This feels so good. His warm body against mine is perfect. I moan as his hot tongue glides down toward my chest.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, tightening my fingers in his hair.
This is incredible, and I never want Oliver to stop.
Oliver. My husband.
My God.
My eyes fly open as I realize what the hell is happening.
“Oliver?” I ask with a squeak.
He lifts his head, eyes drowsy from sleep and desire. “You were saying my name,” he says. “You were begging me.”
“I was?” I ask, trying to recall anything. There is just a slight memory of . . . oh, the dream I had.
Oh boy.
He leans back more, watching me. “Did you . . . Shit. I swear you were.”
“I did that. I was dreaming, and I guess . . . I’m—” I stop because the perfect excuse evades me. Mortified. Horny. Desperate. “Sorry.”
“I’m not,” he says quickly.
“You’re not?”
“Not even a little. I would’ve kept going.”
I watch him warily. “Even though we said we shouldn’t.”
“That was before I slept with you in my arms, and you rubbed your ass on me all night while moaning my name. I’m not that strong. I think it’s clear we both want this.”
My heart is pounding, and all the reasons for not crossing that line are gone. He has no idea how those words curl my toes, but there are so many possibilities where this ends very badly. There are plenty of ones where this goes well. Oliver and I can choose the path that has us both hot, sweaty, sated, and then divorced. No harm, no foul, no feelings.
I want him. He wants me. We are adults. So, let’s get naked.
Fear of rejection keeps me from saying that aloud. I wait, each breath feeling like it takes a lifetime to leave my lungs.
Finally, I muster the courage and speak. “I know I do.”
His hand lifts, pushing a strand of hair back from my cheek. “I want to make you feel good.”
Oh, I want that too. “You have given me so much.”
“I can give you more. Let me make you feel good, Maren.”
“And what then?”
Oliver gives a devilish grin that I want to wipe off his face with my lips. “Then we go on our honeymoon and spend the whole time enjoying ourselves.” He leans in, his mouth getting closer. “We lose ourselves before we have to come back to reality.”
That sounds really fucking good and tempts me with a sense of something I haven’t had in a while—hope.
“Reality sucks,” I say breathlessly.
“Let’s live in the fantasy for a while.”
My hand moves to the back of his head, and I pull him so our lips just barely touch. “I can do that.”
“Thank fucking God.” Oliver moans the words before crushing his lips to mine.
The kisses we’ve shared over the last few days have been tame compared to this. Oliver and I are wild, no holding back as we each volley for control. He kisses me. I kiss him. Back and forth we go until I have no idea who is leading this anymore, and I don’t care.
We are lips, tongues, and gasps, and that works just fine for me. He pushes me onto my back, his body covering mine as I tug up his shirt, wanting to feel his skin.
He pauses long enough to tear it off, and then my hands are back on him, needing to feel his skin. I slide my fingers along his spine, reveling in how each taut muscle pulses beneath me while he kisses my neck.
“I like you in my clothes.”
“I’d like me out of your clothes.”
Oliver rubs his nose down my neck. “I bet I’ll like that too.”
I’m wearing his shirt and shorts, and during the night, the knot I tied to hold the shorts up has loosened significantly. Just moving a little has them lowering. He sits up, removing my shirt.
“You have no idea how stunning you are,” he says, and I blush under his gaze.
I know I’m pretty—not in a snobby way, but that’s never been a complaint I’ve heard before. Even if I’d been totally oblivious to it before I pulled into this town, the way he had been looking at me all week would have convinced me he thought I was attractive.
However, the way he’s staring at me now—full of heat and longing—causes my stomach to flip.
His sculpted chest and broad shoulders are everything I love in a man. Strength radiates from him, and I want to drown in it.
“Oliver,” I say, moving back up to his face. “You are so damn hot.”