Crossing my ankles behind his shoulders, I struggled to nod, but my body seizing up under him halted it. With my head whipping wildly from side to side, I gave up, my core throbbing with release.
“Perfect,” he panted. “You’re so goddamn perfect.”
Fisting the sheets, I continued to meet his erratic thrusts, until I felt the muscles contract under his slick back. The sensation cleaved through me, starting at my feet and ending at my heart, sending my body into pandemonium all over again.
“Let go,” I whispered. “Let go, Oliver.”
A moment later, he threw his head back. As the orgasm ripped through him, destroying him, his erection continued to slide into me, hard and fast. It evoked an animalistic sound from the back of his throat that pierced the quiet November night.
It left my own throat dry with need.
It made me want to give him everything.
Every. Single. Part. Of. Me.
*
When I awoke, I was on my stomach in his bedroom, and it was still dark out. I flipped over to face him, only to discover he was gone, the sheets tangled where his body had lain.
I could smell him.
I could smell him drifting from the sheets, from my naked body, and I couldn’t resist lowering my nose to my bare shoulder and inhaling. Stifling a yawn, I slid off the edge of the bed.
“Oliver?” When he didn’t answer, I padded across the red tile floor toward the door, but the repetitive thump, thump noise coming from right outside the window stopped me in my tracks. Frowning, I slid the linen curtains aside.
And there he was. His sculpted chest and mussed brown hair damp with sweat as he leaned back, concentrating on the basketball goal. Lifting his hands, he threw the ball at the net, sinking it with so much ease I couldn’t hold back my grin.
If he hadn’t been injured in college, there was no doubt in my mind he’d have gone pro. He wouldn’t be the executive vice-president at Manning Hotel Group. He probably wouldn’t have been in Emerson & Taylor the day we met. We wouldn’t have touched, wouldn’t have connected—wouldn’t have been anything.
No, that was wrong. He would still be the son of the woman I was desperate to unravel.
The panicked sound that came from my parted lips startled me, and I blinked away the heat that rose behind my eyelids. Thinking of Margaret was a bitter reminder that I still had so much more to do. I had no idea how much longer something could last between Oliver and me, but I wasn’t about to spend what might be final moments simply watching him.
I wanted to be in his presence. I wanted to let his intoxicating scent screw with my head as I inhaled it directly from his skin.
Spotting a tee shirt draped over the bathroom door, I donned it, smirking at the sight of my small body in a shirt meant for a six-foot-two man. After I swished some of his mouthwash around my mouth, I strode out to the backyard.
He had earbuds in, and he didn’t realize I was there, so I took that opportunity to admire his lean, muscular physique as he bent his knees slightly and took another shot. It dropped through the net, rolling over to me.
I stopped it with my foot. “You do this every night?”
He faced me, his intense expression softening when he saw me in the moonlight wearing his shirt. “Shit. Did I wake you?” He jogged over, his face etched with concern as he pulled the earbuds out of his ears.
From where I stood, I could hear Eminem and Rihanna’s “Love the Way You Lie” playing. He paused it and stuffed the iPod in his pocket, but the scalding knife of irony still twisted my chest.
“No, I woke up on my own and realized you were gone. When I heard you out here, I—” I held my breath when he knelt in front of me, his full lips touching my knee cap as he coaxed my foot off the ball. “You’re amazing.”
Tossing the ball back and forth between his large hands, he lifted his shoulders modestly. “I haven’t played for competition in nine years, but I like to vary my workouts. I had this installed after I bought the place.”
“Vary your workouts?” I repeated, and his head moved up and down deliberately. A vivid image of his body leaned over mine, pumping furiously into me hit my memory full force. Automatically, I licked my lips. “Hmm ... well, it worked.”
Slanting away from me, he aimed for the goal and once again easily hit his mark. After he retrieved the ball and returned to my side, he leaned into me, the look in his eyes challenging. “Want to try?”
“Me?” At the disbelieving tone of my voice, he bobbed his head. “Didn’t I already tell you how much I sucked at athletics?”
But he was already moving around me, making sure the front of his body brushed every inch of mine until he was standing behind me. His hands covering mine, he positioned my fingers on either side of the basketball. “Here, spread your legs,” he said.
I moved my feet slightly apart, but it must not have been enough, because a moment later, I felt his hand between my thighs. Palming my center, he sucked in a breath.
“You have no panties on,” he mused, his voice low. “And your pussy is already wet.”
I widened my stance a little more, but the clench in my core was agonizing. “I have no idea what you did with my underwear,” I countered.
“God, you make it hard to concentrate.” But he pulled his hand reluctantly from my thighs, making certain to give my clitoris a harsh squeeze in the process. He grasped my hips to still my trembling then lowered his mouth to my ear. “Alright, bend your knees.”
“Like this?”
“Perfect. You’re perfect, Lizzie.” Releasing my hips, he situated my arms until I was holding the ball a few inches above my waist. “Alright, push it up and shoot it in one fluid motion, like this—” I let him guide me, and a second later the ball slammed into the rim and fell onto the court.
I tossed my head back, laughing. “Told you I was a non-athlete.”
He gave my bare ass a hard smack before jogging to grab the ball. “It was your first time. Besides, you can play tennis.”
He’d remembered me telling him that? It had been mentioned so fleetingly, I was a little surprised. A blush of pleasure sneaking across my skin, I looked down at my feet, tugging at the hem of his tee shirt.
“So you never answered my question,” I said, and he sent a puzzled expression at me just before he went in for a layup.
“What would that be?”
“Do you come out here and play every night?”
“Just when I have a lot on my mind,” he stated.
A light breeze swept through his backyard, and I shuddered, rubbing my hands over the goose bumps that formed on my skin. “Care to talk about it?”
“A bunch of work bullshit. I’m not going to bore you with it.” His smile was almost forced, and I felt an uncomfortable tension in the back of my throat when I let my thoughts wander. He was lying, I could tell. But, hell, who was I to throw stones.
I was a lie.
I turned on my heel. Maybe I shouldn’t have come out here. If this is what he did to ease his mind, I was interrupting. “I’m going back inside to—”
“Are you tired?”
Looking over my shoulder, I shook my head. “No,” I breathed. “I just didn’t want to get in the way.”
“Stay.” He raked his eyes over me. “I won’t be much longer, and I like you standing there in my clothes, looking like you were just fucked.”
“I was just fucked,” I pointed out, smirking.
But God, he knew exactly what to say to send my body into a state of sexual panic. Crossing my legs at the ankle, I watched in silence as he took shot after shot until I heard myself quietly ask, “Did your stepdad...did he teach you how to play basketball too?” At my mention of my dad, my vision blurred, but I immediately separated myself from the negative emotions.
I wanted to hear the good.
The beautiful.
Breaking his attention away from dribbling the ball, Oliver stared over at me, the muscles in his neck tightening. “No.” He alternated, bouncing the basketball with his left hand. “I was almost fourteen when my mom married him, so I already knew the fundamentals of the game. By that time I’d reached the point where I’d lost the stutter and had picked up getting high just like almost every other over-privileged fuck my age.”