Page 10 of The Negotiator
Olivia buries her face in the crook of my neck and bites me. It stings, but I love it. I squeeze her ass while I plunge in and out of her tight walls, and when her whole body stiffens, I know she’s about to come. And my girl comes hard.
She’s still pulsating around me when my loins tighten. Just my body being incredibly attuned to hers. I kiss her hungrily as I deliver my spend inside her pussy.
This isn’t what I came here for, but I am definitely not going anywhere.
4
OLIVIA
“Do you know how to ride a moped?”
Oliver’s eyebrows wrinkle. “You mean a small motorcycle?”
“Yes.”
“I used to own a big bike, so I guess I’ll be fine.”
“It might be too small for you, though.”
“That’s what I thought about you at first.” The corner of his mouth lifts, and I want to swipe that devilish smirk on his face.
Heat snakes through my belly as I remember how I lost control last night, how good it felt to have him inside me, and how we both came seconds apart.
I want him again. What the hell is wrong with me? Is this my life now? Horny whenever he’s around? Horny even when he’s not?
“Let’s go.” I bump his arm, which is a mistake because it’s like bumping a rock, and walk ahead of him.
Oliver pulls my arm, turning me around, before he wraps those huge arms around me. It breaks something in me. I haven’t been hugged like this in a long time. Mom is the same height as me, so a bear hug is out of the question.
I’ve forgotten how good it feels, how safe it makes me, so I hug him back and burrow my face in his hard chest, savoring this feeling and inhaling his musky scent.
He doesn’t let go, so I let my hands travel under his shirt and along the taut muscles of his lower back. We had to buy a tie-dyed souvenir shirt with “Not A Tourist” in big, bold letters and shorts because of course he didn’t bring any.
“Oli, please. If you continue doing that, the only diving that’s gonna happen is me in your pussy.”
Immediately, I drop my hands and lean back, lifting my face to look at him. The sun shines behind him, and dammit, he looks like a God. Built like one too.
We ride a moped that’s small for him, but he surprises me yet again. He doesn’t complain and simply follows the directions I give him—sometimes accompanied by hard smacks on his back and yelling.
It’s a thirty-minute ride, and as I look out over the cliff, I notice the low tide. Perfect.
We walk the rest of the way in silence, being extra careful not to trip over the jagged edges pressing against our soles. The rocks are slippery in places and coated with thin films of seaweed.
Excitement bubbles in me when the air fills with the tangy scent of salt and the distant crash of waves. The tidal pools come into view, and Oliver sucks in a sharp breath.
It makes me so damn proud to see his reaction. I love my island. I love my home. Every single thing about it is beautiful and perfect, and this is one of my favorite spots. It’s where I go when I want to swim in peace, when I want to distance myself from the world, or when I simply want to quiet the chaos in my head.
“Jesus, it’s beautiful.” Oliver’s voice is low and filled with awe.
That I understand. No expensive camera can do justice to how it looks in person. I come here at least twice a week, and I’m still left speechless every single time.
The crystal clear blue water glistens under the sun while tiny vibrant fishes dart between the underwater rocks.
I’m about to turn and say something sarcastic to Oliver when he yanks the shirt above his head, revealing washboard abs, and jumps into the natural pool.
For someone who came from the big city, that dive is a 10/10 for me.
When he resurfaces, he laughs. “Come on, Oli. The water’s so cool.”