Page 12 of The Negotiator

“My cock inside your tight pussy?”

“Fuck, yes. Please, Oliver. Fuck me, please. Right now. Right here.”

“Such a needy little thing, but who am I to say no?”

He wedges the tip against my entrance, and I tighten my legs around his middle and my arms around his neck. He’s so hard he doesn’t need to guide it anymore. Instead, his hands go to my thighs, lifting me, and in one swift movement, he rams his hips forward.

Spots of color dance before my eyes.

I let out a long moan, which spurs him to go faster, thrusting into me, filling me with his thick girth, hitting that spot again and again until I see stars.

“Fuck, Oli. Fuck. This pussy is so tight. So good. And mine. All mine,” he mumbles against my ear.

A knot of tension winds tighter and tighter in my belly, and I round my hips, meeting his drives, rubbing my clit against anything. My orgasm slams into me, and I scream his name through clenched teeth.

My inner muscles flutter around him when I feel him swell inside of me.

“Jesus, Olivia. You drive me crazy. Fuck!”

His muscles are strung tightly under my fingertips, and with one final thrust, he kisses me hard and fills me with hot, endless spurts, some trickling down to my other hole.

“You know, love. This is the only time I didn’t get what I came here for.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and plants a soft kiss on my jaw. “But it’s the only one where I truly feel like a winner.”

5

OLIVER

If someone told me a month ago that I would one day be domesticated, I would’ve laughed in their faces. A month later, they would’ve laughed in mine.

I’m making breakfast for the Lang family. After spending several nights watching videos and badgering the hired chef for lessons, I think I’m finally ready to cook for them.

I wake up early and raid the resort pantry for whatever ingredients I need. The chef and his sous chef will be up in a few hours to test different recipes again. They still haven’t come up with a solid menu.

There are currently twelve villas—structures finished but unfurnished—for guests, a restaurant to accommodate at least thirty diners at a time, a spa, an outdoor bar and dining area, and three infinity pools.

This is supposed to be the ultra-exclusive wing of the resort, while on the other side—by Olivia’s land—are for, well, budget accommodations. And by budget, I don’t mean a few hundred dollars. The price starts at $750 per night. What can I say? My brother is ambitious.

Paul can stop here and add more amenities and maybe water activities. He doesn’t need more. With the price of each villa and add-ons, he’ll break even in no more than three years.

The Lang house is quiet and still when I arrive. Alice gave me a spare key after I told her I wanted to do a little something for them.

I set the bag on the countertop and pull out a tray of fresh eggs, thick slices of bacon, sausages, and two loaves of freshly baked bread.

As the coffee brews, I begin with the omelet before moving to the bacon and sausages. Olivia is the first to wake up, and she rubs the sleep from her eyes and smiles when she sees me. “Oh, look, a private chef. I’ve always wanted one.”

I smile back at her and flip the bacon, the slices sizzling on the hot pan. “Sit down, love. I hope you’re hungry.”

She sits in front of the counter and props her chin on her palm, watching me and raising her eyebrow. “Last time you were in my kitchen, you couldn’t even dice the onion properly and you asked why the need to blanch the chicken. Now you’re making us breakfast?”

“I’m a fast learner.”

“Who taught you?”

“Strangers on videos and the resort’s chef.”

“Ah, the perks of being the owner.”

I hesitate before responding, “I don’t own it. The company does.”