I laughed when I walked into the elevator and saw Olivia’s apartment was on the top floor. I remembered hearing David grumble about his daughter wanting to live in the dorms her first year of college. He’d paced and cursed her stubbornness and claimed it was only a matter of time before she gave in to his offer of the penthouse. I hadn’t ever met Olivia at that time, but just watching David run his fingers through his hair while he clutched a tumbler of whiskey let me know she was a spitfire.
I knocked, and when no one answered, I let myself in. “Hello?”
I had no idea where she’d be in the apartment, and I didn’t want to startle her since she wasn’t expecting me for at least another thirty minutes.
No sound came from the open living area. Looking left and right, I took in the entirety of the apartment except for what lay down the hall. I headed that way, planning on just popping my head into her room to let her know I was there. I knocked on the first door and eased it open when no one responded to find a small office.
There was no response when I knocked on the next door, but when I opened it, I found a room full of soft grays, navy, and white. There were clothes strewn across the bed and a trail of shoes from a walk-in closet to the mirror in the corner. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, sighing when her scent of vanilla cupcakes assaulted me. God, I loved that smell.
A soft moan had my head snapping to the left, and my heart stuttering in my chest. Steam poured from the crack in the door. Obviously, she was showering, and I needed to leave. I’d let her know I was there when she was out. I was stepping back to do just that when another moan slipped into my ears, igniting my blood and pumping it harder to my groin.
I needed to get out of there. I needed my feet to move back.
Instead, of their own will, they moved forward.
Another moan. This time accompanied by a whimper.
The wisps of steam infused with the rich scent of vanilla and coconut swirled around me, her soft sounds calling to me like a Siren. My palm pressed flat against the door and pushed it slowly open.
I took a single step into the hot room and was met with a sink scattered with products, and a mirror. My whole body finally froze like it should have done before I’d even stepped into her room. Before I’d even stepped into this building.
I looked in the mirror that didn’t fog up, giving me a perfect view into the shower behind the door. The glass doors were coated with steam, but it didn’t impede my view of the pale skin pressed against the shower wall.
Her blonde hair looked darker as it clung to her breasts.
Her blue eyes were closed under brows furrowed in concentration.
Her lips were parted…just like her legs.
She sat on a bench, her head tipped back against the white tiles as her chest heaved, and she worked a purple wand against the folds of her pussy.
She slid the entire length deep inside her and moaned. I gripped my aching cock and moaned with her. I hadn’t meant to make a sound. I wasn’t sure what I’d meant to do. I think I wanted to do the right thing and back out, pretending I hadn’t seen it.
But I’d never been good at doing the right thing.
As soon as the sound vibrated my chest, my eyes shot up to see if she’d heard. Her blue eyes were open and wide with shock when they met mine through the mirror.
Her hands hadn’t stopped moving, and I waited, holding my breath for her to say something.
Anything.
And she did.
Locking our fate into place with one single word.
“Kent.”
9 Olivia
I should’ve stopped.
I shouldn’t have moaned his name.
I should’ve been shocked and covering myself—ashamed of being caught masturbating in a shower.
But I wasn’t.
His eyes singed me through the glass, and electrical power surged through my limbs. My lips parted, and his name fell from them like it’d been waiting there my whole life.
I waited for him to do something—say something. Instead, he stood there frozen, watching me.
Well, if he wanted to watch, I’d give him a show.
I moaned again as I slid the toy through my folds and pressed it inside. I wished it was him. Just like my fantasy.
I’d been chasing an orgasm with the vision of him behind my closed eyes.
But there he stood like my fantasy had been so fierce—so desperate—it conjured him before me.
Except, in my fantasy, he rushed to join me in the shower. Instead of standing there, frozen.
I slid the toy out and back in one more time, holding his stare. When he refused to move, I hesitated. Maybe I misread the tense muscles of his body. Maybe I was making a mistake, and he wanted me to stop.