I cover my face with my hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“Please. Don’t apologize.”
Moving my hands, I force myself to meet his gaze. His concern only makes me feel worse. “But we were…” I swallow. “You were, and I—” I can’t even say it. I rub my face.
“You did nothing wrong. Are you okay? Do you want me to walk you back to the main house? Maybe get some water? Tell me what you need.”
I stare at him. He means it. He’s sincere. He practically vibrates with the need to fuss over me. He’s not angry. He’s not upset I stopped him when he was so aroused, even though we were clearly moving down the path to the point of no return. Not only that, but I’m sitting in his lap, and there’s a blanket wrapped around me, as if he understood that being covered would make me feel less vulnerable.
Ben would have been pissed. Any even slight ding to his confidence—anything he could perceive as rejection—made him angry. And having a panic attack while on top of him would have been registered as rejection. I could never tell him no.
But not Oliver. He’s not defensive or pushy in the slightest. He’s worried. He’s taking care of me yet again, the man who insists he doesn’t know how.
I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to walk back to the house. Exhaustion weighs me down, seeping into my skin. I want comfort and quiet and him.
“Can I stay here? We don’t—I’m not asking you to—”
He rubs my back. “We’ll only sleep. I promise.”
“Yes. I need to use the bathroom.”
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, sets me on my feet, and then bends over to pick up my pajamas. He hands them to me.
I clasp the bundle against my chest and whisper, “Thank you,” before escaping into the bathroom.
When I return from the bathroom, Oliver is in bed. He left the light on my side on, and he’s set a glass of water next to it. I click off the lamp, slide under the covers, and lie there, staring at the ceiling.
“Do you need anything?” His voice is quiet in the darkness.
In response, I shift closer, rolling so that my back is flushed right up against him. He turns and spoons me, his arm over my waist, his legs tucked up behind mine. His chest is bare, and the skin-to-skin contact relaxes me. I’m surrounded. Safe.
Within minutes, I’m asleep.
I’m so warm and comfortable I don’t want to wake up. The warmth shifts behind me, and awareness slithers through my limbs and shoots sparks to my slumbering thoughts.
I’m wrapped in Oliver, his arm around my waist, our legs tangled, his nose close enough to the back of my neck that every breath he takes is a rhythmic brush against my skin. He smells like cedar and soap and clean linens.
When he smiled last night… it was a revelation. He went from merely handsome to devastating. I’ve seen his lips soften and quirk, and I’ve seen amusement light his eyes, but the sight of a true smile destroyed all my willpower.
It was addictive, his happiness. I had to touch him. I had to taste him.
And apparently, he had to taste me. Heat suffuses me. Memories shuffle through my mind—his warms hands on me, his usually severe mouth turning gentle against my skin. The way he kissed me like he needed me to breathe… the way he brought me pleasure, and when I froze and panicked, he stopped even though he was not yet sated. He helped me and held me, and it was enough. Then we slept curled around each other like we’d been lovers for a decade.
The arousal that swamps me is overwhelming. It was never like this with Ben, not even in the beginning. It’s almost too much. I could quickly become addicted. My feelings for Oliver are so strong that he could break me apart. I’m both terrified and exhilarated.
He moves, and something soft brushes my skin, right where my neck meets my shoulder.
Did he kiss me? I shiver.
More. I arch my back, pressing against him, the hardness of his erection a brand against my lower back.
Heat coalesces in my stomach.
He sucks in a sharp breath. “Piper.” My name is a hoarsely whispered prayer. His arm tightens around me.
“Oliver. Touch me. It’s okay. I’m okay. I want this. I want you.”
He kisses the side of my neck, nipping tenderly. His morning stubble scratches my skin, shooting a frisson of pleasure down my spine.