Chapter 4

Oliver

I got home and immediately jumped onto my treadmill after changing quickly into sweats and a t-shirt. I’m not used to not getting what I want, and I had discovered, over the course of two bottles of wine with Becka, that I wanted her. I wanted her that night. But, that’s what I had my exercise room for; for the times when I knew that I needed to act slowly, pace myself, and take my time.

Becka was unique; she wasn’t a one-night stand situation. As I ran, I felt my frustrations melt away. I shook my head remembering that I had invited her over to my house. Clumsily invited her. She turned me down. I can’t remember the last time someone did that. It was both infuriating and incredibly sexy.

I wanted to text her that night, but I didn’t need Megan to tell me that would be too soon. By the morning, though, I had a plan. After I called Megan to have her get Becka’s bike delivered back to her apartment, I texted Becka and invited her over for dinner.

Good morning! Hope you’re feeling okay. Come for dinner tonight. My chef is amazing and will be thrilled to cook for someone other than just me.

I clicked send, then paused. I added a second text.

I won’t take no for an answer.

I waited, staring at my phone, feeling nervous energy for the first time in God knew how long. I really needed to get a grip on myself. It was a dinner invitation. Like a client. Except not a client. Not even remotely a client.

The ping of my phone pulled me out of my thoughts.

Well, if you won’t take no for an answer, then I guess I’ll say maybe.
I furrowed my brow and was figuring out how to respond; of course, that hadn’t been what I meant, when my phone pinged a second time.
Just kidding. Yes, I’ll come for dinner.

Relief washed over me and I shook my head at myself. I was acting like a teenager. I texted back. Marvelous, and ha ha. I’ll send someone to pick you up at seven.

Seven o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

I called my chef and told him that there would be two for dinner. When he asked me what I’d like on the menu, I paused. I didn’t know if Becka was a vegetarian. I wondered if I should text her back and ask her, then decided to go with a vegetarian menu, just in case. The chef said he knew just the thing and that I would love it.

***
I sent my driver to pick Becka up and instructed him to escort her in when they arrived. They were right on time, and I was waiting in the entryway for Becka’s arrival. When she walked in, I could see the shock and awe on her face.

“You live in a castle!” she exclaimed as soon as she saw me.

“Technically, yes, it is an actual castle,” I said with pride. “I had it restored a bit, and it was certainly never used the way medieval castles were used, but this one definitely serves a purpose, past and present.” I watched her look around, taking everything in.

“This place is really intimidating,” she said. “It’s beautiful, of course, but, wow. I mean, you live here by yourself?” I thought if her eyes got any wider they might fall out of her head.

“I do. Come on into the lounge. We can have a cocktail before dinner. Are you a vegetarian?”

“No,” she said, following me. She set her purse down on a table in the entry and I smiled. The table cost over a quarter of a million dollars and had probably never had a woman’s purse sitting on it. “I’m a meat eater. That tends to surprise people, given my desired occupation.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” I said. “Chef is preparing us a vegetarian menu tonight, but I promise we’ll have large steaks the next time.”

Next time. The words echoed in my head.

She smiled and tilted her head. She’d caught it too.

“Come,” I said, exhaling loudly. “Sit. What can I get you?”

“A glass of wine would be nice,” she said, sitting on the nearest couch.

We talked while dinner was being prepared and she told me about her family. Becka certainly hadn’t had an easy life. Her father abandoning her, her mother dying of complications of morbid obesity when she was sixteen. She was an only child, like me, and I knew what a lonely life it could be.

When dinner was ready, we moved into the dining room. The table seated twenty, but I’d had the housekeeper set the end for two. I sat at the head of the table and she sat to my right.

“Tell me about your family,” she said. “And dinner is delicious, by the way.”

She was right; Chef had outdone himself. He’d prepared a mushroom risotto, oven-roasted vegetables, and something that neither Becka nor I could pronounce, his own creation, which was divine.

“I’ll pass your compliments to my chef,” I said. “My family, let’s see. Well, I come from a long line of corporate blood. I’m an only child, like you. My parents passed away when I was in my twenties, both from cancer, and…that’s kind of about it.”

The lie sounded pat coming from my lips, because I’d told it hundreds of times.

“I’m sorry you lost your parents,” she said, pausing with her fork to her mouth.

“You understand how hard it is,” I said. “I think that’s part of why we connect so well.”

She nodded and took a sip of her wine.

We continued to talk as we finished the meal, then returned to the lounge where we sat on the couch, our knees nearly touching, as we drank a second bottle of wine.

“I really can’t believe how big this place is,” Becka said, looking around. “How do you not get lost?”

“Well,” I said, “before GPS it was hopeless.” I grinned at her.

She laughed, and I was treated to her beautiful diamond smile once again.

“I hope I get to give you a full tour sometime,” I whispered. I leaned close to her. I wanted to kiss her more than anything, and her lips seemed to be beckoning me toward them. She looked into my eyes and I saw a lot of emotion in them: desire, fear, joy, and I touched my lips to hers.

She kissed me back, and, as she pressed her lips against mine, I felt her warm, wet heat against me. I wanted to be closer to her, but I wanted to take my time. I gently explored her mouth with my tongue; she tasted so sweet. She returned my exploration with her own, and our kiss deepened.

She pulled away and took a deep breath.

“That was nice,” she said, blushing. I smiled at her.

“You have beautiful lips,” I told her, running my index finger along her bottom lip. “And beautiful eyes.”

She dropped her gaze and smiled, blushing even more deeply.

“I should probably get home. Thank you so much for dinner, Oliver.”

I had already decided that I would not extend an invitation to her to spend the night, nor would I push her to do so in any way.

“I’ll call my driver to take you home, Becka. Please can we do this again? Your company is refreshing, very different from what I’m used to.”

She nodded, and, as we walked to the door, she picked up her purse and then turned back to me. She kissed me again lightly on the lips, and then she opened the door and stepped into the car.

Becka

I sat back in the back seat of Oliver’s car and sighed, still feeling the tingling of Oliver’s lips on my own. I wanted to scream, dance, shout, but of course I had to keep my cool as long as I was in front of his driver. I cursed the fact that Lisa was gone for the weekend and out of cell range; if ever I needed a girl gab session, tonight was the night.

Before we arrived at my house, my phone pinged. I took it out of my purse and saw I had a text from Oliver.

Dinner tomorrow night. Out, this time. A steakhouse. Be ready by 8.
A smile so wide it hurt my cheeks spread onto my face. I responded immediately,

Can’t wait.

I put my phone away and laid back until I felt the car come to a stop. I thanked Oliver’s driver as he opened my door and escorted me to my doorstep.

In my apartment, I looked at my bed but decided I was far too awake to sleep. Instead, I raided Lisa’s closet and picked out a dress to wear for my date—yes, my date—for the next night.

When I finally did fall asleep, for the first time but not the last, I dreamed of Oliver.

***
He picked me up promptly at eight o’clock, and his driver, a different man than the night before, drove us to Manifold Steakhouse. I’d never been there, but I knew it by reputation. The maître d’ led us to Oliver’s private table.

“Again, I’m impressed,” I said, “and a little intimidated.”

“Don’t be,” Oliver said. “It’s just money. I took the liberty of ordering for us in advance, a very special menu item that requires 12 hours notice. I hope that’s okay with you?”

I smiled, because he suddenly seemed a little nervous. I put my hand on his.

“Thank you, that was very sweet. I’m excited.”

Because he had ordered ahead, our appetizers came with our wine, and, while we were in the midst of a deep conversation about hybrid grapes and their impact on the American wine industry, our dinners came.

The steak looked absolutely amazing and, when I looked around for my steak knife, Oliver held up his regular table knife.

“You don’t need a steak knife. It’s tender enough to cut with this.”

And it was. We ate, ordered dessert, and shared a second bottle of wine. I couldn’t believe how much we had in common and how easy it was to talk to this man who, under other circumstances, I would never have met.

He paid the bill by nodding to the maître d’ and I just shook my head. He smiled at me. “Just money,” he reminded me. “I’m not magic or anything.”

“I think you just might be, actually,” I said.

His driver took us back to my apartment. When he pulled up, I looked at Oliver. I had practiced the line in my mind all day, saying in my head, out loud to the mirror, even to my water bottle. Still, I felt nervous enough I thought I might pass out.

“Would you like to come up?” I whispered.

Relief broke out onto his face along with a big smile. “Yes, Becka, I would.” He got out of the car and escorted me from my side. I had cleaned the apartment from top to bottom that day, but that didn’t stop me from pausing just before I opened the door and saying a silent prayer that, while I was gone, a magic fairy had transformed my apartment into, oh, say, a castle.

Of course no such magic had occurred. I winced as I looked at my apartment as he must be.

“It’s marvelous,” he said. “Very charming!” He walked around the kitchen and living room, then poked his head first into Lisa’s room, then into mine. “Which room is yours?”

“The last one,” I said. “And I’d give you the grand tour, but you just took it yourself.” I offered him some wine, and we sat on my couch.

Probably it was too much wine, or maybe my nerves had just reached the point where they needed some release, but I kissed him passionately as soon as we sat down, and he put his arms around me. I leaned back and he laid on top of me. We continued to kiss and I felt him grow hard, his cock pressing into my thigh.

“You have a very comfortable couch,” he said through our kiss. “How’s your bed?”

“It’s even more comfortable than this,” I said. Before I had finished my sentence, he had picked me up. I wrapped my legs around his hips and he held me close as he brought me into my bedroom and put me on the bed.

He pulled my dress off over my head and stopped, a look of complete appreciation on his face as he saw my breasts.

“Wow,” he said. “You’re… breathtaking.”

I laid down on the bed, clad only in my black bra and panties, and I unhooked my bra from behind. He took off his shirt and undid his pants, letting them drop to the floor. He didn’t take his eyes off of me as he stepped out of them and laid on top of me. His body’s weight on mine was grounding and exciting.

I felt his cock urging to be freed from his boxers, and he kissed my breasts, and began to suck my nipples, sucking one while he played with the other with his finger and thumb. I groaned with pleasure; my nipples were incredibly sensitive. At the same time, I drew my hand down between his legs and reached for his cock. It was long and thick and incredibly hard. I smiled, and began to pull his boxers down. He finished for me, then returned to kissing my breasts, my stomach, my thighs.

When his tongue found my clit, I gasped. He worked his tongue along my inner lips, gliding it up one side, rolling it over my clit, then gliding down the other. He did this until my entire body was a tingling mass.

“You taste so fucking good,” he said in a low growl. He came back up to kiss my lips and, as he did, I turned and got a condom from my nightstand. He put it on and, in a quick hot second, he was inside me.

He felt as though he had been made to be in me. We fit so perfectly together, he stretched me in the most pleasurable way I’d ever felt. When he began moving, thrusting up and down, my hips met his and we moved in rhythm together.

Breathless, pulsing, I forgot all about who he was and simply surrendered to the passion and energy of my impending orgasm. I felt it coming for several minutes; he would take me to the edge and then back off, watching my face, listening to my moans of pleasure. When he finally let me climax, he joined me, and I felt us surging into one another.

When he finished, he moved off of me and allowed me to come down from my orgasm. My breath was rapid and the sounds coming from me were like nothing I’d heard from myself before.

We slept, me in his arms. When I woke up, he was gone, but he’d left a note saying that he had a business meeting. I was sad, but I trusted that was part of the territory.

I grabbed my phone and checked my messages. There was one from Dr. Evans saying I needed to come to her office ASAP. She sounded so angry. I hung up the phone, pale and shaky. I looked at the clock; it was nine. She had called a little past seven. Had she found out? What had I done?