Exposed by Fate (Serve #2)(13)

“Yes, there. There.”

Such an easy action and she acted like her world would implode if he stopped. Oliver tried to laugh, but it only sounded like pain escaping. She had no idea what he was going to do to her. What he’d make her feel…

Only, it wasn’t just him. He would merely be getting her ready for another man. If not Porter, someone else. A denial broke from his lips. The storm clouds exploded, raining scalding hot drops over him, burning his skin. He’d lost his ability to filter his words, and they fell from his lips now as they moved over her cleavage feverishly. “He didn’t deserve this. I told him to stay the f*ck away from you, babe. He didn’t deserve you. No one does.”

It took him a moment to register that she’d gone still against him. Why wasn’t she begging anymore? Her hands were no longer busy in his hair. She’d just shut down. No, please. No way he would survive if she asked him to stop this. His cock strained against the fly of his pants, seeking her heat, but she let her legs drop from around his waist. Feeling his first frisson of panic, Oliver searched her eyes and found them free of the desire he’d seen banked there. Heat had been replaced with shock, anger.

“What did you do, Oliver?” She yanked her skirt back down when she saw his obviously starved gaze tracking over her toned thighs. Gorgeous. So gorgeous. “Answer me.”

“What did I—” His memory caught up with the situation. “Ah.”

She looked ready to slap him upside the head. “Ah?”

He breathed through his nose, trying to regain some sense of control, but it was hard to do when she still stood so close, smelling and looking like heaven. “You don’t know Porter, Eliza. You don’t know what he’s into…what he’d ask you to do.”

“And you know him?” She didn’t want for his answer, but pushed on, affront evident in every line of her body. “No. You don’t. And we had talked about it, actually.”

“Really.” Now he was getting pissed, too. Why were they standing there talking about another man when moments ago she’d been moaning his name? “You discussed hard limits? A safe word?” When her gaze darted away for a split second, he had his answer and it infuriated him. “I didn’t think so.”

“We were getting there,” she grated.

“Bullshit. When I showed up, you were getting ready to go upstairs.”

Before the harsh words had even left his mouth, she’d sailed past him toward the kitchen, snatching her purse off the kitchen island. “You had no right to interfere, Oliver. I make decisions for myself. Me.” She turned back to face him. When he saw her chin tremble, he wanted to crumple. “I liked him, Oliver. Dammit.”

As she stormed out of the apartment, he made no move to stop her. Couldn’t. His feet felt glued to the ground, his entire body once again loaded down by the ten tons of cement on his shoulders.

It didn’t even occur to him that he’d just struck out for the first time in his life.





Chapter Six


Eliza plopped into her desk chair and pulled up her email. As soon as she saw the horrifying number of unread messages, she whimpered and let her forehead hit the desk. Sleep last night had been elusive, like the golden ring you try to grab from the carousel, shiny and unattainable for someone with short arms. What? She wasn’t even making sense today. And it was only ten o’clock in the morning. The scene with Oliver had replayed in her head so many times she could probably perform both of their parts in a stage play.

Was she angry? Hell yeah. He had just gotten finished lecturing her about the importance of speaking up, explaining what she wanted, sexually or otherwise. Laying down ground rules that were important to her. Then he’d gone and swiped the free will rug out from under her feet. She didn’t appreciate having decisions made on her behalf. It reminded her too much of what she’d witnessed growing up. Watching her mother repeatedly acquiesce to her father’s demands. Never speaking up for herself. She didn’t want to be that type of woman, ever. When she’d asked Oliver to help her learn about this world, she hadn’t expected him to be the one to damage that newfound confidence inside of her. She’d wanted…hoped he would expand it.

She did like Porter, as she’d told Oliver, but that hadn’t been why she was bordering on tears as she left Oliver’s apartment. Not even close. Her body had been coming down off whatever precipice Oliver had put her on. It had been like downhill skiing with no poles, right into a brick wall. Her body had been aching, blood rushing in her ears, a voice in her head shouting at her to stop being so outraged and let him drive her higher once again. How she’d resisted that urge, she still couldn’t understand. Even now, she could close her eyes and feel his hand between her legs, his tongue licking up the side of her neck. Oh yeah. He was every bit as amazing as she’d always imaged. Times infinity. A few more minutes with him and she would have blasted off like the space shuttle.

Honestly, she couldn’t have been any more obvious about her lack of experience if she’d tattooed: You want to put it…where? Across her forehead. He’d touched her between the legs, and she’d practically been speaking in tongues. That embarrassment, coupled with her hurt pride had caused tears to burn behind her eyes. At least she could console herself with the fact that they’d never fallen. She’d meant what she said about liking Porter, but she could admit to herself, and only to herself, she hadn’t thought of him from the time she’d entered the apartment to when Oliver brought him up. Telling her he’d told the man to f*ck off. Unbelievable.