Boldly by Elise Faber

Chapter Sixteen

Hazel

She was in bed,a documentary on a special penguin island in the background and thinking that it was time to stop waiting for Oliver to call when her phone rang.

A squee built inside her.

Another when she saw it was a number she didn’t have programmed into her cell.

Normally, she didn’t pick up any calls from strange numbers—she’d had way too many “We need to reach you about your car’s extended warranty” to fall for that trick—but this was Oliver, and though she wanted to pretend that she hadn’t been waiting for him to phone, there was an entire TV screen’s worth of penguins who would judge her if she tried to lie.

She couldn’t handle their little beady eyes on her, mocking her duplicity.

Swiping a finger across the screen as she lifted her phone to her ear, Hazel glared at the tuxedo-wearing birds. Judgy bitches.

“Hello?”

She was so wound up in her face-off with the birds that she hadn’t said hello.

Great.

“Oliver?” she pushed out, her voice squeaky.

“You okay?” he murmured, the question rumbling through her speaker, reminding her of his touch, his kiss.

Focused on that and not controlling her filter—which was six shades of useless considering she’d finished nearly a whole bottle of wine while waiting for Oliver’s call—she accidentally said, “Yup. Just me and my penguin foes are having a stare down.”

It took her a beat to process the silence.

Because wine.

“Penguins?” he eventually asked.

“Yup. The men are sitting on the eggs and the women are going off and hunting like the badass motherfuckers they are, and all the men are sitting at home doing nothing while the women are off doing everything—like always—”

“Aren’t the male penguins the ones who ensure that the eggs don’t freeze?”

“Don’t get off topic, young sir,” she rambled.

“Young sir?”

She went on like he hadn’t spoken. Because penguins and wine and it was fun talking about nonsense with Oliver. “So, while the women are doing everything,” she said again,“these male penguins are judging me because I drank an entire bottle of wine while waiting for you to call.”

Silence.

Then, “Shit.”

Still, high off her penguin rant, she said, “And when I was just going to get under covers, give myself an orgasm because I’ve had six dates without one, not including last night, of course. Or the night before,” she added, because truth.

Oliver started chuckling.

“Or the night before that one,” she went on, tugging the blankets off her body, exposing her bare legs to the cool air. Oh, that was better, especially since the wine had made her horny, tipsy, and hot.

“What’s that?”

“Hmm?”

“The rustling,” he said, almost sounding panicked now. “I heard rustling. Almost like—”

Hazel dropped her head back on her pillow. “Don’t worry. I’m not touching myself. I just had to get the covers off me. I’m hot.”

“You are.”

Not missing a beat that one.

“You’re in bed?”

She rolled to the side, holding the phone to her ear. “Yup.”

“And drunk?”

“Tipsy, maybe.” A pause as she considered that. “Well, slightly more than tipsy, a hair away from drunk. Tipsy-drunk, as one will.”

Another chuckle.

“You have a sexy laugh,” she blurted

“Babe.” But she could tell he liked that, even though he changed the subject. “You drank a whole bottle of wine waiting for me to call?”

“Needs must.”

A beat, then, “I’m sorry.”

She sighed, relaxed into the pillow and mattress. Two of the few things she’d splurged on as top of the line, and it was totally worth it to have a good bed and pillow. It was like sleeping on clouds every night. Though she knew she wouldn’t have a problem sleeping tonight, not with the wine running through her veins and dragging her under more every second.

“Should I let you go?” he murmured.

“Uh-uh.” She burrowed deeper.

“Want me to help you with that orgasm problem?”

Alertness slid through her. “You’ll come over?”

A low groan. “No, babe. I meant what I said about romance.” She frowned and sank back onto the pillow, snuggling into the mattress again.

“Fine,” she muttered.

“What are you wearing?”

“Seriously?” It was another mutter.

“Humor me.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“I’m sorry I was late calling. Today was Marco’s last day, so I took him out to dinner. He wanted to reminisce, and that took longer than I expected.”

Her nose relaxed.

“So, now will you tell me what you’re wearing?” he asked.

“No.”

He sighed. “Why not?”

“For one, the penguins are still judging me. I can feel their beady little eyes on me.”

Laughter, warm and rumbly through the airwaves and into her ear, her brain, sliding down her body as though it were a physical caress. Then, “What’s two?”

“Hmm?”

“You said for one, so what’s the second reason you won’t tell me what you’re wearing?”

Probably, she should have lied. But she was sleepy and tipsy-drunk and didn’t have any control over her filter anymore. “You’re not here.”

Silence. Then, “Babe.”

“Don’t babe me,” she grumbled. “You could come over right now—”

“I don’t have your address.”

She rattled it off.

A groan tumbled through the speakers. “I’m trying to do the right thing. You deserve care and affection, not a quick fuck because we’re both so horny that we can’t wait.”

“How about a quickie and then something longer?”

She could manage that. Tipsy-drunk was already morphing into straight tipsy, and that meant she was sleepy, horny, and wanted this man.

He groaned again. “Hazel.”

“I like when you say my name.”

Rustling through the speakers, the sound of footsteps and movement. “What are you doing?” she whispered, a smirk tugging up the corners of her lips. Maybe she couldn’t convince him to come over, but if he was getting naked, then she wasn’t opposed to mutual self-satisfaction. Especially, if she could get him to FaceTime. She needed the visual of him wrapping that strong hand around his cock, stroking it slow and hard until he—

“I’m coming over.”

Her breath caught. “Really?”

“Babe,” he said, and his voice was gravel, need in every one of the small stones. “You think I could ever truly deny you anything?”

More catching, as though someone was hugging her so tightly that her lungs couldn’t inflate. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

The sound of a car door opening and closing.

“Ten minutes.”

“Oh,” she breathed again.

She heard his car engine turn on, the background noise growing as he must have reached the street. “Babe?” he said.

“Yeah?”

Her heart was galloping in her chest. Tipsy-drunk was just tipsy. Or maybe it was just Oliver-smashed because, holy fucking shit, was this happening?

“Eight minutes. Unlock the front door. Go back to your bed and get naked.”

“Eight minutes?” she squeaked, glancing around her bedroom, which was a mess. As was the rest of her house. Oh fuck, he was going to be there in eight minutes, and she had dirty laundry on the floor, and a bathroom that was maybe clean, and—shit!—dishes in the sink and—

What if her hairs were in the sink?

She needed—

“Six minutes,” he murmured, voice dark and dangerous, and her pussy liked that, a whole hell of a lot. “Get moving, babe.”

“I—”

She stumbled out of bed, scooped clothes into her arms and shoved them in the closet. Then ran into her bathroom and checked the sink, rinsing the hairs down the drain and brushing her teeth for good measure.

“Four minutes,” came his husky voice.

Shit.

Oh my God.

But also, shit.

She ran for the ground floor, for the front door, knowing there was no time to clean her kitchen, not when he said, “Two minutes.”

She flicked the lock. “It’s open.”

“Upstairs. Naked. One minute.”

“I—”

“One minute, babe. I’m hanging up now.”

Lights flashed across her lawn. Her throat seized with panic, with excitement, with so much fucking need.

A car engine.

A door slamming.

Turning, she sprinted up the stairs, leaving the bedroom light on, so he’d know where to go, and then she was reaching for the hem of her tank top when she heard it.

The front door opening and closing.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Quickly, without thinking about it, without chickening out, she yanked her top over her head, shimmied out of her panties, letting both puddle to the carpet, and turned to face the hall…

Just at Oliver strode through.

He was rumpled and gorgeous and…the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

His gaze went to hers, dropped slowly, and she watched his jaw clench, his hands fist as his eyes traced over her naked body. “Beautiful.” One rasped word. Maybe cliché, but the way he said it, every syllable filled with need and reverence and heat and…it was the best compliment she’d ever received in her life.

His stare made the slow trail back up and then drifted over her shoulder.

And he smiled.

And…it was a physical assault on her senses.

“You weren’t kidding about the penguins.”

Silently, she shook her head. Words were failing her. Need had clawed its way up her throat, had the desire inside her churning. Her hands shook. Her breaths were coming in rapid gusts. Her palms were damp, and her pussy…well, that had gone well beyond damp. She could feel herself coating the insides of her thighs.

“Oliver?” she asked, rooted in place.

Just go to him.

Take five steps and launch herself into his arms.

But something about the way he was staring at her made that impossible.

She could only stand there and wait.

And wait.

And—

He moved so quickly one second, he was five feet away, the next he was in her face, his body flushed to hers…and coaxing hers backward. Back. Back. Her legs collided with her bed, and she tumbled onto the mattress.

“Beautiful,” he murmured again.

Then he was on top of her. The movement a little stilted, a bit ungraceful, but she was hardly a ballerina when she scrambled up the bed, trying to make room for him. His mouth met hers, his lips working, his tongue slipping inside.

Then his fingers slipped inside.

“Fuck, babe,” he groaned, the long, thick digit stroking into her pussy. “So fucking wet.”

“I—” He slid another finger in, not giving her a moment to breathe, to think, to worry that she was naked, and he wasn’t.

“Fuck,” she hissed, thighs falling wide, her mouth going slack.

He flicked his tongue over her lips then dragged his mouth down her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin there, kissing his way down her chest, pausing and nuzzling into her cleavage. One rough palm squeezed her breasts, massaging the flesh, thumbs brushing over her nipples.

She hissed again, in the best way, and he didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the sensitive spot, leaning close to suck one deeply into his mouth. She moaned, fingers going to his hair, clenching tight, probably too tight, but the man’s tongue was a revelation. It needed to be gilded and hung on the wall. Except that would mean she couldn’t have it working her nipple, trailing along her skin, dipping down—

He pulled his hair out of her hands, slid down her body.

And then she got that fabulous tongue on her pussy.

The hand that had been on her breasts was braced at her hip, his hot breath was on her folds. His tongue traced through the wet heat of her, delving deep inside her, teasing out every sensitive spot, every place that made her squirm, homing in on the pressure, the movements, the rhythm that had her writhing against his mouth.

“I—” She dropped her head back to the pillows when he sucked her clit hard. “That, please. Do that again.”

He sucked her harder, added a flick of his tongue.

“Oh.”

She shuddered.

He repeated the sucking, the flick, slid another finger inside.

Another shudder. This one because she was on the brink of shattering. His palm slid under her ass, tilting her hips up, bringing his mouth more flush against her, and then he repeated the sucking, the flicking, the keeping her tight and close and—

Pleasure swirled, went taut.

Flooded through her and went on and on and on.

Every muscle was tight, and then every muscle went slack, so loose that her head dropped back onto her pillow, her arms to the mattress.

Oliver was still licking her.

Slow and light, easing her down, avoiding her clit—thank God, that bundle of nerves was so sensitive that even his breath being near it felt like it might be too much. He caught her from where she’d catapulted into the stratosphere, allowed her to slowly drift toward earth.

Then she was back in her own body, could feel the bed beneath her again, the sheets on her skin, the comforter all bunched up from where she’d just tossed it aside earlier.

He slowly crawled up her body, fully dressed, wiping his chin and mouth on his sleeve.

A kiss to her jaw. A brush of knuckles against her cheek.

Then he nuzzled her throat and whispered, “Why do I feel like the penguins are judging me?”

Her eyes flew open, saw the gathering of birds on the screen.

Their beady eyes right on her.

Judging.

Those fuckers were totally judging.