Sebring

Nick felt his body still.

But doing it, he felt hers lock.

Not even Tommy.

Tom Leary? A Shade soldier?

A fucking Shade soldier it was known wide felt the wrath of his king and got the drip of acid on his face to learn his lesson. A lesson people knew he’d learned just looking at his face but no one knew why he’d learned it.

This thought shifted from his head when suddenly, her body flew into motion.

Fuck yeah. She’d made a mistake.

He moved instantly to clamp her tight to him.

She emitted a noise of desperation when she found herself immobilized, her arms wrapped round her front, her wrists seized, the only thing she could move was her legs and they were positioned to his side so any movement was ineffectual.

He needed to dig into her comment about Tom Leary.

But he felt at that juncture it would be an error to focus on the mystery of Olivia and not the forward movement of his plan.

“No one but me?” he asked.

“Sebring,” she bit off.

“Why me?”

“Let me go.”

He shook her slightly. “Why me, Olivia?”

She looked to him, mouth tight, eyes holding unhidden anger and frustration, both, he suspected, for herself but aimed at him for her mental health.

“You’re of my world. You get it.”

“I know of Tom Leary, Olivia,” he probed gently. “He’s of your world too.”

She gave a slight toss of her head that if their situation was not as intense as it was would have been fucking adorable. Enough to make him laugh or at least smile.

Instead, it just registered as fucking adorable, which was bad enough.

“He’s in my world. There’s a difference.”

“I get that,” he muttered.

She glared at him, too dignified to fight when she knew she was beaten.

He held her glare and it was fucking adorable too.

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

“Fuck, I want you to ride me hard right now.”

He watched her lips part.

His gaze cut up.

Anger and frustration gone, hunger all there was in her expression.

She felt him hard against her thigh.

And she wanted that too.

His hold loosened. “Climb on, Olivia.”

There was no war as to who would be on top, not this time. Necessity dictated she take the top unless he wanted her on the floor (and in that room he would absolutely not take her there) or again at the wall and he was in the mood to watch.

But they were them. The war was had, this being who got to pull and tug what piece of clothing on the other.

But he got her skirt up, her panties off and she got his cock out.

Then she got it in her.

She could have the top.

But he was taking control.

And he did. To her eyes widening, her cunt soaking, his hand fisted in her hair, his other arm around her waist driving her down on him as he thrust up.

He shoved her head to his, their foreheads colliding.

She held on to his shoulders, as he moved her on him, moving under her, Olivia bucking through the ride, their gazes locked.

“Sebring,” she breathed.

That was the first time she gave him that.

He liked his name on her lips when his cock was inside her way too much. So he angled his head and took her mouth.

They kissed.

They fucked.

They came.

A live sex scene played out behind a one-way window as they did it and neither of them paid any attention.

They had both come down, he was still inside her and holding her, his hand now gentle in her hair, having allowed her to slide her forehead to his shoulder.

“I won’t fuck him,” she whispered.

He relaxed.

Completely.

And gave her a squeeze.

A goddamned squeeze.

He couldn’t stop it.

He knew why. He knew it. He knew he was fucked by it.

He shouldn’t care who she fucked.

But he did.

It wasn’t (all) about going ungloved.

It was much more than that.

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck.

Yeah, he was drowning.

And he had to resurface.

Soon.

Chapter Eleven

A Perfect Goddamned World

Olivia

12:32 – Friday Afternoon

I sat across from Georgia at Rioja, barely having my ass to the chair and my purse set aside before I grabbed my napkin to shake it out and put it on my lap. This was my indication, regardless that she chose Rioja, a place I’d normally wish to linger, that I wanted this to go quickly.

“David’s disappeared.”

At her announcement, I casually finished laying my napkin on my lap and shared, “Not surprisingly, since he’d like to be somewhere far away to enjoy the seven million¸ six hundred twenty-three thousand, two hundred forty two dollars he stole from us.”

Her brown eyes went wired and her mouth got tight.

Georgia and I shared Dad’s straight black hair and olive skin. She got his brown eyes. Mom’s eyes were blue. I had no idea where my eyes came from. I just always liked the fact that there was something of mine that was none of theirs.

“I just finished finding it all half an hour before I left for lunch,” I went on. “And at this point, as petty as it is, considering I’ve been sharing my concerns about David for years, I would very much like to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Please be careful, Liv. I’m suddenly not in a good mood.”

I wisely decided, considering her moods occasionally could be like our father’s, to be careful. Thus I looked away, seeing a waitress coming our way.

Georgia already had a martini.

I ordered sparkling water with lemon and lime and a glass of Prosecco.

“I would suggest that as soon as possible Gill and or Tommy are dispatched to bring him back. And it would be helpful when they did that they bring back as much of our money as they can,” I stated when the waitress moved away.