Chapter 16

Watching Oscar take tender care with Frank, despite being in a hurry to get done with it, made me even more of a sucker for him than before.

"He's fine," he said as we left Frank's room, sounding more like he was reassuring himself than me.

"I'm surprised he doesn't sleep in your room."

Oscar shook his head. "It's not really putting him to bed like I implied. He's nocturnal. So he'll be up all night playing. I tried sharing a room with him early on, and it was a disaster."

I felt nervous about what was coming next. Being in this sleek penthouse, where even the light switches looked more expensive than my most tricked-out camera rig, was intimidating. It wasn't often I felt the full weight of Oscar's wealth, but tonight in the Ferrari and again in this apartment, I was left with the reality of what a vastly different life he led than I did.

When Oscar stepped across the hall into his bedroom, he turned and caught something in my expression. "You having second th?—"

"No! Definitely not. It's not that. I'm just… I'm realizing how fucking rich you are. And it's strange."

He paused and frowned. "Strange how? I thought you knew?—"

"No, I do. I do know. The way you know what the northern lights look like from seeing images of them online or on television. But I imagine it's completely different seeing them in person. More real. More… overwhelming."

Oscar's jaw moved. "Hugh. This…" He waved his hand around the warmly lit bedroom. A wall of windows showed the glittering lights of the Manhattan skyline across the dark void of Central Park. The furniture was modern but lived-in. It wasn't stark and cold but full of color and oddities here and there. It was incredibly… well… Oscar. "This is just stuff. Purchased with money I made with a combination of smarts, hard work, and an incredible amount of luck. None of this defines me, and I hope you don't think?—"

I reached out to cup his face before kissing him to stop the flow of defensive and fearful words. He didn't need to explain himself to me. I never wanted him to feel like he needed to explain himself to anyone.

Oscar pulled back after a few moments of indulging in the kiss. "You know what rich men expect when they bring an unsuspecting victim to their evil lair, right?" He lifted a hand toward my head, fingers catching on a curl. I could tell by the lustful expression on his face he was no longer concerned that his wealth would somehow scare me away. "Let me have my wicked way with you, Hugh Linzee."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Instead of speaking, I pulled his sweater up and over his head, tossing it gently onto a nearby chair.

Slowly, Oscar began to unbutton his shirt. His eyes remained locked on mine. My mouth went dry.

He pulled the tails of his shirt free of his pants, and I couldn't resist dropping my gaze to his chest, letting my eyes travel down the ridges of his abdomen to where his dark happy trail disappeared into his low-slung pants that were already bulging.

Heat bloomed inside me at the sight of that bulge. I noticed then the other tells of his arousal. The shallower breaths, the flush along his shoulders and neck. The lazy smile as he looked me over. When his eyes landed on my own tented trousers, they stopped and flared.

"You planning to keep those on?" he asked, his voice husky.

I swallowed and shook my head.

He reached out and started working on my shirt first. His movements were teasing and slow, his fingertips barely brushing against my heated skin as he worked his way down toward my pants. I was nearly trembling with desire by the time he pushed the shirt from my shoulders, stepping closer so that he could ease it down my arms before letting it drop on the floor.

We were both shirtless now, the heat of him radiating against my bare chest. Technically, our game of pretend had ended the moment we'd left Abby's party. We could set it aside for the night and pick it back up in the morning before brunch. But why bother worrying about technicalities now? Especially when I had Oscar half-naked in front of me, his cock straining and ready, my own pulsing with desire.

I reached for him then, my palm moving to the back of his neck. That was all it took to break whatever spell had been holding us apart. We crashed into each other, our bodies colliding, mouths hungry.

It had been too long since I'd had this—had him. Our tongues tangled, his taste flooding me. I groaned, wanting more. He ground his cock against mine, and I grabbed his ass, hauling him closer.

Dimly, I became aware of other sounds in the room—the low hum of air from a heating vent, the metallic click of my belt buckle when it hit the floor, and the irregular in and out of Oscar's own breath.

I ripped myself away from him, panting. I looked at him, his lips swollen and the pupils in his eyes blown. Fuck, the man was gorgeous and sexy as shit.

He never stopped touching me. His hands moved from one article of my clothing to the next as if on a critical mission, never stopping until I was fully undressed the way he clearly wanted.

I skimmed my lips along his jaw, down his neck, burying my head against his shoulder. The familiar smell of him overwhelmed my senses, sending my pulse into overdrive. You could blindfold me in a crowded room and I'd be able to find Oscar based on scent alone and how my body instantly reacted to it.

I swallowed a groan, lapping at his sensitive skin, reveling in the feel of his cock so rigid against my hip. I pushed against him until his legs collided with the side of the bed. With a startled breath, he collapsed onto the mattress.

I lunged toward him, reaching for his belt and sliding it free. I pried open his button and yanked down his zipper, ordering him to lift his hips so I could divest him of his jeans. Then he was naked in front of me, sprawled on the bed with one knee bent and falling open to the side, baring himself to me.

"Fuck," I growled. I slid my hand down to my own cock, wrapping my fingers around myself and squeezing. His dick was thick and full, already swollen, just like mine. There was something so wickedly wrong about him lying on this luxurious bed, high above the city lights, waiting for me.

I dropped to my knees, crawling toward him. His eyes gleamed in appreciation and anticipation. As I neared the bed, I pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh, then another higher, and again higher. Oscar groaned, hands fisting in the bedspread.

I kissed closer and closer until I could lap at his sac before trailing my tongue up the length of him, pressing a kiss to the slit in his head. "Such a tease," Oscar hissed.

I grinned against his cock, pausing to let the heady scent of him overwhelm me. Then I took him in my mouth, slowly sliding my lips down his shaft. He sucked in a breath, groaning when I hollowed my cheeks, sucking on him.

I'd intended to go slow. To take my time with him. But the minute the taste of his precum hit my tongue, I couldn't stop myself. My reaction was animalistic—instantaneous. I started to bob my head faster, lavishing him with my mouth.

"Oh fuck," he breathed. His hand slid into my hair, gripping tight. He held me in place and began to thrust. Fucking deeper into my throat, filling me. I could tell by the way Oscar's fingers dug against my scalp, the way the muscles of his hips trembled and his breathing stuttered, that he was on the edge, about to tip over.

I sucked harder, taking him deeper. I reached for his sac, tugging, pulling, then worked a finger back toward his hole. His movements grew more frantic, his breathing labored. He was trying so damn hard to wait, to prolong his pleasure, but I was too eager to see him come to allow it.

My finger slipped into him, and his hips bucked. "I'm gonna come," he bit out through clenched teeth. It was all the warning I got before his cock began to pulse, filling my mouth and throat with the hot warmth of his taste. I swallowed him down, taking it all.

His hand still in my hair, he yanked my head back, pulling my mouth from his cock and tilting my face toward him. He leaned forward, his mouth meeting mine, tongue plundering and seeking.

With his other hand, he pushed against my shoulder until I lost my balance and tumbled onto my back on the other side of the bed. The crisp cotton duvet was cool against my hot skin.

"My turn," he growled before lowering his head to my cock. All rational thought left my head the moment I felt the soft warmth of his mouth around my tip. He blew me roughly and messily, one of his hands gripping me tight at the base of my cock.

I was already so wound up that I came quickly, my entire body shuddering as I cried out. Once he was done, Oscar collapsed next to me. We both lay in the center of the large bed, panting as we tried to catch our breath.

"You okay?" Oscar asked after a few moments, his eyes raking over me. "You need anything?"

More,I thought. So much more. I need this not to be the last time with you. Please, god.

"No," I said, flashing him a smile. "I'm good."

The little divot of concern that sometimes creased his brow appeared, but only for a split second.

"I'm glad you're here," he said softly, brushing his lips against my skin and sending shivers down my arms.

My chest squeezed at the words. A part of me wanted to tell him, "I could be here every night if you'd just give us a chance." But I knew that would ruin the moment and potentially ruin the delicate balance we'd found.

I threaded my fingers through Oscar's, holding his hand against my chest.

"I am too," I murmured. He sighed, content, before drifting off to sleep.

For some reason though, it wasn't as easy for me. I lay awake, the wall of windows across from the bed alive with the lights of the city. I stared out at them, imagining each one as a person going through life with their own concerns, their own fears and desires and dreams.

I wondered how many of them were in love. Or had fallen out of love. Or were desperate for love. Or loved someone who didn't love them back. I didn't understand why it all had to be so complicated and difficult.

Love should be easy. That's how it always seemed to me in all the weddings I'd photographed and all the couples I'd interviewed for my TikTok account. And if it wasn't easy, maybe that was because it wasn't meant to be.

Not liking where that train of thought was leading, I slid out of bed and found my boxers in the pile of clothes we'd thrown on the floor. I tiptoed out of Oscar's room, retracing my steps down the hallway in search of the kitchen.

The first door I opened led to a half bath with marble floors and a floating stone vanity. The next door was to the laundry room, which was almost larger than the bedroom in my apartment. The next door looked to be a pantry of some sort, every wall lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves. But it was unlike any pantry I'd ever seen because every shelf was filled with Girl Scout Cookies. And not just a few boxes. Given that each shelf had to be seven boxes deep and three boxes high, there had to be hundreds, if not thousands of them.

I let out a laugh. What the hell? I liked a good Thin Mint when cookie-ordering season came around, but this was unreal. Who knew Oscar was such a cookie fiend?

I noticed cards tucked between several of the boxes and pulled one out. It was a note penned in very neat cursive from a girl thanking him for buying enough boxes that she could join her fellow troop mates on a field trip to a local horse barn. I pulled down another card. This one was another thank-you note for buying enough boxes that she qualified for a scholarship to a nearby summer camp. Several notes were collected in a large glass jar set among the stacks of boxes, all of the notes from Troop 6000 with heartfelt messages about him being their first sale and how much that meant to them.

I heard something behind me and turned to find Oscar leaning against the wall across the hall. "I see you found my secret stash," he said. He'd pulled on thin cotton pajama pants that hung low on his hips, revealing his perfectly toned abdomen. He did not have the physique of a man who regularly overly indulged in cookies.

"Preparing for the apocalypse?" I asked him, a little breathless. "With a dedicated cookie closet?"

"It was a selling feature when I bought the place last year," he said solemnly. "I told the listing agent if I was going through the hassle of moving out of Brooklyn, it would only be to a property with a cookie closet. Resale value, you know?"

"Last year," I repeated. "I don't remember you mentioning a move."

"It was right around the time of Wells's wedding. Lesya handled most of the details, and I did my best to stay away until everything was set up." He looked at me curiously. "Did you never wonder why I was staying at the hotel when I had a perfectly nice place witha cookie closet just a few blocks away?"

"I… I never considered it." It had all been part of the mystery of Oscar Overton—a mystery I still hadn't fully unraveled… and might never since the man was so damn good at deflecting questions he didn't want to answer. "But back to the cookies, Oscar," I said pointedly.

He sighed. "You try saying no to a little girl in her uniform asking you to buy cookies," he grumbled. "It's impossible. If you meet Rosette tomorrow at my mother's brunch, then you'll see how impossible it is to deny her anything."

He bought the cookies for his niece's troop? My heart melted.

"You could just donate to the troop," I pointed out. "Then you wouldn't end up with so many cookies."

"It's not the same. It's not about the money for a lot of them; it's about the pride in accomplishing something. It's learning that you can do hard things. It's encouraging them to keep going and keep trying." Oscar rubbed at the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. "But this is just temporary. Lesya is making arrangements to donate the cookies to a few local food banks this week. Well, most of the cookies," he amended. "I think I need to keep a few, don't you?"

Sometimes this man made it too easy to want to fall in love with him. What had Abby said in her HEA video? That the only scary thing about the future was spending a minute away from Dex that she could have spent with him? I thought I was starting to understand that now. "You're a good man, Oscar Overton."

His eyes raked over my bare torso and down to the boxer briefs that felt tighter than they had a few minutes earlier.

"Not that good."

I thought about this contradiction of a man, all the various pieces and parts of him.

"You have hidden depths," I teased, enjoying the dichotomy between his obvious lust and his embarrassment over the Girl Scout stash. "Cookie depths."

"Get in the bedroom," he grumbled through a smile. "Apparently, I didn't wear you out properly before, and I aim to do just that with the next round."