Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Amelia

The work week is finally over, and I'm spending my Friday evening in the gym of my building, determined to strengthen my muscles a bit.

Misha teased me at lunch about our next hike, which could be on Sunday if the forecast stays good. I don't want the aftermath to be as disastrous as the last one, so here I am in the weight section, which is completely unfamiliar territory for me. But at least the struggle to figure out how to do this keeps my mind off the guys and August, who hasn't reached out since his initial call, leaving me anxious.

Grabbing a pair of three-pound weights, I decide to start small for my arms. As I awkwardly begin my workout, the gym door opens, and Oliver and Morgan walk in, dressed to work out as well.

She spots me first, her face lighting up as she waves and grabs Oliver's upper arm to pull him over to me. "Hey, Amelia, what a nice coincidence," Morgan says cheerfully. "I'm not really the kind who works out, but all the books and plants I used to enjoy belonged to my client, so I can't really do what I like. And watching movies all day gets boring, so here we are."

Having your home and your things taken from you must be hard. "You can borrow some of mine if you'd like," I offer, smiling.

"I'm not really into Twilight , but thank you," she teases with a grin.

I laugh. "I have other stuff, too, you know. But there's a pretty cool bookstore downtown—"

"Oh, amazing! That's such a good idea. Let's go tomorrow morning. We could grab some coffee and then browse for a while," Morgan interrupts, excited.

I didn't mean to suggest we go together, more to just tell her about the place. But sure, why not? Morgan seems nice, and I could always use a new book.

She pulls out her phone. "Give me your number, please." I rattle it off, and she lets it ring once to confirm. "Great, text me when you're awake." She grins, seemingly satisfied.

Oliver has been watching from the side, but as Morgan goes to walk on a treadmill and I start to pull up the small weights again, he steps closer, a slight frown on his face.

"I'm doing it wrong, aren't I? I've never done this before," I admit, feeling embarrassed.

"Not exactly wrong, but you could improve the motion. I can show you if you like, but it works your way too." His voice is calm and reassuring.

"Please?" I ask, looking up at him.

For a brief moment, heat flickers in his eyes, and my heart skips a beat. But then he steps behind me. His fingers glide over the back of my upper arm, just a breath of a touch sending a shiver down my spine. His fingertips press gently into my skin, signaling me to lift my arm a little more.

"Like this…" he whispers, and with his guidance, I ad just my grip on the weights, ensuring my palms are facing upward and my elbows are close to my sides. As I begin the curl, Oliver's fingers trace along my bicep, highlighting the muscle that should be contracting.

"Focus on squeezing your bicep as you lift the weight and control the motion as you lower it back down," he continues, his voice tender but precise. "Keep your upper arm stationary. Let the forearm do the work."

I feel the difference immediately. "Why are you so good at this?"

"It follows rules. It's not just anything. It's cause and effect. Do A, achieve B. I like logical things." His breath is warm against my ear, making my skin tingle.

He adjusts my arm once more, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. My pulse quickens, and I can't help but be acutely aware of his presence. Then his fingers brush my shoulder, sending a jolt of electricity through me. "How does that feel?" he asks, his voice now low and, if I'm not mistaken, a little gruff.

Like I need more of your touch.

"Much better."

"Good," he says, his lips curving into a smile that I can hear in his voice. "You're a quick learner."

I bite my lip, trying to steady my breathing. "You're a good teacher."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," he teases, stepping even closer.

Heat radiates from his body, and it's intoxicating. I turn my head, catching his gaze. There's a spark there, something unspoken but undeniably present.

"I'll have to remember that," I say, my words catching in my throat.

"Please do," he replies, his eyes not leaving mine.

We continue the exercise, the air between us charged with something , and I find myself hanging on his every word and touch when we change the movement.

"Like this," he murmurs in a low whisper. "You're doing great."

"Thanks to you." The way he looks at me, the way he touches me, it's making it hard to focus on anything but him.

"Maybe we should make this a regular thing," he suggests, his tone playful now. "I'm enjoying this."

"You sure? I would've guessed you had better things to do than show me the basics of weightlifting."

"You'd be surprised," he counters with a grin. "Besides, I think you're enjoying it too."

That was bold for him, and I like it.

I wonder if there's more where that came from.

"Maybe I am. But only because you're so good at explaining things. Very logical, Mr. Personal Trainer."

"Logic is my strong suit," he says, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "But I think I'm enjoying this a bit more than I should. Does that make sense?"

Bloody hell.

"Perfect sense," I whisper back, my heart pounding. "Just like cause and effect."

"Exactly," he murmurs, his fingers brushing my skin again, sending another shiver down my spine. "Do A, achieve B. Simple as that."

"So what's B in this scenario?" I ask.

Please let it be your hands on me.

"Let's just say it involves spending more time together," he replies, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that takes my breath away.

"I think I can handle that."

I hope I can handle that.

"Good," he says, his smile matching mine. "Because I'm not planning on letting you go anytime soon. "

His words send a thrill through me, making me realize just how much I've been craving this connection— him .

But it's not just him, which could lead to complications, after all.

Oliver

It's late, well past midnight, and the apartment is quiet.

Grey is in bed, Morgan is in bed, and Misha fell asleep on the couch after dinner. I'm alone in our home office, sitting in front of the monitors. Sleep eludes me, my mind buzzing with thoughts of Amelia.

Her smile, her laugh, the way her skin felt beneath my fingers.

The way she made me feel alive like I was floating.

So, I sit here, staring at the dark screens of her apartment, writing her a letter I will probably never give her. I write how the day of our coffee date has been the best day I've ever had and how I can't wait to have so many more best days with her. I describe how it felt to kiss her cheek and touch her skin.

How I feel drunk on her presence. And like a drunk person, I get bold, but I also speak the truth.

I'm not planning on letting her go anytime soon.

Or ever.

The light flickers on the screen in front of me, and Amelia walks out of her bedroom, dressed in a short pink pajama set that shows off her long legs. She looks adorably rumpled but not like she's been sleeping as she gets herself a glass of water before walking over to the couch and slumping down.

I reach out to grab the microphone and ask as Jamie, "Amelia, something wrong? "

She jumps a little but then sighs. "No, I just can't sleep."

"Why?" I ask, already feeling concern creeping in.

Did I say something stupid today?

I was a little forward, but since I felt she was also interested, I could speak much more freely somehow.

"I just can't stop thinking about them." Her whispered words make my heart stop for a second.

Them?

"Who is them?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady even if I feel anything but.

"Oliver, Misha, and Grey. It's that stupid crush I have on all of them. First, I thought it wasn't a big deal because it was one-sided, and nothing would ever come from it. But now… it's messing with my work and my sleep."

"You have a crush on all of them?"

This can't be right.

"I know it's stupid. When I'm alone with Grey, it feels like I have a crush on him, but then I spend time with Misha , and all I can feel is how hard I crush on him."

And I already know how they look at her. The same way I do.

"When I'm alone, I can't stop thinking about them, and now Oliver… God, Oliver. I can't stop thinking about how he looked at me and about his fingers on my skin…"

She sounds desperate, lost in her thoughts.

And I have to put the volume up because I almost can't hear her over the pounding beat of my heart in my ears.

She thinks about me.

"I can't sleep because all I wanted to do was reach out and kiss him. I want him to be here to touch me again."

She wants me.

"But this would be too much and too soon, and I can't do anything if I'm still not sure which one of them I'm crushing on, even though if I'm honest with myself, I know it really is all of them."

My hands are sweating so hard. I can't even be mad about her having a crush on the others because she has a crush on me. Right now, she wants to kiss me and wants me there with her. She can't sleep because I'm on her mind as much as she's on mine.

"That sounds like a lot," I say after the silence stretched for too long, struggling to find the right words.

"I know, and it's probably too much for an AI to understand my stupid little human heart." She sounds so defeated.

"Your heart is not stupid nor little if it has space for all of them. What can we do to make you settled enough so you can sleep?" I ask, wishing I could do more than just talk to her through Jamie.

"Nothing. I'd need to have Oliver here," she says as if talking to herself.

The longing in her voice is like a punch to the gut. Knowing she feels this way about me, even amidst her feelings for Grey and Misha, fills me with a strange mixture of joy and frustration.

Joy because she wants me, frustration because I can't be there for her right now. I want to reach through the monitor, to touch her, to hold her and make all her worries disappear.

I take a deep breath and stand to close the office door, deciding to take a leap of faith. Back in my chair, I type some quick commands and put Jamie in time-out. When I answer her again, what she hears is my own voice, unfiltered.

"Close your eyes, Amelia," I say, watching her startle again. "Imagine that I'm there with you, that I'm Oliver."

"Fuck, Jamie, you're good."

"Call me Oliver," I reply, a plea masked as a command .

She hesitates for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh and closing her eyes. "Okay… Oliver," she whispers.

"I'm here with you, Amelia. I'm sitting right next to you," I continue, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm looking at you, at your beautiful face, your lips, your freckles."

"What would you do if you were here, Oliver?" she asks, her voice trembling.

Fuck.

"I would reach out. My fingers would brush against your cheek, your jaw."

She lets out a soft gasp, her breath hitching as she brings her fingertips to her jawline.

I have no fucking idea what I'm doing. But I can see and feel that she wants this as much as I do. I don't know if I could do what I'm describing in real life. I don't know if I'd have the balls to even try or if my lack of experience would ruin this for us. But I know what my instinct tells me to do with her.

And I've read enough romance novels in my life to know how this should work.

"I would lean in closer," I continue, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I'd tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, my fingers lingering there."

I watch her react, her body responding to my words. Her breathing becomes shallow, her chest rising and falling with each breath. I can almost feel her warmth, the softness of her skin under my fingertips.

"What next?" she whispers, her voice filled with anticipation.

Every nerve in my body is on fire, craving her touch, her closeness. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I continue to paint this vivid picture.

"I'd trace my thumb over your lower lip," I say, my breath hitching as I imagine it. "Feeling how plump and warm it is. Then, I'd lean in and brush my lips against yours, so gently, waiting for you to respond."

She shivers, her lips parting as if she's already feeling my touch. I'm right there with her, my body reacting to every word, every imagined touch.

I'm so fucking hard for her.

But that's nothing new.

"And when you kiss me back," I continue, a tremor running through me. "I'd deepen the kiss, savoring the taste of you, the feel of you. My hands would move to your waist, pulling you closer, wanting to feel every inch of you against me."

Her hands move to her waist, her fingers tracing the curve of her hips as if she's begging for my touch, her body arching. The sight of her like this, responding to my words, drives me wild.

God, I ache to feel her beneath me. I want to glide my palm up the outside of her thighs, slide my fingers under her shorts.

"I'd explore every part of you, Amelia," I whisper, each word thick with need. "I'd lose myself, discovering what makes you shiver, what makes you moan. I'd trail my lips across the nape of your neck, down your shoulders, every inch I can reach. I want to know you completely."

A breathy moan escapes her, cutting through the silence, and her body quivers in anticipation. Her nipples strain against the flimsy fabric of her camisole, and my cock pulses in response. The need to be inside her, to claim her, is overwhelming.

"I want that, Oliver," she murmurs, the raw desire in her words matching my own. "I want you."

And I want you more than anything. But I have no idea how to please you, so you have to help me a little from here on out.

"Touch yourself for me, Amelia," I command softly, my heart pounding. "Imagine my hands guiding yours. Show me what you want me to do to you."

She hesitates for a moment, then slowly brings her hand to her chest, her fingers grazing her nipples over the fabric.

"That's it," I urge, my breath catching with anticipation. "Touch yourself the way you want me to touch you."

Her other hand moves down her body, slipping under the waistband of her pajama shorts. She lets out a gasp as she begins to touch herself, her breath quickening with each stroke, her hips bucking against the sensation. My own need builds, the ache between my legs growing more intense.

Fuck, what I would do to sit next to her right now.

"Tell me what you're feeling," I whisper, trying hard to keep myself from reaching into my own pants.

This i s for her.

I'm not a creep that jerks off to her without her knowing about it.

"It feels good," she moans, her voice barely audible. "I'm imagining it's you, Oliver. Your hands, your touch."

Jesus.

The sight of her like that sends a jolt of lust through me. I want to bury myself inside her, to feel her around me.

Her movements quicken, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I watch her intently, my own body aching with the need to make her mine.

"Oliver," she cries out, her body arching as she reaches the edge.

"Show me how much you want me, Amelia."

With a final moan, her body tenses, and she shudders as her release washes over her. I watch, mesmerized, every part of me yearning to be the one bringing her to this peak. Her breaths come in shaky bursts as she rides out the waves of her climax.

I exhale slowly, trying to steady my racing heart while I'm completely in awe. "You're beautiful."

My favorite view.

She slowly comes down from her high, her breath evening out. "That was incredible," she whispers, her eyes fluttering open.

" You're incredible," I reply, letting admiration and longing fill my words.

I watch her, utterly captivated, as she breathes deeply, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Her cheeks are flushed, her skin glowing with a post-orgasmic sheen. The way her body trembles, the way she seems to bask in the afterglow.

I want to pull her close, hold her, and kiss her forehead before we fall asleep in each other's arms.

She slowly pulls her hand from her shorts and sits up straight, her eyes wide with realization.

"Oh my God, did I really just let an OS make me come? Fuck, I need to touch some grass," she says, shaking her head as if trying to clear it.

She stands and walks back to her bedroom without another word, leaving me staring at the screen, feeling hollow.

Fuck, did I really just do that?

I grab my notebook again and start a new letter to her with what we just did, and I tell her that I can't decide if I loathe myself or not for the fact that I just earned my first orgasm of hers through a monitor.