18. Olivier

I'm not sure about anything. Literally anything. I can still taste his cum in my mouth for Christ's sake—feel the raw spot in the back of my throat he left, the soreness on my ass cheek. I'm vibrating from all the sensations I get when he's around me—when he touches me. It's fucking me up and scaring the shit out of me.

At the same time, I want more from him—a kiss—a different kind of grope. There's also a large part of me reminding me to steer clear—that he's a one-way ticket to my destruction. He's the loss of my safety net. More is a risk I can't take.

"Oh, please," I dismiss the question. "You were practically a pussycat this morning."

He huffs. "Too gentle, Peach?"

"Maybe."

"You bruise too easy."

Ah… Like a peach. I get it. "But I like it."

"I know. Doesn't mean I have to."

I pout. "You don't want me to get bored with you, do you?"

That strikes a nerve. A slight twitch moves his mouth, and it reads like a flinch. "Just let me know when I'm dismissed," Drew grumbles.

I approach him, wanting to rest my hand on his arm, but hesitating. We're not like that. We're not close like that. I fold my arms tightly over my chest. "I'm not bored," I say in a low voice.

He meets my gaze.

"At all," I add.

"Prove it," he says.

"How?"

"Come out with me and Jericho Wednesday night. Bring Elodie. We'll meet someplace downtown where no one knows you. Dress like a regular boy."

I narrow my eyes. "Why?"

His answer is a shrug, but it's not good enough for me. "Why?" I ask again.

"You said you were out of friends. Expand your circle."

"But you're?—"

Drew lifts his brows. "A doorman?"

"Yeah."

"I clean up all right."

Of that, I have no doubt. He's so gorgeous—so universally attractive—there's no way I'd be ashamed to be seen with him. It might even be—cool.

The more I think about it, the more tempting the offer is for a few reasons. He's dead right. I don't want to be alone with Elodie any more than I already have to be, which is already too much. Beyond that, this whole idea of him inviting me out appeals to my need to belong. But most of all, there's an assumption I can make, too—he wants to see me while he's off.

Maybe he can't stand the thought of notseeing me for two days. While that could be wishful thinking, I'm not the world's worst at reading people. It's one of my only skills, and it works way better when I'm not coked out of my mind.

"Okay," I say.

"Yeah?"

I nod.

"Mmm…" he rumbles. "Good boy."

I roll my eyes and shake my head like that shit doesn't get me every damn time, but I'm pretty sure my red-hot cheeks give me away. "Don't read too much into it, Jack. I'm just curious what you look like in the wild."

"Sure you are."

"I'm gonna shower." Mainly because I'm a heartbeat away from kneeling down to get us both off again, but I'm afraid I'll try something neither of us is ready for.

"Yeah," he says, like he's thinking the same thing. "Good idea."

I wishI could say I manage to keep my hands off Drew before his shift, but once he finishes his meal and before he gets dressed, he beckons from the couch, and I come running.

I blow him as usual, but then he surprises me by hauling me up between his legs and flipping me around until I'm lying with my back to his chest. With one hand putting pressure on my throat, he finishes me with quick, sure strokes of his other fist, making me jizz all over my coffee table as his rough breaths heat the nape of my neck.

He doesn't complain when I wrap my arm around his head while I'm deep in the throes. It's intense. Almost intimate. And he doesn't shove me away right after I come, either.

Our faces rest against each other's for a long moment while we both come back into our bodies until, finally, he taps my belly to let me know he needs to get up. Moving off him is more of a struggle than I'll admit. And, if I'm not mistaken, his sigh as he rises has a note of regret in it as well.

We have kind of a moment at the door when he leaves, too. I don't usually walk him out, but he asks me to tonight. Before he opens it to go down to work, he turns to me and gives me a long look. "Don't have too much fun tonight."

"Don't worry," I say. "I'm in survival mode."

"You gonna miss me in the morning?"

Not for the first time, I sense a soft spot in him—a sliver of vulnerability—which punches through my chest like a fist. Gone is the hard edge in his sharp gaze. The mask of indifference he wears like a second skin is replaced with what I have a feeling is his natural face. It's the first time he's letting me see the real Drew on purpose.

"I might," I say quietly. "Yeah."

"I might miss you, too." His gaze drops to my mouth.

My vision blurs as all my blood rushes from my head. I want this. I want to feel his mouth on me. Anywhere, but right now, my lips are all but begging for his. I'm past being shocked by these constant waves of wanting him, but I'm not past being totally screwed up by them.

"So, your number's in the system. You have any reason to want mine?" he asks while I stand there waiting for a first kiss like a virgin in a romance novel.

"That'd probably be good to have," I say. "Yeah."

"I'll text you later then."

"Okay."

He's still staring, and I'm still waiting, my breaths heavy and near labored in my chest. But I don't get a kiss. I get two light pats on my cheek, an anemic echo of his erotic slaps.

"Stay out of trouble tonight, Peach."

With that, he's gone, and I'm huffing out all the air trapped in my chest, the urge to fan my face near overwhelming.

Once I recover, I go through all the usual motions of getting ready for a night out with Elodie, but Drew is much harder to get out of my head than usual. There's a definite sense of something shifting, but not enough has actually changed to know what the shift is exactly. And I'm not sure I'm ready for it either.

I also can't resist it. I've always been curious. Incurably impulsive. I want that fucking kiss, and yeah—like I told him this morning—I want to fuck him.

If I have to marry Elodie in a few months and spend years, if not the rest of my life with her, then I plan to enjoy what little time I have left whenever I can. If I want to fuck a man, I will. Not that it's been a lifelong dream or anything, but it's a fantasy I'm currently obsessed with, so why not? It's not like anyone's paying attention to me anyway. No one but him.

I even consider the weird idea Drew had this morning about moving Elodie in here, continuing to hook up with him, and letting her do whatever the hell she wants. I'm not afraid of the doormen selling me out anymore, but I would be nervous about Elodie's "suitors."

There's nothing some people won't do to milk an heir or heiress for a buck or fifty thousand. More, even. NDAs aren't iron-clad, but regular people don't really know that. The threat of a lawsuit is usually enough to keep people's mouths shut, but if they slip even once to the wrong person, the damage is done, and suing them is just revenge porn after that.

So yeah, it'd take a lot of convincing for me to let someone in this house to piss on Elodie while I'm upstairs blowing Drew. I couldn't give less of a shit if Elodie knows about Drew—as long as she doesn't breathe a word about it to my parents.

Fuck, it makes me want to vomit just thinking about my parents finding out about Drew.

I'd lose everything. Including them.

What keeps me from retching is remembering that the whole idea came from a conversation about Drew saying he didn't like the idea of me fucking Elodie every other week, which—join the club—me neither, Jack. But there's some comfort in that. That he's not hanging me out to dry here—that he wants more, too. Although his definition of more and mine might be vastly different.

Literally all Ican think about is kissing. I find myself studying the waiter's lips as he recites the specials because he's a good-looking man with a mouth, and that reminds me of Drew, and this dude has approximately the same amount of stubble. I've never kissed anything that wasn't soft, plush, and sweet.

Drew would be rough, scratchy, hard—aggressive even? Maybe? I blink myself out of the fantasy to answer Elodie's second iteration of her appalled question. "The doorman? Really?"

"He's cool. And this is getting old fast, no offense."

She glares at me, red lips pursed. Her dark hair is down tonight, one side swept back and held in place with a bejeweled comb that looks ancient and priceless, though she wears it without a care in the world. "If you want to be entertained, you could try telling me what you actually like."

I actually like living without guardrails and not being forced into an arranged marriage, but as that's not an option, I go with, "I like meeting new people. Trying new things. When was the last time you were south of Midtown?"

"I shop in SoHo all the time."

"Well, it's been awhile for me."

"I could take you shopping if you have such a strong desire to break loose of upper Manhattan."

"It's not just that," I tell her, leaning back in my chair and swirling the half-empty glass of Cabernet in my hand. We've talked about a lot over these performative dinners, so Elodie is well aware that no one in my friend group is speaking to me. I'm hoping once the engagement gets announced things will snap back to normal, but then I remember there won't be anything normal about being engaged to Elodie.

"Ollie, I know you're lonely, but a double date with the doorman? Come on."

"He's a doorman, not a criminal. So he has to work for a living, Jesus. So does your daddy."

She stiffens. Rich people, especially those of us that come from old money, don't like to be called out on being elitist. "Fine. I'm just surprised you would want to. I've got no problem with what he does for a living."

See?

She daintily takes a sip of her Pinot Grigio and sets it back down on the table. "Tomorrow night, you said?"

I nod.

"It sounds fun. Will you pick me up?"

"Sure." I give her a grudging smile. I wouldn't say I'm excited to see Drew and meet his "cool" girlfriend at an undisclosed location, but I am intrigued, and it's better than going two days without seeing him. Fuck, I'm going to miss him in the morning, aren't I?

I sigh, taking a large drink of wine.

"How'd you get to know your doorman, anyway? This is the hot nighttime one, right?"

"Yeah," I say. "Just here and there."

"Have you met his girlfriend?" she asks.

"No."

"So, how'd you guys start talking?"

"I don't know. He brings up my packages sometimes, and we just started…chatting."

"Yeah, I've seen him come up a couple times."

"Right." Forgot about that.

"So, what should I wear?"

"I'm sure it won't be dressy," I say, but I'm wondering the same thing. My black cashmere turtleneck maybe? Jeans? People wear jeans in the Villages, right? I check my phone to see there's still no text.

Weird that I've swallowed his cock a dozen times and don't have his number.

Oh man, just the thought of his cock…

I'm stiffening in my slacks, and my mouth waters. I am a bitch in heat. Fuck, does he have to go home this morning?

Our entrées arrive, and my stomach rumbles, distracting my growing erection for the moment. Sitting up, I inhale the fresh, steamed seafood, the herbed creme sauce and the citrusy top notes. Ninety percent of the time, Elodie and I order the same thing. I don't know if it's because we have the same tastes, or if it's because she's too lazy to peruse the menu because she's not that picky. Honestly, aside from her numerous kinks and fetishes, she's pretty low maintenance for a spoiled socialite. The same could likely not be said about me.

Better enjoy this meal tonight because I have a feeling I'm in for chicken wings or greasy burgers tomorrow—not that I'm complaining—okay, maybe I am complaining.

I hope I don't embarrass Drew.

My phone buzzes, and I immediately reach for it.

Unknown

Don't forget to tip tonight.