26. Olivier

Drew comes out of my workout room while I'm cracking open a Pellegrino in the kitchen. He's shirtless, in the gym shorts I got for him yesterday afternoon, and sweaty, his muscles all bulging and glowing. I'm glad I didn't take him up on his invitation to work out with him. He would have gotten nothing done—I'd have been all over him.

He's mouthwateringly attractive. I want him with every heartbeat. It's getting out of control. No one's ever had their hooks in me like this, and I sincerely hope he can't see how obsessed I am. I'm trying to keep things cool. Casual. But I'm a caged animal around him, and it's amazing I'm not growling and snapping at him to set me free.

He's told me what he needs today. A workout, a fuck, a nap and a meal before he takes up his post at the door. And he knows my plans, too.

I'm officially proposing to Elodie tonight at a trendy restaurant, and it's up in the air whether she's coming home with me or if I'm going home with her, or we part ways. She's waiting on instructions from her father, and we'll do what he says, which I assume will be decided in conference with my own father who has yet to reach out to me.

It's been nearly a month since I saw my parents last, and I've never gone this long without speaking with my dad. Every time I think about it, I get a sick feeling and immediately push the thought from my head. Surely once the engagement is official, I'll get my family back, because I fucking hate this.

The only good thing that's come from this whole scandal is Drew, but he's a total wild card, and if I think about him too hard, I feel sick, too.

"You'd break the internet if I posted a picture of you looking like that right now," I say. See? Casual.

He gives me half a grin. "There are plenty of pictures of me like this on the internet. Last I checked it's still running fine."

He's talking about his Instagram, and I understand his point, but he's missing mine. "Maybe you're targeting the wrong audience."

He wipes his towel over his face and closes in on me, backing me into the countertop, his hips pinning me in place. "Who should I be targeting?"

Me, I want to tell him. "Dudes," I say.

He grunts. "Men are pigs. They only want one thing."

He has a point, especially where I'm concerned. I put my arms around him—and by that, I mean I grab his ass, rubbing my crotch against his to turn my interested dick into a full erection. "You're right."

He lets me grind, working himself against me, too, but his hands are on the counter and his face is in my face. "You heard from Elodie?"

"Not yet," I say.

"I need to know where you're gonna be tonight," he says.

"Why?"

"Stupid question."

"Maybe," I tease, "but I wanna hear you say it."

"'Cause you're mine, Peach. For as long as I want you."

"What about Saturday?" I ask. That, lest anyone forgets, is my next scheduled sexual performance for the woman who will then have become my official fiancée.

"You're not fucking her."

"Drew…" I groan.

"What? You're not doing it. You don't want to. You don't need to—it's not fucking happening."

"I do need to."

"Once you're engaged, no one can say anything. A deal's a deal. Her father can't do shit after tonight."

"She'll make my life miserable."

"Are you?" he asks, running his nose up my cheek. "Miserable?"

"Sort of…"

I hadn't meant to say that, but whatever. This is torture. He's torturing me. My parents are torturing me. Elodie will absolutely not hesitate to torture me…

"Can I help with that?" he asks.

"I don't know…"

"Sounds like you might have something in mind."

My eyelids flutter closed as his hot breath gusts across my neck. "It's nothing you're interested in."

"How do you know if you don't ask?"

"Because…"

He plants an open-mouthed kiss on my jaw. His dick is hard now, too, and we're blatantly using each other to get off.

I swallow hard and continue. "You don't seem to want much to do with my dick."

"Is that what it feels like right now?"

"I think there's a part of what we're doing that still turns you off? Disgusts you maybe?"

"Nothing about you disgusts me," he grumbles, nibbling my earlobe and making me rise up to my tiptoes as my entire body responds.

"Then why won't you suck my cock?" I pout like a spoiled, petulant child.

He goes still, hips freezing mid-grind. He draws his head back to look at me. "Really?"

Never let it be said that I don't know how to push someone's buttons. I nod.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin, Peach."

"I mean, you start at the tip…"

"What if it doesn't feel good?"

"Is that really what's worrying you?" I ask skeptically.

"That and gagging."

"It's normal to—Oh."

He doesn't mean gagging in the good way. At least, not completely. How do I know? There's literal anxiety on his face. It's in the furrow in his brow and the tightness around his mouth. "Forget it," I whisper, running my hands up his back and attempting to pull him close into more of a hug.

He resists, and the new rigidness in his body feels like a slap in the face. "Am I the only one here who feels like I started a new job I have no training for?"

"Do you have another example you could give me since I've never had a job?"

"I'm getting sick of the virgin analogy," Drew says.

"You think you can't suck a cock," I state. It's not a question. "You didn't think you could take one either."

"I never said that."

"Which part?"

"Both." His scowl deepens. "Is there a rush here I don't know about?"

The question embarrasses me. He just totally called me out. Color rushes up my neck to quickly set my cheeks on fire. I am the exact opposite of casual right now. I'm needy, and I don't just want more, I want it all, and he knows.

A satisfied smile quirks his mouth. He's smirking at me, and I want to lock myself in a bathroom somewhere, but I'm trapped. When I feel trapped, I tend to lash out. "How am I yours exactly?" I snap, circling way back to how this conversation started. "Because it seems a hell of a lot more like you're mine. My ass to fuck—my cock to suck. My doorman to use."

His eyes narrow to slits. One of his hands flies up to wrap around my throat. "My heir to ruin."

I gape.

"My peach to bruise. My mouth to fuck. My cum to milk."

Holy shit, I'm gonna jizz in my pants.

"Try to come inside her. Try to come at all without thinking of me and where you'd rather be," he growls, reading the unlikely situation I'm in exactly right.

I haven't been nearly subtle enough when I'm inside him or kissing him or even trying to seduce him. I'm as slutty queer as I was when I thought I was straight. But caged in here by the sexiest, most gorgeous man I could dream up, I'm not sure I'd suck just any old cock after having his.

I attempt to slam my lips to his, but he moves his head away, still glaring. "Say it."

"You're right," I tell him, my breathy voice bordering on desperate.

"Say the fucking words."

"I'm yours. Totally."

"And you're lucky, too."

"I know," I say, nodding, hooking my fingers into the waistband of his shorts so he doesn't get too far away. "I'm lucky you let me do the things I need to do to you. I'm so fucking lucky."

"Why?"

"Because nothing feels as good as you do," I say, hoping it's the right answer because it's the truth.

"That's what I thought."

"I just want you, Drew. I want you so much. I want you to want me, too."

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing here besides wanting you?" he asks, and he sounds truly confused.

"I don't know," I sigh, my head sagging between us. "Maybe I don't understand why you would want me at all." Look, when your own parents don't want anything to do with you, and the only person who speaks to you is the person you're being forced to marry, you start to develop some fundamental doubts about your worth.

"I'm not sure I totally understand either," he says, drawing a glare from me. "But I do want you," he adds.

I need more than that. Way more, but I don't want to ruin anything with my big, greedy mouth. I yank his hips closer, stretch my neck to kiss him again, and this time he lets me, but only for a peck. "I need a shower," he murmurs.

"No. I want you like this." I run my hands up his sweaty back again, loving all the ridges of muscle, tendons, and bone.

"I stink."

"I like it."

He shakes his head once before pressing his tongue into my mouth, and I open wide to take him. The kiss is powerful, possessive, and aggressive. It makes me wonder if he wants me the way I've had him. If I should hike myself onto the counter and spread my legs for him to fuck me. If he'd rather that. If I went about how to be with him all wrong in the first place.

I get that we're both fumbling around in the dark with our newly discovered need to fuck someone of the same sex, but if he wants to bend me over, I'd happily grab my ankles, swear to God.

"Upstairs," he says, barely able to stop kissing me long enough to make the word come out.

And it takes a few more long lustful moments for me to break away and let him shove me out of the kitchen.

I adjust my erection on the way up to my bedroom, while he's breathing down my neck to get me there faster.

He shoves me once again, onto the bed, stripping me of my shorts and sweatshirt quickly. He peels off his own sweaty shorts, and his erection gleams with precum. It's as rigid as mine.

First, he's on top of me, both our cocks in his hand while he licks repeatedly into my mouth, ratcheting my need for him higher and higher.

My brain is fried and useless, my body the live wire writhing beneath him, desperate to touch every inch of his exposed skin. I pinch and pull and dig my nails in. I groan when I get so close to coming, I have to beg him to stop because I don't want this to end, but I have to acknowledge he's touching me—that he's all over me, too. And his mouth is so fucking good at kissing mine, I really don't have the space to complain about him not sucking my dick when all the rest of what he gives me is the best I've ever had.

He lets go of our cocks, and he pulls his mouth away. "After I mark up your entire neck, I'll give you permission to come inside me again. Understood?"

I nod, my teeth sinking into my lower lip the moment he sucks the tender flesh of my throat into his mouth. Our cocks still grind together, keeping me thoroughly edged, but his lips and teeth provide the true torment. "Oh fuck…" I mindlessly run my fingers through his hair, lost to pleasure, picturing what I'll look like tonight while I offer Elodie her ring—the bruises he'll leave on me.

I could fucking weep with the knowledge that he'll be there with me—in a way. Because I know he's doing this on purpose. Disgracing me. Making a spectacle of me. Showing the world or whoever's paying attention to me anymore who I really am. Hiswhore.

And when he's done ruining my neck, he rolls to my side and pulls me over to lie on top of him, spreading his legs and giving me a look like he's got something to prove.