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  Focused on that and not controlling her filter—which was six shades of useless considering she’d finished nearly a whole bottle of wine while waiting for Oliver’s call—she accidentally said, “Yup. Just me and my penguin foes are having a stare down.”

  It took her a beat to process the silence.

  Because wine.

  “Penguins?” he eventually asked.

  “Yup. The men are sitting on the eggs and the women are going off and hunting like the badass motherfuckers they are, and all the men are sitting at home doing nothing while the women are off doing everything—like always—”

  “Aren’t the male penguins the ones who ensure that the eggs don’t freeze?”

  “Don’t get off topic, young sir,” she rambled.

  “Young sir?”

  She went on like he hadn’t spoken. Because penguins and wine and it was fun talking about nonsense with Oliver. “So, while the women are doing everything,” she said again, “these male penguins are judging me because I drank an entire bottle of wine while waiting for you to call.”

  Silence.

  Then, “Shit.”

  Still, high off her penguin rant, she said, “And when I was just going to get under covers, give myself an orgasm because I’ve had six dates without one, not including last night, of course. Or the night before,” she added, because truth.

  Oliver started chuckling.

  “Or the night before that one,” she went on, tugging the blankets off her body, exposing her bare legs to the cool air. Oh, that was better, especially since the wine had made her horny, tipsy, and hot.

  “What’s that?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The rustling,” he said, almost sounding panicked now. “I heard rustling. Almost like—”

  Hazel dropped her head back on her pillow. “Don’t worry. I’m not touching myself. I just had to get the covers off me. I’m hot.”

  “You are.”

  Not missing a beat that one.

  “You’re in bed?”

  She rolled to the side, holding the phone to her ear. “Yup.”

  “And drunk?”

  “Tipsy, maybe.” A pause as she considered that. “Well, slightly more than tipsy, a hair away from drunk. Tipsy-drunk, as one will.”

  Another chuckle.

  “You have a sexy laugh,” she blurted

  “Babe.” But she could tell he liked that, even though he changed the subject. “You drank a whole bottle of wine waiting for me to call?”

  “Needs must.”

  A beat, then, “I’m sorry.”

  She sighed, relaxed into the pillow and mattress. Two of the few things she’d splurged on as top of the line, and it was totally worth it to have a good bed and pillow. It was like sleeping on clouds every night. Though she knew she wouldn’t have a problem sleeping tonight, not with the wine running through her veins and dragging her under more every second.

  “Should I let you go?” he murmured.

  “Uh-uh.” She burrowed deeper.

  “Want me to help you with that orgasm problem?”

  Alertness slid through her. “You’ll come over?”

  A low groan. “No, babe. I meant what I said about romance.” She frowned and sank back onto the pillow, snuggling into the mattress again.

  “Fine,” she muttered.

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Seriously?” It was another mutter.

  “Humor me.”

  She wrinkled her nose.

  “I’m sorry I was late calling. Today was Marco’s last day, so I took him out to dinner. He wanted to reminisce, and that took longer than I expected.”

  Her nose relaxed.

  “So, now will you tell me what you’re wearing?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He sighed. “Why not?”

  “For one, the penguins are still judging me. I can feel their beady little eyes on me.”

  Laughter, warm and rumbly through the airwaves and into her ear, her brain, sliding down her body as though it were a physical caress. Then, “What’s two?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You said for one, so what’s the second reason you won’t tell me what you’re wearing?”

  Probably, she should have lied. But she was sleepy and tipsy-drunk and didn’t have any control over her filter anymore. “You’re not here.”

  Silence. Then, “Babe.”

  “Don’t babe me,” she grumbled. “You could come over right now—”

  “I don’t have your address.”

  She rattled it off.

  A groan tumbled through the speakers. “I’m trying to do the right thing. You deserve care and affection, not a quick fuck because we’re both so horny that we can’t wait.”

  “How about a quickie and then something longer?”

  She could manage that. Tipsy-drunk was already morphing into straight tipsy, and that meant she was sleepy, horny, and wanted this man.

  He groaned again. “Hazel.”

  “I like when you say my name.”

  Rustling through the speakers, the sound of footsteps and movement. “What are you doing?” she whispered, a smirk tugging up the corners of her lips. Maybe she couldn’t convince him to come over, but if he was getting naked, then she wasn’t opposed to mutual self-satisfaction. Especially, if she could get him to FaceTime. She needed the visual of him wrapping that strong hand around his cock, stroking it slow and hard until he—

  “I’m coming over.”

  Her breath caught. “Really?”

  “Babe,” he said, and his voice was gravel, need in every one of the small stones. “You think I could ever truly deny you anything?”

  More catching, as though someone was hugging her so tightly that her lungs couldn’t inflate. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh.”

  The sound of a car door opening and closing.

  “Ten minutes.”

  “Oh,” she breathed again.

  She heard his car engine turn on, the background noise growing as he must have reached the street. “Babe?” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  Her heart was galloping in her chest. Tipsy-drunk was just tipsy. Or maybe it was just Oliver-smashed because, holy fucking shit, was this happening?

  “Eight minutes. Unlock the front door. Go back to your bed and get naked.”

  “Eight minutes?” she squeaked, glancing around her bedroom, which was a mess. As was the rest of her house. Oh fuck, he was going to be there in eight minutes, and she had dirty laundry on the floor, and a bathroom that was maybe clean, and—shit!—dishes in the sink and—

  What if her hairs were in the sink?

  She needed—

  “Six minutes,” he murmured, voice dark and dangerous, and her pussy liked that, a whole hell of a lot. “Get moving, babe.”

  “I—”

  She stumbled out of bed, scooped clothes into her arms and shoved them in the closet. Then ran into her bathroom and checked the sink, rinsing the hairs down the drain and brushing her teeth for good measure.

  “Four minutes,” came his husky voice.

  Shit.

  Oh my God.

  But also, shit.

  She ran for the ground floor, for the front door, knowing there was no time to clean her kitchen, not when he said, “Two minutes.”

  She flicked the lock. “It’s open.”

  “Upstairs. Naked. One minute.”

  “I—”

  “One minute, babe. I’m hanging up now.”

  Lights flashed across her lawn. Her throat seized with panic, with excitement, with so much fucking need.

  A car engine.

  A door slamming.

  Turning, she sprinted up the stairs, leaving the bedroom light on, so he’d know where to go, and then she was reaching for the hem of her tank top when she heard it.

  The front door opening and closing.

  Footsteps on the stairs.

  Quickly, without thinking about it, without chickening out,
she yanked her top over her head, shimmied out of her panties, letting both puddle to the carpet, and turned to face the hall…

  Just at Oliver strode through.

  He was rumpled and gorgeous and…the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

  His gaze went to hers, dropped slowly, and she watched his jaw clench, his hands fist as his eyes traced over her naked body. “Beautiful.” One rasped word. Maybe cliché, but the way he said it, every syllable filled with need and reverence and heat and…it was the best compliment she’d ever received in her life.

  His stare made the slow trail back up and then drifted over her shoulder.

  And he smiled.

  And…it was a physical assault on her senses.

  “You weren’t kidding about the penguins.”

  Silently, she shook her head. Words were failing her. Need had clawed its way up her throat, had the desire inside her churning. Her hands shook. Her breaths were coming in rapid gusts. Her palms were damp, and her pussy…well, that had gone well beyond damp. She could feel herself coating the insides of her thighs.

  “Oliver?” she asked, rooted in place.

  Just go to him.

  Take five steps and launch herself into his arms.

  But something about the way he was staring at her made that impossible.

  She could only stand there and wait.

  And wait.

  And—

  He moved so quickly one second, he was five feet away, the next he was in her face, his body flushed to hers…and coaxing hers backward. Back. Back. Her legs collided with her bed, and she tumbled onto the mattress.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured again.

  Then he was on top of her. The movement a little stilted, a bit ungraceful, but she was hardly a ballerina when she scrambled up the bed, trying to make room for him. His mouth met hers, his lips working, his tongue slipping inside.

  Then his fingers slipped inside.

  “Fuck, babe,” he groaned, the long, thick digit stroking into her pussy. “So fucking wet.”

  “I—” He slid another finger in, not giving her a moment to breathe, to think, to worry that she was naked, and he wasn’t.

  “Fuck,” she hissed, thighs falling wide, her mouth going slack.

  He flicked his tongue over her lips then dragged his mouth down her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin there, kissing his way down her chest, pausing and nuzzling into her cleavage. One rough palm squeezed her breasts, massaging the flesh, thumbs brushing over her nipples.

  She hissed again, in the best way, and he didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the sensitive spot, leaning close to suck one deeply into his mouth. She moaned, fingers going to his hair, clenching tight, probably too tight, but the man’s tongue was a revelation. It needed to be gilded and hung on the wall. Except that would mean she couldn’t have it working her nipple, trailing along her skin, dipping down—

  He pulled his hair out of her hands, slid down her body.

  And then she got that fabulous tongue on her pussy.

  The hand that had been on her breasts was braced at her hip, his hot breath was on her folds. His tongue traced through the wet heat of her, delving deep inside her, teasing out every sensitive spot, every place that made her squirm, homing in on the pressure, the movements, the rhythm that had her writhing against his mouth.

  “I—” She dropped her head back to the pillows when he sucked her clit hard. “That, please. Do that again.”

  He sucked her harder, added a flick of his tongue.

  “Oh.”

  She shuddered.

  He repeated the sucking, the flick, slid another finger inside.

  Another shudder. This one because she was on the brink of shattering. His palm slid under her ass, tilting her hips up, bringing his mouth more flush against her, and then he repeated the sucking, the flicking, the keeping her tight and close and—

  Pleasure swirled, went taut.

  Flooded through her and went on and on and on.

  Every muscle was tight, and then every muscle went slack, so loose that her head dropped back onto her pillow, her arms to the mattress.

  Oliver was still licking her.

  Slow and light, easing her down, avoiding her clit—thank God, that bundle of nerves was so sensitive that even his breath being near it felt like it might be too much. He caught her from where she’d catapulted into the stratosphere, allowed her to slowly drift toward earth.

  Then she was back in her own body, could feel the bed beneath her again, the sheets on her skin, the comforter all bunched up from where she’d just tossed it aside earlier.

  He slowly crawled up her body, fully dressed, wiping his chin and mouth on his sleeve.

  A kiss to her jaw. A brush of knuckles against her cheek.

  Then he nuzzled her throat and whispered, “Why do I feel like the penguins are judging me?”

  Her eyes flew open, saw the gathering of birds on the screen.

  Their beady eyes right on her.

  Judging.

  Those fuckers were totally judging.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Oliver

  She burst out laughing, and it was almost the best sound on earth.

  Almost the best because the absolute best was Hazel coming against his tongue.

  Hands down.

  He would remember her moaning his name until he breathed his last breath.

  “Here,” she said, grabbing the remote from the nightstand and handing it to him. “Pick something to watch while I suck you off.”

  The remote tumbled from his fingers.

  Mainly because that painted a picture he’d been fantasizing about for a good long while, but also to catch her shoulders when she tried to crawl down his body.

  “Babe.”

  She cupped him, and since he was only wearing sweats and he was harder than he’d been in his entire life and he was holding on to his control by the thinnest of razor-thin margins, he promptly forgot whatever the fuck he’d been about to say, his hands sliding from her shoulders.

  Her fingers slipped under the waistband of his sweats, beneath his underwear.

  They were cool and soft as they circled his cock. One stroke, and he was ready to explode, but he managed to summon a modicum of strength and started to reach for her wrist, intent on tugging her free. “Babe,” he began. “I didn’t—”

  She kept moving, shifting farther from him. “Don’t give me some bullshit line about how you only came here for me, so now I don’t get to give you pleasure.” She released him, reached for the top of his sweats, and started tugging them down. “It gives me pleasure to give you pleasure, same as the reason you’re hard and straining against your pants from licking me senseless, honey.”

  “I—”

  Her hands paused, his cock an inch away from being free. “So, if you don’t want me to do this, say so, and that’s fine. But make sure it’s because you really don’t want it or you’re not ready, and not because you have this inane thought that you’re taking advantage of me when I dragged you out of your house at ten at night, all because I was horny and pushy.”

  “I like you horny and pushy.”

  A corner of her mouth curved. “Good, because I tend to be those two things a lot.”

  “Along with sweet, kind, considerate, and a remarkably good kisser. Though you do watch penguin documentaries, so a perk might be that you’re kinky as hell.”

  The other corner curved. “You already know about my countertop and desktop sex fantasies, should I tell you about my avian ones?”

  “Are there avian ones?” A ripple of concern slid through him. Was she into feathers? That wouldn’t be too bad. He could do a lot with a feather and her naked skin. But if it went further, like baby birding some food…well, that wasn’t going to go on his Fuck List.

  “No.”

  He relaxed. “Good.”

  “Now, can I suck your cock so deep that my eyes water until you come in the back of my throat?”

  He ch
oked, the cock in question jumping with excitement. “Um…”

  “Is that no?”

  No, it wasn’t a no. It was a yes, very much a yes.

  “Honey?”

  “Babe?”

  “Is it a yes?”

  He nodded.

  “Need the word, honey.”

  “Yes, babe. Fucking please, do that.”

  Her smile lit up the room—or at least it competed with the documentary playing in the background—but then he wasn’t thinking of anything but helping her get his pants down. Though, with a quick tug that had his cock springing free, she proved she didn’t need his help to do anything.

  Least of which was getting him deep in her mouth.

  She sucked him hard enough that his eyes rolled back in his head, but then she paired it by dragging her teeth lightly up and down his shaft, her grip tight and twisting, her lips spread wide, her throat working to take him deep. He gripped the sheets, resisting the urge to thrust up, to bury himself in the back of her throat, not wanting to gag her. She pulled back, the head of his cock resting on her bottom lip.

  “Don’t hold back.” Her mouth moved against him, forming the words.

  His back bowed, his cock slipped back between her lips, deep, and she gripped him again, stroking him, using her teeth and tongue and—

  Holy fucking shit, this wasn’t going to take long.

  Orgasm so fucking close he could feel it tingling at the base of his spine, he struggled to slow, to regain control, to—

  Then she cupped his balls, tightened her lips and he jerked, hitting the back of her throat. She coughed slightly, pulled back, tears clinging to the edges of her lashes, but before he could retreat, make sure he didn’t hurt her, she all but dove on his cock.

  Deep strokes.

  Lots of suction.

  A tight hand.

  He exploded.

  She swallowed him down, but even if he’d been coherent enough to try to pull away so she didn’t have to, her grip tightened, she took him deeper, and…he came so fucking long and hard that he wasn’t sure if he still had a body any longer.

  Eventually, he came to with Hazel cuddled up next to him, smiling like a Cheshire cat, her hand under his T-shirt, his sweats still around his thighs.

  “You have a really nice cock, you know that, right?”

  “Considering it’s still hanging out,” he muttered, summoning the strength to yank up his underwear and pants, “it’s good you think that.”