40-Love - Olivia Dade Page 0,85

me that way. You’re a better man than Brian could ever hope to be, Lucas. Thank you for that.”

“No.” He turned to her with a jerk, scowling. “Don’t do that. Don’t thank me for not being an asshole. I don’t deserve credit for meeting the lowest possible standards of human decency.”

She inhaled sharply. “Okay. I won’t.”

“Good.”

After another moment, she leaned in close and murmured in his ear. “So tell me, then. What should I give you credit for?”

Her hand on his knee edged higher, then higher still. Her palm ghosted over his rapidly hardening cock, and he bit off a groan.

“Should I give you credit for how wet I get every time you make that noise?” Her teeth closed on his earlobe with careful pressure, eliciting a helpless shudder. “How you backed me against the wall of your apartment and made me come riding your leg?”

The blood drained from his brain so fast, he had to fight against a full-on swoon. He held his breath as her hand hovered over his eager dick again.

Then she drew back.

“Shit.” Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t do this here, Lucas. I’m sorry. I thought I could, but it’s too exposed. Someone could come along at any second.”

He fought the urge to say: I was about to come along at any second too.

“That’s okay.” He could only speak in a pained rasp, but he meant it. “Just…give me a minute.”

She scooted away from him, and he turned to stare at her, befuddled by her withdrawal.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, her face drawn. “I shouldn’t have started something I couldn’t finish.”

The distress in her voice, in her expression, was disproportionate to the situation, and he didn’t understand.

“Tess, I don’t expect an orgasm every time I get an erection.” After taking a deep breath, he managed to wink at her. “Given how I respond to you, that would mean servicing me hourly. Maybe twice-hourly.”

“Mr. Perky.” She shook her head, the lines bracketing her mouth fading a bit. “Indefatigable and ever-optimistic.”

“I understand why you don’t feel comfortable doing anything so…intimate outdoors.” Circling his arm around her back, he maneuvered them both until they were pressed hip to hip once again. “Would I have enjoyed a handjob from you here? Of course. Do I want to make love to you on the sand? Obv—”

“Just to be clear,” she interrupted. “Even if we owned our own personal island and you could guarantee our absolute privacy, I wouldn’t have sex directly on the sand. I’d require a blanket, at the very least. Vaginal microdermabrasion isn’t my idea of a good time.”

He envisioned that. Cringed. “Understood.”

“That said, go on.” With a wave of her hand, she urged him to continue. “I’m listening.”

Interlacing their fingers, he lifted her knuckles to his lips. “Someday, älskling, I want to see that pale skin in the sun, in the ocean, all of it uncovered and mine to explore. But this isn’t the time or place, for reasons you explained very clearly, and I get that. Please don’t worry. As long as I have you naked somewhere, I’m not disappointed. How could I be?”

She stared at him, hazel eyes distant in thought, for a long moment.

Then she gave a little nod. “I can make sure you’re satisfied. At least in that way.” It was a vow, firm and determined. “I promise.”

He frowned, confused by her vehemence. “Okay?”

She nodded, leaned over, and kissed him on the mouth, hard. Once. Twice.

“Okay,” she said.

As usual, Tess waited for Lucas outside the courts, watching from a wooden bench as he finished his last lesson of the day. In theory, he had another one scheduled that evening, but his client wouldn’t mind skipping it.

Tess Dunn, Room 1249, much preferred orgasms over advice about her service motion.

No, they didn’t bother playing tennis anymore, despite his inflated hourly rate and no-refunds policy. Not with so little time left. Her prepaid lessons had simply become more minutes they could spend together—in his apartment, in a restaurant, in the water—before her looming departure.

They woke in the same bed. They worked identical hours, him on the tennis court, her either on a beach or in bed with her trusty tablet. They took simultaneous breaks for lunch in his apartment. They spent every evening entwined, up until the inevitable moment she shoved him aside to get some non-sweaty sleep.

Three days, he involuntarily thought. In three days, she gets on that ferry.

When his clients had returned to the clubhouse, he gathered his gear, hustled to Tess’s bench, and bent