I stare at the ceiling, deciding. There are so many stories to choose from.

“I shit in a bag once.”

A shocked choke of laughter immediately bursts from Olivia’s lungs.

“What?”

I nod. “I was on the rowing team at boarding school.”

“Of course you were.”

“And, we had a meet at another school, a fair distance away. On the bus back, there was an accident—congestion on the road—and whatever they’d served for lunch was fiercely disagreeing with me. So…it was either my pants or a gym bag. I went with option two.”

She covers her eyes and her mouth, laughing in horror. “Oh my God! That’s awful…and yet hilarious.”

I laugh too. “It was. Especially after it hit the papers. Bloody nightmare.”

And suddenly, Olivia’s not laughing anymore.

Not even a little.

“It was in the newspapers?”

I shrug. “Sure. The more embarrassing the story, the more the journalists will pay. My classmates were always looking for extra cash.”

“But…but they were your teammates. Your friends.”

I toy with her hair, tugging on a curl and watching it bounce stubbornly back into shape.

“It’s like I told Simon, that first night at your coffee shop: everything’s for sale and everyone—everyone—has their price.”

Her eyes search my face, looking so very sad. I don’t like it—not a bit.

I roll over on top of her again, nudging between her legs.

“Do you feel bad for me?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Do you pity me?”

Her fingers run gently through my hair.

“I think I do.”

“Good.” I smirk. “That means you get the water. And…when you get back…I want to test your blow-job skills. Make sure you’ve got it right—and if not, I’ll happily instruct you.”

That does the trick. Her mouth pinches to hide her smile and her eyes flash.

“So fucking bossy.” She shakes her head.

But then she gets up to get the water—and I enjoy every second.

And when she crawls back into bed, Olivia gets right to work on that blow job.

And I enjoy that even more.

Eventually, hunger forces us out of bed. Olivia slips into one of my gray hoodies, which covers her to mid-thigh. I try out the “walking around the apartment naked” thing Olivia mentioned. This may be the only shot I have.

And she’s right—it’s rather fantastic. Freeing, everything just out and swinging. Natural—like Adam, if the Garden of Eden were a penthouse suite.

The hot, lusty look Olivia throws me makes it even better.

In the kitchen, neither of us is in the mood for sushi, so we scavenge for something else.

“You have Cinnamon Toast Crunch!” Olivia says, her voice excited but muted from inside the cabinet. She comes out smiling, holding the box like a found buried treasure.

I set two bowls on the table. “We have something similar in Wessco called Snicker-Squares. It’s my favorite.”

“Me too!” Then her blues eyes go light and soft as she sighs. “Just when I think you can’t get any more perfect.”

After a few minutes of sitting at the table, munching on cinnamon, sugar and squares that pretend to be whole wheat, words tumble out of my mouth without a second thought.

“This is fun.”

Olivia grins at me over her bowl. “You sound surprised. Don’t you usually have fun?”

“I do. But this is…more fun.” I shake my head. “I can’t really explain it, it just feels…good.”

“Yeah, it does.”

And then I gaze at her—that cute way she chews, the swipe of her tongue over the lower lip I can’t wait to nibble on again.

She runs her hand over her forehead self-consciously. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No…I’m just wondering,” I tell her quietly.

“Wondering what?”

I reach out my hand, tracing the slope of her cheek. “What in the world am I going to do with you?”

Our eyes hold for a few moments, and a spark of mischief lights in Olivia’s. She takes my hand and kisses my palm lightly. Then she stands up, moves closer and sinks down on my lap—straddling me—her forearms on my shoulders, the slick heat of her pussy against my thickening cock.

“Do with me or do to me?” she teases.

“Either. Both.”

Olivia runs her tongue along my top lip, sucking gently.

“How about you take me back to bed and we’ll figure it out there.”

My hands cradle her hips, holding her tight against me as I stand.

“Brilliant idea.”

In the bedroom, I lay her back on the bed and lie down on top of her.

“Stay,” I say between kisses. “Stay here with me.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as you can.”

Her hands slide up and down my spine. “I have to start things at the coffee shop at four.”

I kiss her hard. “Then I’ll drive you home at half past three. Yeah?”

She smiles. “Yeah.”

UP UNTIL THIS POINT in my life, I would have described sex as…nice. My experiences with Jack were first-love sweet—in that hormone-driven, quick-and-over-just-when-it-starts-to-get-good kind of way that a seventeen-year-old girl thinks is romantic, because she doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t know there’s more.

Sex with Nicholas is more-more.

It’s fun. Like, John Mayer, “Your Body Is a Wonderland” music video kind of teasing and touching, rolling-around-the-sheets-and-laughing-in-bed kind of fun. We kiss and caress—not only as a warm-up to fucking, but because it feels good.