I hold my breath to contain the pain, because the sight of that bare pillow tries to squeeze the life from me.
Breathinghurts.
For one disoriented moment, I wonder if he was ever here at all. What if last night was just a figment of my grief?
Impossible. My bodyremembers.
The soreness between my thighs. The warmth still thrumming under my skin. The ghost of his scent on the sheets.
He’s alive.
It really happened.
A throat clears, and my gaze swings toward the foot of the bed to find Oliver perched at the edge.
“How long have you been sitting there?” Clutching the blanket to my chest, I push upright to face him.
“A few minutes.” He reaches for a domed silver tray on the rolling cart beside him and sets it on the mattress between us. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You, um…you didn’t. I just wasn’t expecting you so early.”
“It’s mid-morning, Novalee.” With a hint of amusement in his light brown eyes, he traps me in his sights. “I trust you slept well?”
“Apparently so.”
It was the best sleep I’ve had in weeks, with Sebastian wrapped around me. I tug the sheet higher, as if my nakedness will spill the truth.
That I’m no longer a…
Virgin.
An achy flutter dances in my core, and a flush of heat stains my cheeks before I can stop it.
Oliver studies me a beat longer, brows pulled together in a faint wrinkle.
Can he detect the change in me?
God, I need a distraction.
Forcing last night’s memories into the back of my mind, I lift the lid from my breakfast. A stack of pancakes drizzled in maple syrup waits for me, fresh berries piled alongside.
“This smells amazing. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I load a bite onto my fork and bring it to my mouth. But the simple act of eating won’t distract him for long, because Oliver has the patience of a saint…or a sadist who gets his kicks from watching me squirm. The way he stood in my doorway each night for weeks is a testament to his character.
“Where’s yours?” I ask, setting my fork down, full after a few bites. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I already did.” His thumb brushes a stray drop of syrup from my lower lip. “Did you get yourself off last night?”
He lets the question fly without warning, that casual tone making my mind stumble. I’m so caught off guard, I nearly choke on my words.
“Did I…what?”
“You heard me. Did you come?”
Yes. Too many times to count.