Going the Distance (5 page)

“Olivia…” he said tersely. “I’m really straightforward.”

She blinked and looked at him like he was crazy. “Great. Terrific.”

“Too straightforward. People don’t like it.”

She blinked again, realization dawning. “Do you think I chose this movie to seduce you? Because I didn’t get the message the other night? Don’t worry, Jarek, you were perfectly ‘straightforward.’ I told you, I already planned to watch this, I wasn’t expecting company. I didn’t invite you—”

“So forgive me,” he cut in, curling his left hand behind her head to hold her in place as he leaned over. “For sending mixed messages.” And then he kissed her.

O
LIVIA
W
AS
O
FFICIALLY
C
ONFUSED
. She’d been that way since she peered through the window to see Jarek standing at her door several hours ago, and the feeling hadn’t really gone away. He’d treated her exactly the way he had the past two times they’d been together, and she’d decided to take his general looming broodiness as his personality, not any sort of strange physical chemistry. The fact that he was here…Well, he’d said it himself: he was bored.

Except now he didn’t
feel
bored. He was curved over her, one hand at the base of her skull, fingers threading through her hair, kneading the base of her neck with his palm. The other hand rested on the mattress next to the wall, keeping his weight off her as his mouth did positively filthy things to hers. Things he continued to do as she struggled to get her thoughts in order.

“Jarek,” she said on a gasp, breaking away. She put her hands on his chest and it was absolutely, ridiculously hard. His tongue stole inside her mouth again and she met it with her own before shaking her head and reminding herself she was trying to ask a question. Except…What was the question?

She tried again. “Why…? What…?” But he kept stealing her breath like he was on some kind of mission to possess her soul and she couldn’t decide if she wanted him to succeed or not. She’d kissed three boys in her life, and only Chris for the past ten years. She’d liked kissing Chris. There were times when it had been her favorite thing to do. But now she wondered if she hadn’t wasted ten years with him, when there were people out there who could merely rasp her jaw with day-old stubble and make her want more.

“Jarek.” She found her voice and stopped his hand with hers when she discovered he’d snuck it under her shirt and was now covering her breast through her bra. He was good. She was feeling things in places she hadn’t felt them in a while. And not just the hard nipples and the growing ache between her legs; she could feel his erection pressing against her hip, and she kind of wanted to feel more of it.

“What?” he mumbled, tugging her head back and dragging his lips over her exposed throat.

“I don’t…”

He paused, waiting for her to finish the thought.

“…get it.” The words were breathy and unconvincing, but he didn’t kiss her again.

“I know,” he said.

“You know?”

“I don’t get it either. You want to stop?”

Well, no one could accuse him of not getting to the point. His hand was still on her breast, her fingers still covered his, and his face was still buried in the place where her neck and shoulder met, each one of his ragged breaths sending chills up her spine. She used her free hand to nudge his face up so she could look into his eyes, not some sappy, meaningful stare, just…looking. And all she found was arousal. Intent. Promise.

Good enough.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

He smiled slightly and kissed her again, pushing his hand under her bra so his calloused palm chafed her skin and pulled the already tight flesh even tighter. He kissed her and stroked her for so long that she began to wonder if that was all he intended to do, when finally his hand slid down her stomach and dipped below the waistband of her pants.

“Okay?” he murmured against her ear.

“Okay.” She parted her legs slightly and tried to focus on anything other than how much she wanted to feel him there, and how nervous the thought made her. It had been a year. She’d only ever done this with Chris. And Jarek had nothing in common with her ex. Chris was the town golden boy, superstar athlete and student, everybody’s favorite. Olivia had a hard time imagining Jarek as anybody’s favorite, but right now she’d tell him anything he wanted to hear because he’d pushed his fingers beneath her cotton panties and dragged one thick finger right through her slick folds, stopping at the place that needed it the most.

“Jarek,” she groaned. One of her hands joined his over the fabric of her sweatpants, and he stilled.

“Not okay?”

“Too okay.”

“Shh. Let me.”

She laughed a little. He wasn’t charming. He didn’t spin golden words out of straw, and he didn’t tell her things he thought she wanted to hear. Didn’t tell her anything, really. But still she lifted her hand to stroke his hair, surprised by how soft the short curls felt when everything else about him was so frighteningly sharp and hard.

Her heart was pounding and she was sure he could feel it against his chest, even as he was careful not to put too much weight on her, no doubt thinking about her back. But Olivia wasn’t thinking about the scratches; she couldn’t think about anything except the hand between her legs, doing things she hadn’t anticipated doing tonight. He sank one, then two fingers inside her, moaning into her mouth, and Olivia felt herself getting close.

“I’m going to come,” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” His thumb circled the swollen bundle of nerves at the top of her cleft and his fingers thrust deep and hard. He tried to work a third finger inside but Olivia grimaced and stopped him and he gave up, kissing her jaw, silently telling her to trust him as he rubbed his cock against her hip without thought.

She came on his hand with a quiet, shuddering groan, feeling her internal muscles squeezing him painfully tight. She felt him pull back to watch her face and turned her head away, reveling in the release she’d needed for too long. At length he removed his hand and shifted to grab tissues from the box on the nightstand, wiping his fingers before turning back.

Olivia lifted up to kiss him; his eyes were an ever-changing shade of blue, and tonight they were dark and glazed with need. “I don’t have any condoms,” she said softly, sliding a hand down to cup the erection straining at the front of his track pants.

He winced. “Me either.” His head flopped back on the pillow and she followed him down, pressing her breasts into his chest, liking the way he dragged in a breath that sounded like it hurt. “You have two hands and a mouth, right?” he asked finally.

She burst out laughing against his lips. “That’s really sweet, Jarek. Have you been working on that for a while?”

He opened his eyes, looking guilty and amused and really, really turned on. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I know.” She pushed her hand into his pants and inside his boxers and raised her eyebrows at how hot he was, searing hot against the soft skin of her palm. “You want me to?”

“You know I do.”

She jerked him off like they were teenagers hiding out in the basement, fully clothed and desperate. Olivia had done this many times before; Lord knew she’d made Chris wait almost a full year before giving him her virginity, and they’d spent months doing everything but to compensate. She kissed his mouth and his jaw and his ear, trailed her wet tongue over his throat, felt his blood racing. When he was close he turned his head away and covered her hand with his own, squeezing himself harder than she ever would have dared, doing everything rougher than she would have.

“You’re so hard,” she murmured in his ear. “So big. I want to feel you come in my hand, Jarek.”

“Fuck.” He ran his free hand over his eyes, as though he could block her out.

To be honest, Olivia was surprised to hear herself say the words. She’d never talked dirty with Chris; never really wanted to. But something told her Jarek wanted to hear it, wanted the okay to sully her hand with his release, to know he hadn’t talked her into doing something she didn’t want to do.

She kissed the shell of his ear, bit on the lobe. “What are you waiting for?” She squeezed her hand tighter than she thought he’d like and he came, back arching, teeth gritted, a pained sound dragged from his throat. She felt him pulse beneath her fingers, bathing her hand with slick heat, then loosened her grip and stroked him until he stopped her, snatching more tissues from the nightstand and passing them over so she could clean up.

He lay flat on his back and adjusted himself as she wiped her hand, his raspy breathing slowing to a steady, even pace. “Did I hurt your back?” he asked eventually, eyes on the ceiling.

Olivia lay beside him, but when she turned her head, he didn’t return the gaze. “My back’s fine. That was fine.”

He took a deep breath and sat up, striding out of the room and disappearing into the bathroom. She heard the water run as he washed his hands, then returned, drying them on his T-shirt. “I’m going to go,” he said.

Olivia sat up, too, keeping her expression bland. She was a little surprised he was taking off so quickly, but she hadn’t expected him to spend the night. She had a twin bed, for crying out loud. It was barely enough for one person to sleep in. She watched from the bedroom door as he sat at the table and tugged on his shoes and pulled on his coat, then unlocked both doors and stepped through before turning back.

“I’m going out of town with Brant for a few days,” he said, looking at her shoulder. “He’s got to buy some supplies, so…I won’t be around.”

Olivia didn’t know if that was true, but suspected that it was, given how uncomfortable he seemed talking about his itinerary. “Have fun,” she said mildly. “Thanks for dinner. And the company.”

He looked her in the eye. “You’re welcome. Lock up after me.”

She came out to pick up the keys from the table. “You bet.”

He smiled a little then, and nodded good-bye before turning to disappear into the dark stairwell.

Olivia locked both doors, turned off the light, and went into the bathroom to wash up and brush her teeth. She spent a minute staring at herself in the mirror, trying to decide how she felt about things. It was hard to say. She appreciated the gesture, him bringing food and first aid, and she was grateful for the company. The orgasm. It had been a while since she’d even wanted one, so that was nice. It wasn’t the best orgasm she’d ever had. She hadn’t seen stars or JFK’s face or anything, but she’d appreciated the feeling of a big, hard body next to hers, hands and words that wanted to make her feel good, no more, no less.

If all Jarek wanted from her was sex, she could certainly handle that. She wanted a friend, and if that was too much to ask of him, he could find someone else to jerk him off. Somehow she didn’t think he would. He seemed hyper paranoid that she might ask something of him, feelings or commitment or something, but she had no such plans. Her contract was over at the end of June and she’d move on with her life, and so, presumably would he. But if the intervening months were a little less lonely, she would be okay with that. She was less certain that he would, but they’d find out soon enough.

Jarek pushed away the empty beer bottle—his fourth of the night—and shook his head at the approaching server. He was done.

“Aw, come on,” Dale goaded him. “It’s early.” It was a little after one o’clock in the morning, and they’d been on the move all day. Brant had hired a driver to take the three of them to Yangzhou, a mid-sized city on the Yangtze river, to pick up supplies. They’d spent an hour on a boat that appeared to be held up by nothing more than tires, sat in traffic for two hours because of an accident no one seemed all that inspired to clear up, and several more hours loading bags of cement mix and boxes of Chinese-labeled supplies into the truck.

All bad enough, except Dale had been there, yammering on all day like he couldn’t figure out when to shut up. Brant liked Dale, had known him for twenty years, and that’s why he’d been allowed to come along, even though Jarek would have much rather done the work alone if it meant a moment’s reprieve from the man’s incessant stories about his kids. It was hard to reconcile the guy who’d recounted in great detail his sexual exploits of the night before with the man talking about the look on his son’s face when he’d gotten a signed baseball for Christmas.

Brant was single too, Jarek knew, and though he wasn’t as sleazy about it as Dale, he was still scoping out the crowded, upscale room like someone might catch his eye. He was a decent-looking guy who owned his own business, swore up and down he’d never get married, and threatened to kill anyone who called him Sherman, his first name.

Yangzhou was considerably bigger than Lazhou, and had a much larger population of foreign workers, many of whom were in the bar tonight. Try as he might, however, Jarek couldn’t muster up much interest in any of them, even though this was the way he preferred to pick up women. Not by showing up at their apartments uninvited with cookies, then slipping his hand in their pants and fingering them. How old was he, fifteen?

“One more beer,” he said, when Dale continued to hound him. “That’s it.”

“Another round!” Dale shouted to no one in particular. He’d already been through six or seven bottles, and showed no signs of slowing.

Brant smiled at Jarek and Jarek forced himself to smile back, though it felt fake and probably looked worse. All day he’d been thinking of Olivia describing the night as “fine,” and it made him want to pull out his hair.

Fine?
Fine?
He’d felt her come on his hand. He knew she hadn’t faked it. But he knew with just as much certainty that she hadn’t been messing with him when she’d said it either. She meant it. It was fine. He’d done a
fine
job.

His pride was hurt. He’d spent the morning denying it, then the afternoon telling himself it didn’t matter. There were worse things than fine. Except there were better, too. And though he should march away from Olivia and her backhanded compliments and her shiny hair and find a woman in this bar who looked and smelled and tasted nothing like her, he didn’t. He stared down the new bottle of beer like it owed him money, and then he drank the thing and barely tasted it.

He lacked any and all rational thought when it came to Olivia Clarke. She was like an insidious vine, winding its way through his brain, choking out all his common sense. He wasn’t looking for a challenge. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen a woman again after sleeping with her. But they hadn’t slept together, had they? They’d gotten each other off like teenagers, and he’d only done a halfway decent job, from the sound of it. And instead of wisely packing up his things and moving on, he couldn’t stop wondering how great her fiancé must have been in bed, and what he could do to be even better.