"It is adorable how impatient you get," Harper said with a bright smile. "Most me don't put in the work like that." Oliver's expression softened completely at her compliment, a rare blush colouring his cheeks. "Impatience is my biggest flaw when it comes to you," he admitted gruffly, lowering himself fully onto the mattress beside her. His large hands framed either side of her head as he propped himself up on his elbows, studying her face with an intensity that bordered on reverence. "Most men don't know what they are missing," he continued quietly. "They want easy conquests or women who play games. You are different." His thumb brushed along her jawline tenderly. "You make me work for it and I fucking love every second of earning your attention." The confession hung in the air between them, vulnerability exposed beneath layers of CEO confidence and possessiveness.
"Good," Harper said with a satisfied tone of voice. "Now let me show you what earning my attention gets you." She lightly pushes his chest so he rolled back onto the bed beside her, freeing her so she can stand up and start unzipping her red leather skirt. Oliver landed on the mattress with a soft, dramatic grunt, his body sinking into the mattress as he watched her get up from the bed. His breath hitched as her fingers found the zipped of her red leather skirt, anticipation making his pulse race. "Fuck," he breathed out, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better view. "That is a hell of a prize for earning your attention." The sound of the zipper sliding down was deafening in the quiet bedroom. His eyes tracked every movement, drinking in the sight of her hands working at the fasteners. The red leather hugged her curves perfectly, promising glimpses of what lay beneath. The full-length mirror behind her giving him a complete view of her backside. "You are killing me here," he admitted roughly. "Slowest striptease known to man." He shifted restlessly on the sheets, muscles tensing as he fought the urge to reach for her immediately.
Once her red leather skirt was unzipped, she untucked the long sleeve, fitted top she was wearing and pulled it over her head, revealing the red laced bra she is wearing underneath. Then she wiggled her hips so the red leather skirt would slip off and pool on the floor around her feet, revealing her matching red laced panties. Oliver's mouth went dry, the contrast against her pale skin and the red lace made his heart pound violently against his ribs. "Holy shit," he breathed out, his voice raw with need. "You planned this outfit specifically knowing I would lose my mind." His hands clenched into fists against the comforter, knuckles white from restrains. Every inch of exposed flesh made his control fray further– the swell of her breasts barely contained by the delicate bra cups, the way the panties clung to her hips. "You are trying to murder me with perfection," he accused darkly, sitting up straighter despite his earlier resolve to let her lead. "Red lace? Really? Do you want me dead tonight?" The combination of color coordination and lingerie choice screamed intentional seduction designed specifically to break him completely.
"Hey, now. Don't blame me," Harper said teasingly and took a step closer. "Glen brough me my clothes this morning. So, you should be thanking him for this perfect view." Her hands moved to the collar of his white shirt. Oliver's blue eyes widened briefly at the mention of Glen before narrowing again, a possessive growl escaping his throat. "Thanking your roommate? Over my dead body." His hands shot out to grab her wrists, pinning them against his chest firmly but not painfully. "This perfect view belongs to me now," he stated unequivocally. "Your roommate might have chosen it out, but I will be the one appreciating it properly." The mention of Glen clearly triggered something primal in Oliver– the reminder of another man having access to her underwear… his grip tightened possessively as he tugged her closer until her bare torso pressed against his clothed chest. "From not on," he declared roughly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "Your clothes come from me. Your lingerie will only be purchased by me. Your body is admired only by me."
"Really?" Harper asked playfully. "Well, if you insist." Oliver's expression darkened dangerously as her teasing acceptance, his grip on her wrists tightening marginally. The possessive fire in his blue eyes burned hotter, fueled by the idea of her belonging exclusively to him. "Oh, I insist," he confirmed darkly, using his strength to pull her fully onto his lap. The sudden shift in position pressed her bare skin against the rough fabric of his dress pants and undershirt. His free hand moved from her wrists to cup the back of her neck, tilting her head to force eye contact. "Every piece of clothing you wear will be chosen by me. Every gift you receive comes from my hands. Understand?" The command was delivered with the same authority he used in boardrooms, but the underlying emotion was pure jealousy. His other arm wrapped securely around her waist, anchoring her in place as if afraid she might disappear.
"This body," Oliver continued possessively, his thumb stroking along her bare shoulder blade. "Is mine to worship. Mine to protect. Mine to make scream my name until you forget anyone else exist." His lips crashed against hers without warning, a fierce claiming that tasted of pizza and desperation. The kiss was raw and demanding, teeth grazing lips as his tongue sought entry immediately. One hand slid down to grasp her ass firmly while the other tangled in her auburn hair, tilting her head back to deepen the angle. He broke away only long enough to gasp out. "Say it. Tell me whose you are." Harper moans sweetly, reveling in possessiveness in his words and actions. "I am yours," she said softly. "I promise. No more gifts from anyone. I am sure you will make it worth my while."