Stranger in my Ass-Chapter 287

Olivia’s POV

I did the right thing. I did the right thing.

The words echoed in my head as I left Maxwell sitting in my bedroom, looking like I’d just reached into his chest and torn his heart out with my bare hands.

I sincerely forgive him, but can I really forget him? Can I really move on without him?

I walked down the hallway, my mind spinning with doubts and second thoughts and a guilt that sat heavy in my stomach.

I hadn’t wanted to say that last part. The part about not being able to be with him.

It had come out almost against my will, prompted by something inside me that I didn’t fully understand. Some instinct for self-preservation, maybe. Or fear that if I gave in too easily, if I just fell into his arms the moment he apologized, he’d think he could get away with it.

That he could lie and manipulate and control, and all he’d have to do was say sorry and I’d come running back.

I couldn’t let that happen.

Couldn’t let him think I was that easy to win over, that weak, that desperate for his love.

Even if part of me - a large, traitorous part - wanted nothing more than to run back into that room and tell him I’d lied, that I wanted him, that I loved him too.

But no.

I’d made my decision. I’d set my boundary. And I was going to stick to it.

At least... for now.

A slow smile spread across my face as an idea began to form.

Maxwell had played games with me for months. Had manipulated and controlled and seduced me without me even knowing what was happening.

Well, two could play at that game.

And this time, I’d be the one in control.

This time, I’d be the one driving him crazy with want and need and the aching knowledge that he couldn’t have what he desired most.

After all, it was his specialty, wasn’t it? Seduction. Playing with emotions. Making someone want something they thought they couldn’t have.

Time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

My smile widened into a full grin as I walked into the kitchen.

Ian was at the sink, washing the last of the dishes, humming something off-key under his breath.

"Ian," I said, and he turned to look at me, his eyebrows raising at whatever expression he saw on my face.

"That’s a dangerous look," he observed. "Should I be worried?"

"Not for you," I assured him. "But I need to ask you a favor."

"Shoot."

I took a breath, trying to figure out how to phrase this without sounding completely insane and ungrateful.

"Thank you," I started. "For everything. For helping out. For saving our lives - both of us. For looking out for me. I’m genuinely grateful for everything you’ve done."

Ian’s expression softened. "You’re welcome. Anyone would have done the same."

"But I need to sort things out with Maxwell," I continued. "And for that, I need privacy."

Understanding dawned immediately in Ian’s eyes, followed by a knowing smirk.

"Ah," he said. "You need me to make myself scarce so you two can have your dramatic reconciliation or passionate argument or whatever this is building toward."

"Something like that," I said, feeling my cheeks heat slightly.

Ian dried his hands on a dish towel and nodded. "No problem. I get it. I wouldn’t want to come between you two - seems like there’s enough complications there already without adding a third party to the mix."

He walked past me toward the living room where he’d left his jacket.

"My house is right next door - well, next door in beach house terms, which means about a quarter mile down the road," he said, pulling on his jacket. "If you need anything, and I mean anything, you come find me. Storm or no storm. Understood?"

"Understood," I said. "Thank you, Ian. Really."

He paused at the door, turning to look at me with an expression that was surprisingly serious.

"Take care of yourself, Olivia," he said quietly. "And make the right decision. Whatever that is for you. Not what he wants, not what anyone else thinks you should do. What you want."

The words settled over me like a blanket, warm and grounding.

"I will," I promised.

He nodded once, then opened the door and stepped out into the rain.

I watched through the window as he jogged down the porch steps and disappeared into the storm, heading toward his own house.

And then I was alone.

Well, alone with Maxwell, who was still in my bedroom, probably trying to process everything I’d just told him.

Time to set the stage.

I turned back to the kitchen and looked around.

Ian had already cleaned everything. The dishes were washed and put away, the counters were spotless, the table was clear.

There was really nothing to do.

Which was perfect, because I wasn’t actually planning to clean.

I was planning something else entirely.

I reached down and grabbed the hem of my oversized sweater, pulling it up and over my head in one smooth motion.

Underneath, I was wearing a small, fitted tank top - the kind I usually slept in, white and thin enough to be just slightly see-through. And shorts. Very short shorts that barely covered anything.

I’d thrown on the sweater this morning out of modesty, not wanting Ian to get the wrong idea.

But Ian was gone now.

And Maxwell... well, Maxwell was about to get exactly the idea I wanted him to get.

I tossed the sweater over the back of a chair and ran my fingers through my hair, loosening it from its messy bun and letting it fall around my shoulders.

Then I surveyed the kitchen, looking for something - anything - that needed rearranging.

The lower cabinets. Perfect.

I walked over to the cabinets beneath the counter and knelt down, opening the doors and pretending to examine the contents.

Pots. Pans. Some random Tupperware.

None of it needed to be rearranged, but that wasn’t the point.

I heard the door to my bedroom open down the hall.

Footsteps. Slow. Hesitant.

Coming closer.

I immediately shifted my position, angling my body so that my ass was facing the direction Maxwell would be coming from.

Then I opened the bottom drawer and leaned forward, pretending to search for something, arching my back just slightly.

Just enough.

The footsteps got closer. Then stopped.

Abruptly.

I bit back a smile and wiggled my hips ever so slightly, like I was trying to reach something in the back of the drawer.

The silence stretched out, thick and charged.

I could practically feel his eyes on me, burning into my skin.

Got you.

I straightened up quickly, spinning around to face him with wide, innocent eyes.

"Oh! Maxwell!"

He was standing frozen in the kitchen doorway, his face slightly flushed, his eyes darting away from me like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Which, technically, he had been.

Staring at my ass.

"I didn’t hear you come in," I said, even though that was obviously a lie. "You need something?"

"I... um..." Maxwell’s voice came out rough. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Where’s Ian? I heard voices and then..."

"He went home," I said casually, turning back to the drawer and pulling out a random pot I had absolutely no use for. "Said he had something important to take care of at his place."

"Oh." Maxwell seemed to be having trouble deciding where to look. His eyes kept drifting down to my boobs, then snapping back up to my face, then drifting down again. "Right. That’s... good. I mean, not good that he left, just..."

He cut himself off, clearly flustered.

I set the pot on the counter and turned to face him fully, leaning back against the cabinet.

"Just what?" I prompted, tilting my head innocently.

"Nothing," he said quickly. He walked past me - giving me a very wide berth - toward the window that looked out over the beach.

The rain was still coming down heavily, turning the ocean into a gray, churning mass that blended seamlessly with the sky.

"Looks like it’ll just be the two of us here," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Until the storm passes."

I said nothing, just watched him watching the rain.

His shoulders were tense, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Every line of his body radiated discomfort and awareness.

Good.

He turned back to me, and I saw him visibly struggle not to let his eyes drop below my face.

"If you’re not comfortable with me staying," he said, and there was something painful in his voice, "I can leave. Go find Ian’s place or just... I don’t know. Wait out the storm in my car. I don’t want to make this harder for you than it already is."

I rolled my eyes, pushing off from the counter.

"Don’t be ridiculous," I said. "We can manage being in the same house until the storm passes. We’re both adults."

I walked toward him, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

"Besides," I added, stopping just a little closer to him than was strictly necessary, "the intruder is still out there. I can’t stay here alone. What if he comes back?"

Maxwell’s jaw tightened, and something fierce flashed in his eyes.

"He won’t touch you," he said, and the protective edge in his voice sent an unwanted thrill through me. "I promise. I’ll keep you safe."

We stood there for a moment, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the hidden passion in his green eyes.

Close enough to kiss, if I wanted to.

But I didn’t.

Not yet.

I needed him to want it more. Need it more. Ache for it so badly that it consumed him beyond control.

I stepped back, deliberately casual, and smiled.

"I know you will," I said softly. "I trust you to keep me safe, Maxwell. I just can’t trust you with my heart."

The words were designed to hurt, and I saw them land like physical blows.

His expression crumpled for just a second before he got it under control, nodding stiffly.

"I understand," he said hoarsely. "And I promise to respect your boundaries. I won’t... I won’t make this harder than it needs to be."

"Good," I said.

Then I turned and walked away, very aware of his eyes following me, very aware of how the shorts hugged my curves, very aware of the power I suddenly held.

Let’s see how long you last, I thought with a secret smile.