The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

“Can I—?” Her teeth grazed the underside of the head, and
he grunted abruptly. “In your mouth.”
She only had to smile at him, and his pleasure looked
nuclear, pounding through him and washing over his entire
body. What Olive had felt earlier, white-hot and just shy of
painful. She was still sucking gently when he regained control
of his limbs and cupped her cheek.
“The things I want to do to you. You have no idea.”
“I think maybe I do.” She licked her lips. “Some, at least.”
His eyes were glazed as he stroked the corner of her mouth,
and Olive wondered how she could possibly be done with this,
with him, in just a few hours.
“I doubt it.”
She leaned forward, hiding a smile into the crease of his
thigh. “You can, you know.” She nibbled on the hard plane of
his abdomen and then looked up at him. “Do them.”
She was still smiling when he pulled her up to his chest,
and for a few minutes they managed to sleep.
—
IT REALLY WAS a nice hotel room, she supposed. The large
windows, mostly. And the view of Boston after dark, the
traffic and the clouds and the feeling that something was
happening out there, something she didn’t need to be part of
because she was here. With Adam.
“What language is that?” it occurred to her to ask. He
couldn’t quite look at her face, not with her head nestled under
his chin, so he continued to draw patterns on her hip with his
fingertips.
“What?”