Oliver's POV
I wasn't asleep.
The alcohol was a heavy fog in my brain, making my limbs feel like lead and my pulse thrum with a dull ache, but I was well aware of every inch of the woman beneath me. I had dropped my head into the crook of her neck and forced my breathing to slow into a deep, rhythmic cadence, feigning a drunken stupor.
It was the hardest thing I'd ever done.
If I didn't pretend to pass out, I would have lost every ounce of control I had left. I would have stripped that shirt—my shirt—off her body and buried myself so deep inside her she'd forget her own name. I could feel her heart hammering against my chest like a trapped bird, and the way she had squeezed me just moments ago... it nearly broke me. I knew she wanted it. Every frantic breath and every tilt of her hips told me she was ready.
