"What are you craving? Past? Pizza? Or something more exotic?" Oliver's blue eyes flick back to Harper, a teasing glint in them as he waits for her response. While she decides on the dinner options, Oliver begins tidying up the kitchen counter. His movements are efficient and practiced, a habit from his organized nature. "Pasta sounds fine," she says casually, and she kicks of the black mule heels she had on. "This all feels very domestic does it not?" Oliver pauses mid-motion, a book halfway back to its designated spot on the shelf. He looks over at her, his expression softening into something warm and almost vulnerable. Domestic," he repeats the word slowly, letting it hang in the air between them.
A small, genuine smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I like the sound of that." He turns back to his phone, tapping through the menu with practiced ease. "Pasta it is. Carbonara? Or maybe something with seafood?" he does not wait for an answer before adding. "I will get the usual sides too. You know I can't resist garlic bread." As he places the order, he glances back at her over his shoulder. The reading glasses are still perched on his nose, giving him a softer look than he ever allowed himself at the office. "Garlic bread?" Harper echoes, her voice laced with amusement. "Well, then we should make out before dinner." Oliver's eyebrows shoot up, a surprised laugh escaping him. He sets his phone down on the marble countertop with a decisive click.
"Is that so?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave as he pushes off from the kitchen island and walks back toward her. He does not hesitate. He reaches her in three long strides, sinking onto the sofa beside her and pulling her onto his lap. His hands settle firmly on her waist, anchoring her against him. The reading glasses slide slightly down the bridge of his nose as he leans in, his lips hovering just inches from hers. "You are lucky the food will not be here for at least forty minutes," he murmurs against her skin, his breath warm. He closes the distance, kissing her deeply this time– not with the urgency from before, but with a slow, deliberate intensity that claims her entirely.
When the part, Harper smiles warmly. "God, you look sexy with those glasses on," she says with a soft giggle and cups his cheek. Oliver lets out a low, satisfied hum against her lips, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he basks in the compliment. When he opens them, they are dark and focused entirely on her. "Only for you," he murmurs, his voice slightly roughened. He reaches up and adjusts the glasses, pushing them back into place with one finger, a gesture that feels uncharacteristically casual and intimate. "At the office, these are just tools. Here…" he tilts his head, leaning into her touch. "Here they are just something else you can admire." He shifts his weight on the sofa, pulling her even tighter against his chest.
His hands roam the small of her back, tracing the curve of her spine through the thin fabric of her dress. "You are dangerous, Harper," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hmmmm, is that so?" Harper vibrates out the sound with a mischievous glint in her blue green eyes. "Extremely," Oliver replies, his voice dropping to a low rumble that she can feel against her chest. He leans back just enough to look her in the eyes, his gaze sweeping over her face with unhurried attention. "You come in here, looking like that, telling me you are all mine, and then you suggest we make out before dinner." He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "You know exactly what you are doing to me." His hands slide down from her back to her hips, squeezing gently.
The possessive streak in Oliver is on full display now– the way he holds Harper, as if making sure she can't go anywhere even if she wanted to. "So," he says, his smirk widening. "Are you going to keep teasing me or are you going or are you going to do something about it?" her gaze roamed his face, and she licked her lips seductively. "Like what?" she asks playfully. Oliver's blue eyes narrow slightly, though the smirk remains firmly in place. He leans in, his nose brushing against hers, his voice barely a whisper. "Do not play innocent with me, Harper. You know exactly what I mean." His hand moves from her hip to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her auburn hair as he pulls her just a fraction closer.
"You could kiss me properly. You could tell me how much you missed me today. Or," he pauses, his gaze dropping to her lips. "You could keep talking and see how long it takes for me to lose my patience entirely." he lets out a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through both of them. "Forty minutes until the food gets here. That is plenty of time for you to prove just how dangerous you are." Harpers lips brush seductively against his. "I did miss you today," she whispered then she licked the seam of his lips. "But I also love seeing you lose your composure because of me." A low, guttural sound escapes Oliver's throat– something between a groan and a laugh. His grip on her waist tightens instantly, his knuckles turning white against the dark blue fabric of her dress.
The reading glasses are knocked askew but the sudden movement, but he does not bother to fix them. "You win," he breathes against her lips, his composure fraying at the edges. "You always win." He does not wait for another word; he leans forward and captures her mouth in a kiss that is far from slow or deliberate this time. It is hungry, desperate and entirely uncharacteristic of the composed man who runs meetings with ironclad precision during the day. His hands slide from her waist to her back, pressing her body flush against him, as if trying to close every millimetre of space between them. His heart is thudding hard against his ribs, and he knows she can feel it.