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In a flash, he was across the seat and had me underneath him. He hovered above me, staring into my hazel eyes.
“Did you want something?”
I reached down between us to run my hand over his erection. I could feel how hot he was through his slacks.
"This," I demanded, my voice thick with need.
"Where would you like it?" Oliver teased, his eyes dark with desire.
"You know."
"Why don’t you tell me, then?" he prompted, enjoying the game.
I huffed, my frustration mounting. "Inside me. I want you to fuck me. I’ve wanted you to fuck me since you left for Tokyo."
He leaned back, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the adjacent bench seat. My fingers fumbled with his pants, releasing him from the confines. The sight of his erection nearly made me come right then and there. I missed the feeling of him inside me so much. I gently stroked him, but he pushed my hand away.
"If you do that, I’ll come all over you," he warned, his voice strained.
I giggled softly, "You have much more staying power than that."
"But I haven’t come since the morning I left you."
"You didn’t jerk off?" I asked, surprised.
"I didn’t want to jerk off. I wanted to make love. I told you, it’s all for you."
He pushed my skirt up and moved the crotch of my panties to the side, positioning himself over me. With a powerful thrust, he entered me, a loud groan escaping his lips. I gripped his ass, holding him still.
"Sweetheart, let me move."
"You feel so good. I want you to stay like this," I murmured, savoring the fullness.
I squeezed him, and he hissed, "Don’t, or this is over before it begins."
"Fuck me," I moaned, the desperation in my voice clear.
Oliver began to furiously pump, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through me. Even though I’d had an orgasm less than fifteen minutes ago, I was sensitive and ready to explode again. He slammed into me, and on the fifth stroke, I came with a loud howl, one that even Vlad might have heard behind the smoky glass divider. Oliver followed a few strokes later, grunting and biting my nipples through my blouse, the intensity of his release matching my own.
"Christ, I missed your pussy," Oliver breathed, his voice still thick with lust.
"Just my pussy?" I teased, raising an eyebrow.
Oliver grunted. "You know better."
"I want this again, but slower."
"You have my word," he promised.
Oliver pulled out of me and sat back, leaving me feeling boneless and exposed. He tucked himself back into his slacks and reached into his jacket for a handkerchief, using it to gently clean between my legs. He fixed my panties, righted my skirt, and helped me up.
"I'm tired," I admitted, leaning against him.
"You're tired? I'm the one that flew in from Japan," he reminded me with a soft chuckle.
"I didn’t sleep well last night."
Oliver looked at me with concern. "Why?"
