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His hands push down on my hips until I’m lowering into his lap. I straddle him, bracing myself on his shoulders. I can feel the hard ridge of him through the thin layer of his shorts. My skirt billows around my waist, but provides no barrier between us. I’m throbbing right now, on fire for him. And he’s barely touched me.
His fingers weave through my hair as he stares at me for a few seconds. He’s watching me like I’m the answer to his problems rather than the cause of them.
I want to ask him what this is—what he’s doing—but I can’t find the words. My brain is too scrambled. Ollie does that to me. He makes me want to forget all logic and rational thinking and just feel whatever it is he does next. Enjoy it. He gives me temporary amnesia when what I should be asking is if this is just another stolen moment between us. If, tomorrow, he’s going to erect walls again and push me to the side, acting like we’re nothing. I need him to know that every time he does that, I become a little angrier and a little more bitter. And it breaks apart our easygoing friendship until, eventually, there will be nothing left of it. But I don’t say any of that because I’m more afraid that he’s going to stop than I am of the consequences that will follow.
He moves closer until he’s a couple of inches away. Our eyes are locked.
“How do you do that?” I whisper.
“Do what?” he murmurs back. I can smell the hint of beer on his breath.
“Look at me like you’ve never seen me before?”
I feel like a full moment passes before he answers. I start to think he’s not going to, but he surprises me again.
“Because maybe I’m seeing you … really seeing you … for the first time.”
And isn’t that what we all want … to be seen by someone else?
In the next moment, his lips are on mine. His kiss isn’t soft and reverent. It’s seductive and punishing. It’s desperate and messy, like us. He’s erasing Johnny from my mouth and repainting my lips with his own. Ollie doesn’t realize that as soon as I heard his voice in the dark room, Johnny completely disappeared from my thoughts. He doesn’t know that over dinner, I wrestled with the jealous look on his face, which was permanently etched in my memory, when I should’ve been focused on my date. But no other man compares to him. They never have. I can’t see anyone else when Ollie’s in the room. And Ollie’s presence remains in the room, even when he’s gone.
He licks and sucks and bites and tugs on my mouth until my mind is blank. His grip holds my head in place and angles it when he feels like going deeper. His tongue is like silk as it glides and tangles with my own. He’s taking what he wants. And I’m giving it to him. How could I not?
He sweeps my hair over one shoulder, and his hands glide around back until he’s lowering the zipper there. The metal teeth disengage as our chests heave. Our heavy breathing is the only sound in the apartment other than the soft purr of the air-conditioning. Once the zipper is loosened, Ollie reaches beneath my dress again, lifting the material until it disappears overhead. The pads of his fingers ghost along the sides of my breasts. He drops the dress on the floor next to us.
His gaze drags over me until it feels like a touch drifting across my skin.
This is all I’ve ever wanted and everything that terrifies me, all wrapped up in one. But I’m powerless to stop it either way. We are a hurricane, a force of nature that cannot be tamed. Deep down, I know this will destroy me. That this will change everything. But I’m already too far gone to care.
Ollie takes the pad of his thumb and rubs it across my lacy bra. He pulls the cup down, and my nipple hardens even more in the cool air, so much so that it’s almost painful. Ollie licks and sucks the newly exposed spot, and the ache travels from my nipple to my core. I roll my hips against him while chasing some relief.
Ollie dips a finger beneath my panties, right below my belly button. My stomach tightens, and my breath hitches when that same finger travels along the band, teasing me without dropping lower.
“Ollie,” I groan.
He chuckles. “Yes, Mads?”
He knows he’s torturing me. He’s doing it on purpose.
“Touch me,” I whisper.
His eyes turn to liquid lava, and his mouth crashes into mine again. His entire hand slips beneath the band of my underwear and heads south until he’s sliding through my core. I can smell my arousal and hear it every time his fingers glide across my soft, forbidden skin. My thighs are draped across his and are split wide open from his bulky, muscular legs.
Our moans intermingle when he plunges inside my center and he feels how embarrassingly wet I am. He’s thrusting with one finger and then two while his thumb keeps circling my clit. His face is lodged between my breasts as he shifts from one side to the other, pulling my bra down with his teeth when the material gets in his way. My arms are around his head, and my fingers are interwoven in his hair, tugging the short strands and holding him to me.
I can’t stop my hips from rotating as I chase my release. The clean scent emanating from him inundates my senses, and the scruff across his jaw chafes my skin. But I don’t care. I want to be branded by him. I want his mouth to leave evidence that he was here with me tonight. That I am his. Because I am. I think maybe I always have been.
It doesn’t take long for my orgasm to build. I hold my breath and tighten my muscles just before the explosion so I can draw it out. Ollie finds that sweet spot on the front inner wall and rubs across it until I’m squeezing his fingers from the inside. I’m clinging to him, and he’s holding me just as tightly. He doesn’t stop his ministrations until my body goes slack in his embrace as I descend from the high. I’m like a rag doll with limp, worthless muscles.
We sit like that with our arms around each other, our breaths coming rapidly and heavily, as we come back down to earth in that dark room of his apartment.
He’s still hard. When I glance down at his lap, I see the head of his cock peeking above the waistband of his shorts. It’s angry and swollen with a purplish-red tint to the silky skin. But as I reach down to take him into my hand, his phone beeps with a text and then another. We both stiffen, and my hand freezes against his chest.
I shift off his lap when it rings out for a third time. Ollie reaches for it on the end table.
I motion toward the bathroom. “I’m going to …”
He nods, his eyes shifting from his phone screen to me and back.
