Page 58 of Mr. Match

But he shakes his head slowly as he plays with my hair. “There’s nothing funny about it. It’s just chemistry, Katya. There are so many open roads and we ended up walking this one together. If you think it’s an accident, then you hurt me. There’s no greater purpose for this life than to find the partner who understands your soul.”

I want to close my eyes and fall into his tenderness. It’s the one thing I could always count on with Oliver. He always knows just what to say. He always knows how to make me feel special.

“You understand my soul.”

It’s true. The first day we met, it felt like a reunion. “You always did have a way with words.”

His fingertips pull my hair back and expose my neck and my ear. He plays with the thin white line and then begins to trace the letters he put there four years ago as he bends down to kiss my lips.

“Don’t go,” he whispers into my mouth. “Don’t leave again. No matter what happens, you have to stay.”

“I won’t leave,” I say back. “I promise. This is where I make my stand, Mr. Match. Right here with you.”

He smiles as he kisses me again. Soft, small, fluttery kisses. His lips barely touching mine. “I don’t feel right,” he says. “Things are going to spin out of control.”

My hand comes up to his scratchy cheek and I place my palm flat against his face. “It’s OK,” I breathe back. “You’ve been in control long enough. I got this, Mr. Match.”

His laugh breaks the moment. And when I stare into those thunderstorm eyes they are bright and happy. “You got this?”

I nod. “I do. You have nothing to worry about. I came back to make things right and I don’t care what it takes, I will make things right.”

“Promises,” he says in a low voice, “can always be broken. So if it comes down to me saving you or you saving me, I’ll expect you to step aside.”

“Deal,” I say, my eyes locked on his.

And with that promise, every secret we have, shared and unshared, is laid bare and no confidences are broken.

“You are the sweetest part of my day,” Oliver says, standing back up again. And then his hands are on the back of my head, urging my lips towards his cock once more. It’s like we’re part of a script or a movie, or a dream that was paused for this one very simple conversation and we are ready to resume once more.

I take him fully inside my mouth. Pressing my head forward, even without his urging. His cock presses against the soft palate of my throat and his urging is back. He grips my hair in his fists, forcing me to lean forward, open wider, and breathe deliberately through my nose.

His hips begin to rock against me, making his balls hit my chin with each thrust. I don’t consider myself any kind of sexual expert. I’ve spent the better part of my time away from Oliver trying to forget great sex ever existed. But because he is who he is, I try hard for him. I give it everything. I close up my mind and concentrate on his pleasure. I do this willingly because I know when it’s my turn, he will do the same for me.

I tilt my head up, letting him slide even further into my throat. A small gagging noise escapes and the saliva pools in my mouth and drips out, coating his cock with slick wetness.

Oliver hisses through his teeth, gripping my hair tightly as he lifts his head towards the ceiling and closes his eyes with a moan. “Katya,” he whispers.

I seal my lips around his shaft, sucking in as I wrap my hand tightly around his length. Now both hands, twisting lightly in opposite directions. I want to make him come first. Right now, before we do anything else, I need him to be satisfied. Seconds later his whole body tenses. His hands move from my hair to my shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to leave red marks as evidence.

I know he’s close. I want him inside me when it happens, but just as I think he’s about to make my wish come true, he pulls out of my mouth, pushes me so I fall back on my haunches.

“Close your eyes,” Oliver says, his hand fisting his cock. Sliding up and down. Fully covering his tip, then all the way down to his balls.

I close my eyes and his hot semen sprays across my face in spurts. Hits my cheek, then my lips. My tongue darts out to lick it off, and his cock is there once more. Still spilling the white liquid into my eager mouth.

“Fuck,” he says, leaning back against the counter to steady himself. “I want more of you. I never stop wanting more of you.” He reaches down for me, urging me to stand and tipping up the handle of the tap on the sink faucet next to him at the same time.

I feel such relief just being here with him.

Oliver grabs a dishtowel, holds it under the running water, then half-heartedly wrings it out single-handedly and applies the soft, warm cloth to my face.

“Sorry about that,” he says. Small lopsided smile along with a deep sigh as he cleans me up.

I shrug. Uncaring about the mess that makes him want to take care of me. “I don’t mind.”

“I know,” he says, tossing the towel on the counter. “But I do.”

He leans in, holding my face with both hands, and kisses me lightly on the lips. There’s no tongue. No rush, or hardness to him now even though his whole body is hard from top to bottom.