Olive is saying something. And Adam’s brain is too dazed to parse language. “What?”
“You did it that night, too.” She’s smiling. All he wants to think about is making her come. Can he do it? It’s been a while. He wishes he had more practice. For her.
“I… what?”
“You touched me. Here.” Her hand covers his through the cotton, and he takes it as permission. He lifts her shirt slowly, giving her time to object, stopping the instant her breath catches, at the first sign of hesitation. Right under her tits, which almost has him groaning in desperation, but—no.
Patient. He can be fucking patient till she’s comfortable.
He waits, and meanwhile he presses his lips against her ribs. Bites softly.
Licks. She tastes sweet, and he wonders if she’d let him go down on her.
Seems like asking for too much, but maybe.
“Here?” he says. “Olive. Here?” The underside of her breast is right there, and she’s not answering him, just clutching him like she’ll fall if she doesn’t, and okay. Okay, yes: he wants to fuck her into the mattress. No point in pretending he doesn’t. “Pay attention, sweetheart.” The underside of her breast is right there, so he runs his tongue across, he sucks on it, and she whimpers. “Here?”
He doesn’t hear her answer. He’s a little distracted, because her shirt is finally coming off, and…
There is a split second of insecurity, he thinks. A short moment of hesitation when he can tell that Olive is thinking of covering herself. Her back nearly hunches, Adam can almost smell the panic between them, and he’s ready to put a stop to this, right now. But then her shoulders square, like she’s decided that she doesn’t mind showing him her body after all, and…
Okay.
Yeah.
So it’s been a long time for him. Years, he’d guess. Not since grad school, and even then he never quite… There was about a decade or so, in which Adam thought he’d had just enough sex in his life to know with the utmost
certainty that he wasn’t interested in having any more. No real reason for it, just… no. And then—Olive. He almost laughed in his office, at being asked to be secretive about dating other women. At the reptilian, greedy part of his brain, thinking: Are there any? I thought it was just you.
“Do you remember it?” she’s saying, and her breasts. Her small, beautiful tits. The long dip in the center of her stomach. Her toned, smooth legs. He wants to tuck her underneath him for safekeeping. For months.
“Remember what?” he asks, absent, transfixed. His own voice sounds distant.
“Our first kiss.”
“I want to keep you in this hotel room for a week,” he murmurs, because it’s the truth. Can he touch her? He’ll stop if she tells him to. But. “For a year.”
He’s losing track of time. Missing beats. Not out of control, but getting bolder. He splays his hand against her back, brings her closer to his mouth, arches her up like an offering, and he misses a bit of what comes after because it feels that good. He doesn’t want to be rough, but the noises Olive is making are spellbinding, breathless moans and sharp inhales.
Then her muscles tense. It’s sudden, and he feels the second it happens, like a bucket of ice over his head. He immediately pulls back. “This okay?”
She’s in her head about something. Her expression is far away, and as much as his cock hurts, something switches in his brain. He wants to lick her tits, yes, but he wants to reassure her more.
He sets his hand on her hip, thumb swiping back and forth on her hip bone, trying to look at her face. “You’re tense. We don’t have to—”
“I want to.” She sounds scared. A little defensive. Definitely in her head. “I said I did.”
“It doesn’t matter what you said. You can always change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
She’s stubborn. She’s stubborn, and he likes that about her, just like every other damn thing, but this… He’s just not willing to risk moving this along if she’s having any doubt. So he squeezes his cock till near pain and stops.
Slows down. Brings her into himself, rests his forehead on her sternum, matches his breathing with hers, feels her arms form a loose loop around his neck, lets himself smell the sweetness between them. It takes several moments, but she slowly softens, relaxing into him. First pliant, her nose rubbing softly against his hair, then restless. Eager all over again.
Holden and his stupid, supremely idiotic questions. Of course Adam is in love with Olive, of fucking course. And that’s why this is nice, too. Just being with her. Near her. A little painful, maybe, but a whole lot nice.
“I think I’ve changed my mind,” he says against her skin. His fingers are tracing the elastic of her panties—cotton, green polka dots. He’s going to steal them once they’re done. He’s going to build a shrine for them. Do unspeakable things with them.
“I know I’m not doing anything,” Olive says, something reedy in her voice,
“but if you tell me what you like, I can—”
“My favorite color must be green, after all.”
She’s wet already. Adam cannot quite believe it, so he presses his thumb to her panties, just to make sure. But once his finger is there, he cannot help himself. He moves the tip up and down between her legs, over and over. He wants to remember this moment. Store it for later. Archive it in his DNA.
“Do you . . . Do you want me to take them off?”
Yes. But no. This underwear is probably all that’s between her and Adam begging her to let him fuck her. Better on for now. “Not yet”
She squirms, impatient. “But if we—”
He pushes the cotton to the side because he cannot help himself, and that’s a mistake. She looks ready. Ripe. A perfect piece of fruit. He wonders if it means that he could fuck her now. That it could be fast, a little messy, and she’d still be okay. She’d take it. She’d enjoy it. He’d make it good, hopefully. Maybe. If he remembers how. If he doesn’t blow it in twenty seconds. If he doesn’t blow it right now, just looking at his fingers trace her glistening pussy, circle around her clit, disappear between her plump folds, and she’s wet, she’s really fucking wet, wet in a way that makes it easy to lie to himself and pretend that it’s him she wants, not just anyone who’ll take her mind off a shitty day. He watches her arch up, close her eyes, let out a low moan, exhale in something that is so obviously pleasure. Adam strokes himself and knows it, that he’s going to come just from looking at her.
“You are so beautiful.” He can’t remember ever saying it to a woman before
—why state obvious facts—but with Olive the words burst out of him. “May I?” he rasps against her nipples when finds her entrance, not quite sounding like himself, and the second his finger is inside her he—
“Fuck.” It’s a tight fit, which makes his cock twitch even harder. His vision darkens to black spots. For a few seconds he can feel his heartbeat drumming in his ears, pleasure stabbing in his loins. He forgets about everything that’s not Olive, everything that’s not the places where he’s touching her. She feels like the best thing that’s ever happened to him, but better. And then… Then she’s moving. Squirming while impaled on his
finger, in a way that broadcasts very little enjoyment, and the wave of pleasure that was about to crash right into him, it abruptly recedes.