Page 35 of A Heart On A Sleeve

twenty

Sam

Mother Always Knows Best

I could lie here with her in my arms for the rest of my life.

The thought scares me but at the same time, brings a sense of peace.

The witch, the tattoo—that stuff is weird.

I’ve spent days trying to reconcile why she would make up such an insane lie.

But it’s not one, I’ve seen it now. I don’t know how it’s possible, it freaks me out, but my feelings for her are stronger than my fears about the mysterious tattoo.

My feelings will outlast this spell, I’m sure of it.

Olive shifts beside me, pushing the arm I have draped over her aside and sliding off the bed.

I sit up, prepared to follow her and drag her back to bed. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Bathroom.” She eyes me before strutting off to handle her business.

I lean back into the bed, adjusting the painful erection I’ve had since she kissed me downstairs.

I’m not going to do anything to resolve it, at least not until she goes home, as difficult as that may be.

We need time to figure out whatever this is between us before going all the way.

Olive comes out of the bathroom and leans against the doorjamb, looking at me.

Her eyes are hooded, and she’s still wearing those sexier-than-sin garters.

The thought occurs to me that she’s sort of a sexy librarian.

Prim and proper on the outside, but a secret vixen underneath.

My cock stiffens further. I didn’t think it was possible.

“See something you like?” I ask, scraping a hand down my face and into my beard with a grin.

“Mm-hmm.” She nods before walking over to the bed and climbing on top of me. Her nimble fingers are unbuttoning my jeans before I can blink—the breathing room feels incredible.

“Lift up,” she commands. I move my hips so she can pull my pants and boxer briefs down. My dick springs free, hitting my belly. Olive’s eyes turn round and appreciative as she looks me over. I can’t help the smile that sneaks onto my lips.

“You, uh, you don’t need to worry about me. I can deal with it later,” I say. I don’t want her to feel pressured into anything. I know it’s a delayed response, but with her on top of me, words are hard.

“Nope, you might be a gentleman, but I also know how to serve.” Olive leans forward and swiftly takes me between her lips, sucking me from root to tip. Fuck! Her mouth is hot and wet, the suction is incredible.

“Shit. That feels so good.”

“Mmmm . . .” She moans around me, the vibration buzzing in a delicious form of torture.

She licks up the underside, swirling her tongue around the tip of my cock. My hips bounce a little, and she opens wide, taking me to the back of her throat. I’ve never been with someone who’s able to take all of me so perfectly. She’s enjoying it too, I can tell.

“Fuck, you’re doing amazing, baby.”

Olive smiles, using her hands to work me over while she watches my face like she’s studying.

When a small moan sneaks out of my throat from the pressure her small hands are applying, she takes me back in her mouth.

Olive is taking me so thoroughly, hollowing her cheeks out on each pass while cupping my balls and applying the perfect amount of pressure.

“I’m going to come. You have to stop.” I look down at her, making eye contact as she shakes her head no. I guess if this is what my girl wants, then who am I to deny her.

I buck my hips a few more times, pumping in and out of her mouth at a steady pace.

Her eyes water slightly at the corners, but each time I pull back, she leans in, pushing me further.

It’s so fucking hot, I’m losing it. I can’t hold it in anymore—I explode in her mouth, hot jets spurting down her throat.

She doesn’t move a muscle, she simply swallows and proceeds to lap up every last drop.

If I wasn’t already falling for her, I would be now.

Olive swipes her mouth on the back of her hand and curls up beside me.

“That was . . . I don’t have words.” I pull her on top of me and kiss her like my life depends on it. I can taste myself, but I don’t even care. After a few minutes, she breaks away, laying her head on my chest while tracing my tattoos with her fingers.

“How did you, um, decide that you liked something enough to keep it on your body permanently?” she asks, her voice a soft whisper.

“I’m not sure. I guess in the beginning it was more for the thrill of it than anything. But then I fell in love with the history of the art, and it became more about honoring the beauty of it.” I pull her in closer, grazing my lips on her temple.

“I never considered getting one, before Irina’s spell I mean. My mother would kill me.” Olive shifts so her leg is over mine like she’s a koala bear wrapped around me.

“She didn’t let you get away with much, did she?” I ask, patiently waiting to see if she will open up.

“No. She’s not a bad mother. She just has high standards and expectations.

Having a tattoo would not go over well at the country club.

” Olive burrows into my side a little closer.

There’s a hint of her holding back, but I won’t push her to say more.

I can sense this is something she needs to tell me in her own time.

“I see. Well, Mabel wasn’t pleased with the first one, if it makes you feel better,” I say, closing my eyes briefly, remembering how my mother reacted. She’d lost it, crying about how the body she made was ruined for all time.

“What? No way. Mabel doesn’t seem like the type, she’s so loving.” Olive sits up, gently placing a hand on my chest and positioning herself to look into my eyes.

“She’s loving, for sure, but she is fiercely protective. Once she realized how much I loved it, she got on board.” I pull her into my arms, hugging her to my chest and kissing her forehead.

“It must be nice to know you always have a safe place to land,” Olive says softly before blowing out a long, slow breath.

“Hey, look at me.” I use my hand to prop her head up, so she can see my face clearly. “You have a safe place to land, with me.”

“That’s sweet, Sam. But you can’t say things like that. You don’t know enough about me to form a full opinion, yet.” Olive scooches so her bottom is perched on the edge of the bed and she’s facing my dresser.

“I know plenty, Olivia Bowman. Whether you want me to or not, I see you. You’re kind and compassionate, funny and a little sassy”—I sit up next to her and wrap my arm around her middle, pulling her close—“stubborn, but also easy to take care of. You are the real deal, and I’m not sure what ideas you have in this beautiful brain of yours, but I am not going anywhere. ”

She doesn’t say anything in response, she simply closes her eyes and breathes deeply, almost like she’s afraid to accept my words. It’s okay if she doesn’t believe me yet. I plan on showing her that I’m the kind of guy that sticks around.

“Ma, I’m here. Can someone give me a hand?” I shout, struggling to juggle three very large pumpkins as I make my way through the front door of my childhood home.

“Be right there,” my mom shouts back.

I make my way into the dining room, since it’s the first place to set anything down, as Mabel sashays in, wiping her hands on her fall-themed apron.

“Sam, you didn’t need to carry three at a time. Dad and I can help you,” she scolds me.

“I know, but there’s a lot of them, and I have an appointment to get to in an hour.” I shrug and check the time on my phone.

“And you thought it would take an hour for the three of us to carry in seven pumpkins?” My mom raises an eyebrow at me. She can read my every thought and feeling. She knows something is up.

“No, uh . . . there’s something I wanted to ask you.” I look at the floor and am instantly eleven years old again, afraid of what she’s going to say.

“Come with me,” she says as she grabs my arm and leads me into the kitchen, motioning for me to sit on one of the barstools.

I do what I’m told and get rewarded with a freshly baked pumpkin cookie and a glass of warm apple cider.

My dad just shakes his head and swipes a cookie off the tray, waiting to watch whatever is about to unfold.

“Do you believe in magic?” I blurt out, bits of the cookie tumbling from my lips.

“What kind of magic?” Mabel asks.

“Any kind?” I shrug before taking a slow sip of my drink.

“Yes.”

“Yes? What do you mean, yes?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t say that I believe in magic in that a witch walks around casting spells on people, but I do believe that magical things can happen, especially when it comes to matters of the heart.

” My mom shifts her gaze to my dad for a brief second before looking me in the eyes.

It’s like she’s trying to decipher where this is coming from.

I’m not going to tell her about Olive. I just want to know if she thinks that what we have is real.

Don’t get me wrong, I like having the cheat code to her every emotion at my disposal, but it also makes me wonder if she’s really in this for me or if it’s just a result of whatever spell she’s under.

Last night, she didn’t respond to my declaration about knowing her well enough to know I care for her.

She just sat there silently working through her emotions, refusing to let me in.

I could see what she was thinking on her arm, but I didn’t acknowledge it because seeing it isn’t the same thing as her opening up and actually telling me.

Instead, I snuggled her until we got hungry, took her to get some food, and dropped her at home.

“Is there a particular reason you are asking me this, Sammy?” My mom runs her hand down my cheek and pats my shoulder.

“I think, uh, this is hard. I think that things with Olive could be really serious, but I also know it’s fast. I really care about her, it’s like there is this magical connection between us and we are just meant to be.

” I don’t make eye contact. I’m a thirty-two-year-old man going to his mom for dating advice. It’s pathetic.

“She’s the one,” Mom confirms. “I knew it the moment I saw her. There are some things that are just written in the stars, and she’s it for you.

It was like that for Dad and me, you know.

We met and it was—oh, what do the kids call it .

. . instalove. I couldn’t go another minute without him in my life.

” My mom clutches her heart thinking about it as her eyes tear up.

“Yeah, I think that’s what this is, and I’m scared.”

“What are you afraid of?” Mom asks.

“Messing it up. Not being what she wants me to be.”

“Samuel O’Reilly, stop it right now. You are a catch, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your mother. That girl would be lucky to be with you and to have my grandchildren. I have great genes, she should be so fortunate.” Mom throws her towel on the counter in a tizzy.

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from deep in my chest. There’s nothing like watching her get worked up over the thought that one of her children would do something wrong or somehow be inadequate. She wears “mom goggles,” meaning we are always perfect angels in her eyes.

“Okay, but how do I win her over?” I ask, trying to bring her back to the world where we aren’t mad at Olive for fictitiously saying I’m not good enough.

“Well, with how nervous you are, I’m having second thoughts about whether we should win her over.” She places both hands on her hips, thinking. “Actually, no I’m not. That girl is a doll. She’s absolutely perfect in every way.”

“There is one thing I’m not sure about,” my dad interjects.

“Let’s hear it,” I say, scrubbing a hand down my face.

“How would she handle the pumpkin guts?” he asks.

“I’m not sure that’s the best way to win her over.” I shake my head in disbelief that he’s suggesting that splattering pumpkin all over Olive could be the key to making her mine.

“Sure, it is. If she is going to be my daughter-in-law one day, hopefully soon, she needs to be able to make a mess of things. You need to invite her. Saturday at six sharp,” Mom quips, turning and walking out of the kitchen, out the front door, and straight to my truck to grab two pumpkins.

“We’ll need to get another one of these,” I say, trailing after her and grabbing the final two.

“Bring one from her porch, I think she can spare one. Which, by the way, you did a beautiful job on even if it is clearly over the top.”

“Noted. Thanks, Ma. I do have to run, but I’ll see you Saturday.” I sit the pumpkins on the top porch step and lean in to kiss her forehead before turning back to my truck.

“Sammy, don’t tell her about it. Let it be a surprise so we can gauge her reaction,” Mom shouts, toeing the front door open.

“Will do.” I slide into the front seat of my truck, wondering if surprising Olive with the famous pumpkin smear is a good idea. I guess we will find out.

Busy Saturday?

Olive

I don’t know, depends on if a certain guy wants to take me out or not.

What’s his name? I’ll kick his ass.

Olive

Some guy named Sam. Jury’s still out on whether I like him or not.

Oh, that guy. Well, the whole town heard you scream his name the other night while he tasted you. That has to mean something, right?

Olive

SAM!

See, still screaming it.

Olive

Okay, mister. What’s on Saturday?

Pumpkin carving with my family. We usually have a bonfire too. Want to come?

Olive

I would love to, but can we make it more than once this time?

Now whose mind is in the gutter? Pick you up at five thirty, babe.

Olive

Sounds like a date.

It is. Gotta get to work, I’ll call you later.

Olive

XOXO!