Page 47

Chapter 47

Olli

That night, Nat and I eat dinner on his couch—since Syd's over at her girl friend Maggie's for the evening—plucking chicken and rice and noodles straight from the containers with chopsticks while Sherlock plays on the TV on the wall. I’ve seen it before, and maybe he has too, or he’s not interested, because his eyeballs spend a lot of time on my face.

Not that I’m not doing the same. Tracking the way he chews, swallows, laughs, the green of his eyes and the flickering light and shadows across his cheekbones as the TV froths across his skin.

Everything about him, about us, is so easy now. The way he laughs, talks, the way his eyes flick between TV and food and my face. I set my empty container down on the coffee table, kick my feet up, and relax back into the cushions.

He mimics my movements, except instead of reclining back, he leans in towards me, and his fingers sweep along the curve of my jaw. “I want to kiss you.”

“Then do it.” I tilt my head up towards him. “I dare you.”

He laughs, and the sound whispers over my skin, sends a cool shiver of pleasure down my spine. And then his mouth closes over mine. Soft and sweet and tender. Something so much more powerful and passionate than any of the sexual intimacy we’ve shared thus far .

I close my eyes. Feel the wet press of my lashes against my cheek, hope he doesn’t notice because his eyes are closed too. I let my lips part, and his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

Right. All of it so right. Everything about him, about us. Right.

Terrifying.

It’s more than I’ve ever experienced with anyone before. And I think, for the first time in my life, I’m going to chase this feeling without trying to control it or run from it because it makes me vulnerable.

Stop overthinking and just go.

I lift my hands, tangle them into his hair, and I kiss him back. With all my heart and soul, with everything I’ve got, I kiss him.

Doesn’t take long for that simple kiss to turn hot and heated. Not with my fingers tangled through his long, soft hair, not with our tongues dancing, not when he leans forward so his body and heat press me into the cushions and his soft scent is a caress against my senses.

Not when he’s my whole world.

He shifts closer, so his entire body engulfs mine—calves and thighs and hips—so I’m sure he notices when arousal surges through me and my cock starts to thicken against his leg.

Just like I feel when he reciprocates.

I drop my hands to his shoulders, to his waist, pulling him closer so I can rock my hips up into him. Giving us both the friction we so clearly crave. “How do you want me, Mouse?”

I barely get the words out through our entwined tongues.

He breaks off the kiss but keeps his forehead pressed to mine. Keeps his chest against mine, so I track the heavy rise and fall of his breaths. So I know his cock’s at full-mast now, and he wants me, wants me, just like I want him.

It’s only a matter of how.

So naturally, Awkward Olli starts listing off options. “I could blow you, like before. Or you could blow me, and jerk yourself? Or I could jerk us both. Or you could. Mutual jerking? Sixty-nine? ”

“What about sex?” he asks, and his eyes flick up to hold mine. “Like, all the way. Penetrative sex.”

My breath catches, squeezing my chest painfully tight again. “You want to do me? Or I could do you, but that might be a lot for a first-timer. But like, I can do both, I like both, and both are honestly pretty enjoyable but because—um. Crap. I’m babbling.”

He shuts me up with a kiss. “Yes. You are.”

“Shocking, I know.”

He grins against my mouth. Kisses me again. “Doesn’t make me want to fuck you any less.”

Damn, those words. The insinuation. I’m starting to feel a little dizzy with want. Still—“Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” His eyes flit upwards, away from me. “Besides. I’ve had anal before.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Way to continuously be awkward, Olli. “Can you say it again, though? The first part I mean, not the part about—oh, my God, I'll stop—”

“I want to fuck you, Olli James.” And then his hands sweep under my legs and around my back and he’s standing. Lifting me up into his arms like a fainting damsel, which okay, that’s pretty hot. Him carrying me into his bedroom is hot as hell.

He lays me down on the bed, so gently it makes me realize just how goddamn strong he is, and then he’s climbing on top of me, caging me between his arms. And it’s just me and him, all over again.

Me and him.

He lowers himself down, not all the way, but enough that our bodies align, that I feel every curve of his muscles, every line and angle of bone and tendon. So I feel the very obvious way his cock says he wants more.

He kisses me.

Hard and heavy and hot, wet and tangled, and his hips rock into me. And honestly, I could do this until we both come, except I want more .

I crawl my fingers down to his waist and tug at the hem of his shirt. Lifting it up, tugging again, until he sits up and sweeps it over his head, leaving his chest bare to me.

He starts to lean back down, but I set a hand to his stomach in protest. “Let me look for a sec. I’m inspecting my conquest.”

He rolls his eyes, but his mouth twitches up at the corner. “This isn’t fair.”

“It’s gonna be even less fair in a second.” I let my eyes scrape slowly down the chiseled lines of his chest and abs, the tangled contours of ink and muscle. But my hands move faster. My fingers work the button of his pants while my eyes are still unraveling the neat cobblestones of his abdomen.

“Oh, you’re right,” he hisses as my fingers slide down the curve of his cock. “This is unfair.”

“And you can’t even tell me to stop, can you?” I squeeze gently, pulling another little hiss of breath from between his teeth. “Because you like it.”

“I do,” he says, his words pinched tight as my fingers slip beneath his waistband. His skin’s silky smooth beneath my touch, and I think I could spend all day touching him, looking at him, exploring his body.

“I like it a lot—shit.” His head tilts back as my hand sweeps down his length to curl around the head.

My fingers come away wet with precum. “You like when I touch you, Mouse?”

“Yes.” His chest billows with shallow breaths, and his head angles back down towards me. “But I want more.”

His hand sweeps beneath mine, and he lifts both my hands over my head. My shirt follows, the white cloth fluttering to the floor. And then it’s him looking at me, studying my body laid out across the bed beneath his gaze.

That gaze burns like wildfire, sweeping down my skin, burrowing into my bones. Leaving a brand against my soul .

But it’s nothing compared to the words that follow. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

“Me?” I almost laugh. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

But he’s not looking at my face. Not anymore. Not as his fingers trail down my sides, leaving a wide wake of goosebumps in their path. Not as he toys with the button of my pants. “Can I touch you?”

“I might internally combust, but yes, please, please touch me.”

He laughs, soft, more like a breath, and tugs my pants apart, drags them down my legs. And then it’s his fingers on me, sliding down the curve of my cock, over the dampened cloth of my underwear.

I’m not even sure which of us draws in a sharp breath, like a stunted gasp. Maybe both of us. Maybe just me, because the press of his fingers, even through that cloth, is almost more than I can handle. My hips push up into his touch, and I can’t tear my gaze from his face, from the way he’s looking down, studying his own hand on my cock.

Then he pulls my underwear down.

And I’m on his bed, naked, cock leaking onto my abdomen, lying at Nat Taylor’s knees. He stares at me for a moment—like he actually thinks I’m as beautiful as he previously proclaimed.

He shimmies out of his own boxers, kicks them to the floor. So we’re both naked, staring at each other, maybe both a little nervous of what comes next. Both wanting it so, so badly.

So obviously.

He leans down over me again, caging me in between his elbows as he lowers his naked body against mine. And this time, when we meld together, it’s bare skin on bare skin, him and me, nothing between us. And it’s everything. Heat and want and hardness, all of us.

Like he’s used up every last ounce of resistance, he crushes his mouth to mine. And like I’ve used up every last ounce of mine, I kiss him back with everything I’ve got. My hips rut into him, and I curl a knee over his ass, reveling in that brush of bare skin. And when he presses back, my God, that friction.

Us—here, now—this is everything .

I give in to the sensation of him. For once in my life, I stop thinking, questioning, wondering, if it’s right, if it’s wrong, if there’ll be consequences.

For once in my life, I’m just here.

Me. Olli. Olli and Nat. Aspen and Mouse.

Bare skin and wet mouths, tangled tongues, rutting hips, and friction that sends tingles of pleasure up my cock, through my torso, fuzzes out my brain.

How long will I last? But maybe it doesn’t matter, because the way he’s rutting into me, I can’t imagine he’ll last long ei—

“More,” he murmurs, breaking off the kiss to lick at the shell of my ear. “I want more.”

“Good.” I gasp as his tongue slips down my neck and his lips suck at my pulse. “’Cause I definitely for sure, one hundred percent want more.”

“I want all of you,” he says, whispers, against my skin. “Everything.”

“You’re going to fuck me, right? Please say yes.”

He laughs against my throat. “Yes. But since I’m such an inexperienced newbie and everything, you’re going to tell me what to do.”

“Oh, my God, you’re adorable.” I nip at his mouth, because I kind of love being the one who has to shut somebody else up, for once, instead of the other way around. I’m also very glad I prepped before dinner. “Please tell me you have condoms. And lube?”

“Yes.” He starts to pull away, pauses. “But I want you to stay right here.”

His lips press to mine. Tongue licks inside my mouth. And his hand drops between us to curl around my cock. “I want you to stay right here and think of me.”

“As if—” I gasp as those fingers stroke up, down, up again. “As if I could think of anyone else.”

His free hand circles my right wrist, and he lifts it—to replace his hand on my cock. “I want to watch you touch yourself while you think about me.”

“Yessir.” My voice is husky, hoarse .

“Good.” He stands up, leaving me cold and wanting, my hand literally shaking on my own cock. He slides open the bedside table to lift something from the top—guess not being demi means your supplies reside a little closer to the surface than mine do.

He tosses a condom onto the bed beside me, starts to open the lube—

“I can do that.” I reach for the bottle. “The prep, I mean. And you can either watch me or not, up to you.”

“Watch—” He goes very, very still as I lie back on the bed and reach between my legs. “Oh. Oh, I am definitely going to watch.”

“Good.” My voice goes ragged as I press my finger in. “Because it’s hot as hell.”

“It is,” he murmurs, and then his hand wraps around his own cock. Starts to move.

“Goddamn.” I’ve never had a guy watch me do this before. Usually it’s either he’s doing it for me, or I did it beforehand, but this is . . . hot. Really hot. Hot enough I’m already adding a second finger because I want more, more, more.

“Olli,” Nat whispers, and that strained little sound makes me moan with want. He leans over me, and his lips find mine in a shockingly gentle kiss. “Olli.”

“You like that?” I ask, barely choking the words through my own ragged breaths.

“I want to do it.” His fingers wrap around mine, tug my hand away. And then his warm fingers slide against my skin, pressing their way through the taut muscle.

We gasp in unison, mouths open against each other.

“Nat,” I hiss. “Please, please fuck me.”

“Oh, I’m going to,” he says, and he slides a third finger inside me.

My back arches, driving my body up to meet him, pressing my mouth into his. He kisses me. Kisses me hard, fast, needy. His fingers are still inside, working me open, but somehow I find the wherewithal to reach for that discarded condom on the bed.

“Please. ”

He sits back, breaking off the kiss and the stroke, to tear open the package. I’m completely transfixed, unable to look away from him unrolling the latex over his swollen cock.

He reaches for the lube next, and I’m staring all over again as his fingers slip down his length, again and again, lubricating himself for me. For me. Me.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Are you?”

He leans forward into me. Presses his mouth against mine. “I’ve never been more ready.”

“Good.” I lick at his lower lip, then curve my leg around his ass again to pull him close. “Me too.”

The head of his cock nudges against my hole. And for one final moment, we’re still separate, Nat and Olli, two individual people. And then, he pushes forward. Into me. Hard and heavy, the thickness of him filling me.

“Shit,” he moans. “Shit, you’re so tight.”

I bite back on a gasp—discomfort and pleasure rolled into one—and he pauses.

“You okay?”

“More,” I groan against his mouth, and with my leg around his ass and my arms around his shoulders, I pull him closer, closer. Closer. All the way.

We’re conjoined. Together. NatOlli, like one being. Both of us frozen like time’s stopped, him filling me and me squeezed around him. It’s perfect. Me and him.

We gaze into each other’s eyes for a moment that might be an eternity. He leans in so his forehead rests against mine.

“I see you, little ghost.” His words whisper across my skin, embed themselves in my soul. “Never stop haunting me.”

“I promise,” I whisper back. I press my mouth to his in a silent, chaste kiss.

But it can’t last, this soft, beautiful moment, because we both need more. So I nudge my hips gently up, and he answers my request. He’s gentle, slow at first, like he’s afraid he might hurt me. But soon enough we both get lost in the motion, in the rock of hips, the friction of him inside me, the push and pull of our bodies.

We gain speed, momentum, lose rhythm. So it’s our hips slamming together, mouths crashing as we grind and rut, as we race toward that proverbial edge together. His hips buck into me, hard, harder, and he cries out. Head tilting, back arching, eyes fluttering closed as the bliss overtakes him.

I can only stare because he’s so beautiful when he comes.

When his eyes flutter back open to meet mine, pupils still blown wide with desire and now-sated lust, I press a kiss to his mouth.

“Tell me what to do,” he says.

“Just touch me,” I murmur, and all it takes is one brush of his fingers along my cock before I join him. His mouth kisses down my throat, and I arch up into him, my body trembling, almost convulsing, as bliss rocks through me in waves of release.

We lie together in a messy, boneless heap. Bodies tangled, sweat intermingling, cum smeared across both our chests. Both breathing too heavily. His arm drapes across me, and I snuggle into his body, loving the feel of him, of our legs intertwined, skin touching in more places than I can keep track of.

I never want to move.

Never want him to leave.

His lips press against my nose. “How was that?” he murmurs. “But maybe cut me a little slack because it was technically my first time?”

“Shut up,” I laugh. “It was amazing and you know it.”

“Nice to know I’m good at it with both genders—”

I groan, roll my eyes up. “Gross.”

“Thank you.”

“How was it for you?” I dare a glance back at him, at his face. His eyes meet mine, half-lidded and sleepy. Sated .

“Good,” he says, voice like honey—thick and sweet. “Really fucking good. Like . . .”

“Like . . .?” I prompt, because I’m not sure if he’s falling asleep or caught himself before he was gonna say something without thinking.

“Like . . . different. I dunno.”

I press a kiss to his jaw. “Maybe ’cause there were two cocks, genius?”

“Shut up.” He nips at my mouth, then tightens his arm around me to pull me closer. “You know what I mean. It felt . . . like something special.”

My heart swells like the Grinch’s when he saves Christmas. To three times its size. All warm and fuzzy and big and . . . you get the picture. “It felt like something special to me too.”

“Good. Now, I’m going to sleep.”

“Me too,” I say, but the truth is, I’m not. Because this is so comfortable and soft and beautiful and I should let myself relax into the sweet oblivion that beckons, but how can I, when I don’t want to miss a moment of this? Me and him . . . it feels so good. So right.

So effortless, I might almost call it love. And that’s terrifying.

It’s right .