He’s achingly gentle, as though I’m something he needs to treat with care. Somehow, the light touches and featherlight kisses activate every nerve in my body. I close my eyes and regret it when I feel his mouth between my legs, jolting at the surprise and the burst of pleasure that zips up my spine like a lightning bolt.
“Lift up for me,” Oliver murmurs, making a noise like a purr when I dig my heels into the bed and comply. I feel every beat of my heart in my dick, pulse pounding, when he slips a pillow under my lower back and whispers a fewgood boysinto the sensitive crease of my groin.
“O-O-Oli,” I warn, wondering how I could already be so close to coming.
“You won’t come,” he tells me, hands slipping underneath my legs. “Not until I say you can. You’re going to be good for me.”
A sensation like electrical currents underneath my skin shivers through me. Understanding what I’m meant to do, I bring my legs back with his urging. This time, it’s safe to close my eyes when he lowers his head, already knowing where he’s going. It’s hard to lie still when he licks across my hole, and impossible when he settles in and begins working me open inearnest. When my hips start to roll, unable to take so much sensation and have no place to put it, Oliver flattens his hands to my pelvis and holds me still.
I don’t recall how or when he got his hands on the lube, but when I hear the cap click, I look down at him. The angle provides little more than flashes of red straps on pale skin, long fingers, muscled shoulders, and a glint of blue when Oliver looks up at me. I slide my fingers through his hair and relax. He’s done this before. I know how to breathe, bear down, and relax. I know how to sink into that blissful state of being told what to do and knowing the person giving the orders has my best interest in mind.
It feels like a long time before Oliver is satisfied, slipping his fingers out of me and murmuring soft praises against my heated skin. This is the first time where he’s pulled back and told me to stop when I was about to come, the first time he’s walked me to the edge of release and away again, back and away, back and away again, dancing along a thin ribbon of control. I haven’t done anything more than lie here, and yet I’m covered in a slight sheen of sweat, my foot is cramping from how my toes are curled, and I can’t seem to manage more than broken noises of pleasure.
Oliver sits up, still kneeling between my legs, and gently directs me to relax, stroking his hands up my quivering thighs. He’s giving me a minute to cool down, but it’s futile. If anything, I feel closer to coming now that I can see the flush of color on his beautiful face, the garter and the moisture bleeding through the red fabric covering his dick, proof of how turned on he is by what he was doing to me, even as he remained untouched. Looking at the thin straps around his thighs and waist, I try toignore the aching throb in my cock in favor of figuring out how to see Oliver’s without him fully undressing. Knuckles sliding teasingly along the crease of my groin, making my hips twitch, Oliver sees me looking and understands, the way he always does.
“I can leave parts of it on, if you’d like,” he offers, voice silky and hushed. I smile at him, and he leans over to plant a hand near my shoulder, bending low to kiss me.
I feel slightly more in control when he pushes my legs back once more, half the lingerie discarded onto the floor, but quickly realize that it’s not going to last. When he slips inside, it feels different than when he touches me with his fingers—a bigger sort of pressure and an awareness of my body that I couldn’t tap into before. The straps around his hips catch on my palms as he rocks slowly forward, praises whispered breathily in my ear, a strong body warm and heavy above mine. He’s barely inside me, thrusting so slowly I can feel the drag of him over every single nerve, before release burns hot in my abdomen once more, spiky slivers of pleasure shooting through my limbs as I come.
Oliver stutters to a halt, mouth hot on mine and against my neck and pressed to my hair as he talks. I’m floating boneless on a wave ofgood boyandyou’re so perfect for mewhen I realize he’s not moving and I’m the only one who’s finished. Reaching down, I urge him back into motion, fingers seeking purchase on his ass and the tops of his thighs. He groans as I pull him flush against me, burying his face into my neck as he rolls his hips.
He feels so good like this—skin hot against mine, and the constant, full ache of pressure inside me. I curl my arms around him and turn my face into his hair, holding on through the overstimulation and the ache in my pelvis as my dick tries to get hard again.
It doesn’t take him long to finish, gasping and pressing his groin hard against the backs of my legs as he comes deep inside me. I groan, turning my face to the side and pressing my lips to his face until his mouth meets mine. I want to pull him down on top of me—feel the full weight of him pressing me into the mattress, chest against mine and body cradled between my legs. But after only enough time to catch his breath, Oliver moves carefully away. He doesn’t give me time to complain, though, just pulls out slowly and removes the pillow before crawling back into the circle of my arms and settling down.
He laughs softly when he encounters the cum already drying on my chest and stomach, but doesn’t pull away, wiggling his hips as he tries to settle into a comfortable position. I tip my chin so I can feel the tickle of his hair on my lips and smell lavender over the sweat and sex. Distantly, I know we’ll have to get up and clean off—change the sheets—but more immediately, all I can care about is Oliver and the ache in my groin and the heavy, satiated weight of my own body. I stroke a palm down the center of Oliver’s back. This is what I love most about having sex with him. The pleasure is nice, but the closeness and absolute trust is the real intimacy.
Tucking his hair behind his ear, I slide my fingertips across his cheek to his mouth, tracing his lips with my thumb. He laughs, a soft puff of warm air against the pad of my finger.
“Even I don’t have anything to say,” he jokes, correctly understanding what I’d meant with the gesture. After a moment, though, he adds, “Okay?”
“O-o-o-okay,” I agree, squeezing the arm I’ve got wrapped across his back and closing my eyes. Perhaps we’ll nap first and clean up later.
Chapter Eighteen
OLIVER
Iwrestle with whether or not to invite Nils to the party. I wrestle with whether to even bring it up to him or just keep it to myself, disappear for two days and not bother him with the drama that comes with any event involving my family. I consider not going at all, but I still haven’t quite grown out of the desire to please my parents. Missing out on their yearly anniversary party would not impress anyone and would probably be the final nail in my disappointing-son coffin.
Sitting on my ratty couch, I try to pay attention to the estimates I got from the flooring specialists. Nils, who seems convinced that it’s something we could handle doing ourselves if push came to shove, nonetheless supported reaching out to contractors for estimates. His reasoning being that just because wecando it ourselves doesn’t mean we should. And although hiring a contractor is more expensive, it would also be quicker, which is actually turning out to be something of a turnoff for me. Nils talked me into staying over at his place until mine isfinished, which means the longer it takes to finish, the better off I will be. I glance up at my recently repaired ceiling, humming softly to myself as my thoughts twist between home projects, my parents, and Nils.
I don’t want to go to this party alone, but neither do I want Nils to come along if I’m being honest with myself. My parents are so snobby, and Nils is just working-class enough for them to stick their noses up. No matter that I, their own son, do the same job as him. My dad would smirk and sneer and make little comments that weren’t overtly rude, but definitely impolite enough for him to laugh about later with his friends when they were sitting around drinking whiskey in the lounge. I do not like to think about how they’d act if Nils stuttered in front of them. Or how they’d act if he said nothing at all, which would be seen as equally strange.
Frowning, I pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion and bounce my leg. It feels gross even thinking about it, no matter that it’s the truth. Accepting is a word that I could never use to describe my parents, and my father especially. He’s got a very specific idea of what men and women should be, and I’ve got a very good understanding of those strictures and where I, and others, don’t measure up. I can’t bring Nils home with me. I like him too much to subject him to any length of time surrounded by my parents and their friends. Sighing, I lever myself up off the couch, folding the estimates into a square and tucking them into my pocket. I’ll bring them over to Nils and show him, ask him what he thinks. I have a feeling I know which one he’s going to recommend.
Indeed, once I’m back over at Nils’ house after packing up a new bag of clothing, he looks over the estimates, brows furrowed, and taps the one I suspected he’d choose. They’re a touch more expensive than the others, but local, which means he probably knows all of them by name and reputation. I recognize a couple, but still being relatively new to the Point, I’m still learning everyone’s faces.
“Do you think it would be better to just contract the work out instead of trying to do it ourselves? Or me do it,” I correct, not wanting to make it seem like he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. “I know it would be quicker to hire them, and honestly, probably safer since I doubt I’d be any good at laying floors.”
“We could do it,” Nils replies, shrugging. Still, he taps a finger against the estimate.But this is the better option, he seems to say. I nod.
“Okay, I’ll call them tomorrow.” Puffing out my cheeks, I remember what I’ll actually be doing tomorrow. Unfortunately. “Or Monday, probably. I’ve got a family event this weekend at my parents’ country club. Their yearly anniversary. Well, obviously, since anniversaries happen yearly.”
Nils tilts his head to the side, pretty eyes on mine as he leans against the kitchen counter. He tucks a couple of fingers into the pocket of my jeans, pulling me gently toward him so the gap between us is slimmer.
“I try not to spend a lot of time with them because it’s such a downer, so I’ll drive over tomorrow, stay for the party, and then come back early the next morning.” I perk up a little bit, a thought occurring to me. “I should check the weather, though.Maybe a big storm will come through, and I won’t be able to go at all. Maybe it’ll be cancelled!”
Nils huffs, eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiles. The hand in my pocket gives my hips a little shake, and he keeps watching me with a question in his expression.
