Page 91
“I missed you,” he says, and I feel that all the way through me.
He stands, and I make a grab for his waistband. He lets me pop the button and drag his pants down, but he stops me when I try to take off his boxers.
“Not yet,” he says, voice rough.
He walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the edge of his bed and pushes me gently back. Oliver gets on the bed, kneeling between my legs, just looking at me before crawling forward, his hands moving up my thighs, slow and torturous, thumbs tracing circles. It’s like he’s memorizing me all over again.
He kisses me everywhere. Inside my knee, up my thigh, the spot on my hipbone he always loved. He kisses the line between my breasts, the soft skin inside my arm, and the curve of my shoulder. By the time he takes my mouth, I’m a trembling, sighing mess.
“Please,” I whisper, and I’m not even sure what I’m asking for. I am so wet it’s embarrassing. I want to tell him this, but I’m not sure how. I want him to touch me, to slide his hand lower, but all of the words I used to use have vanished from my brain. I settle for rocking my hips, pressing myself against his thigh, hoping he gets the message.
He does. Oliver slides a hand down and between my legs, and I hiss at the first touch. He strokes me, slow and gentle, watching my face for reaction. I grab the pillow behind me, grip it tight, try not to squirm too obviously. He teases with the tip of his finger, back and forth, the tiniest pressure, until I make a noise that isn’t quite a word. He pushes in, shallow at first and then deeper, curling his finger, and my whole body arches up off the bed.
“Jesus,” I say. “How did you get better at this?”
He laughs, and then his mouth is moving lower again, kissing my neck, my collarbone, my breasts. His mouth is warm, and the roughness of his stubble makes my nipples go tight and aching. He takes one in his mouth, just the tip, and the other hand cups my other breast. He alternates between soft and hard, between teeth and tongue, and I can feel myself coming apart.
I reach down and push at the waistband of his boxers, and he helps me remove them. With a happy sigh, I wrap my hand around his cock, and his body shudders against mine. He moves his hips, pressing himself into my palm, and I want him so badly it’s ridiculous. I think he’s about to fuck me, but instead he slides down my body, mouth dragging across my stomach, over my hips, and then he’s between my legs.
He blows lightly on me and lowers his head, and I tense in anticipation, but he only presses a soft kiss into the inside of my thigh. He kisses my other thigh and then looks up at me with a teasing glint in his eye. I practically growl in frustration.
“Oliver, if you do not put your mouth on me right this second, I will actually die.”
He laughs and lowers his head again. He licks me, slow and careful, tasting, and then not careful at all. He remembers exactly what I like, and when I reach down and clutch his hair, he groans and works me harder. It is filthy and perfect, and when I come, I do it hard, my hips bucking and my hands tangled in his hair and my mouth open in a cry.
He crawls back up the bed and kisses me, and I can taste myself on his tongue, and it makes me want him again immediately.
“Genny,” he says against my lips, and the way he says my name makes me shiver all over again.
This time I’m the one who moves first. I roll us so I’m on top, knees on either side of his hips, hands pressed to his chest. I can feel his heart hammering under my palms.
“Wait,” he says suddenly, and he sounds so worried that I freeze.
He pulls back and looks at me. “I don’t have—there’s—” He gestures helplessly. “Condom.”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m on birth control. I haven’t been with anyone since—” I don’t finish the sentence. I don’t have to.
He holds my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. “Me neither,” he says, and I believe him.
His hands slide down to my hips, and he gently guides me until I’m sinking down on him, and every part of me lights up. I gasp, and he grabs my hips, and then we’re moving together like we never stopped, like this is what we were always meant to do.
I ride him, slow and careful at first, then faster as I find my rhythm, and he never takes his eyes off me, not once. His hands are everywhere, on my breasts, in my hair, gripping my ass, pulling me down harder onto him, and I can hear myself, little noises I didn’t know I could make, and I don’t care, I don’t care at all.
He says my name over and over, sometimes like a prayer, sometimes like a curse.
“Genny, Jesus, you’re perfect—” His voice breaks, and it undoes me.
I feel the heat building; the pressure coiling tighter and tighter, and I throw my head back and let it take me, and this time I scream his name, and I feel him come inside me at the same time, his arms locked around me like he’ll never let go.
I collapse against his chest, boneless and wrecked. After a few minutes, he lifts his head, kisses my forehead, and rolls to the side, pulling me with him. We lie tangled together, sticky and sweaty and completely unashamed.
He tucks my hair behind my ear and says, “I’ve missed you.”
“Mmmm,” I say and poke his chest. “Well, don’t lose me again then.”
He laughs, wraps me tighter against him. “Never.” It’s a vow.
We drift for a while, not quite asleep, not quite awake, bodies still humming from the aftershocks. At some point, he pulls the covers over us, and I curl in close, my leg hooked over his thigh.
