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I breathe hard.
The physicality of being intimate with Oscar is mind-blowing: his muscled body, his strength and control. His hand that grips my jaw as he kisses me—that alone just lights me on fire.
But it’d be nothing without his all-consuming gaze that reads my reactions, my muscle spasms, that dives deeper and deeper, as though wanting to hold onto my core. My essence while we ride a wave together.
I cup his jaw, my hand rising up to his hair, and my thumb traces the scar above his brow. Small but not as faint as the others.
His nose flares in emotion. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” Nerves prick me, and I inhale, exhale. He gently eases out the plug, and my cock twitches, wishing for that fullness again. “Should I…?” I’m about to turn around.
“No.” Oscar catches my knee. “Stay there.” He positions a pillow under my lower back.
I lean back and hold onto his ass again. Our chests and erections brush lightly while he leans down to kiss me. I edge his lips further open, tongues wrestling, and he grunts out an aroused noise as he pulls away to grab a condom.
He tears the packet, sheathes himself, then lubes his length.
I arch up. My body more impatient than my mind.
Oscar rubs my thigh. “If I’m hurting you, you tell me to stop.”
I nod, anticipation wound up.
He grips himself and at the same time, crushes his mouth to mine in a levitating kiss. I feel him guide his veined cock into me. Pain pinches at first, and my legs shift.
He stretches one higher, kisses deeper. I’m the recipient of pure, raw pleasure. It takes me aback. How much he’s giving me. How little I’m actually worried about his need.
Oscar pushes in further—my breath catches.
He waits.
“Fuck, fuck.” I grip his ass. “Go deeper, Os.”
He eases in more.
Pain is gone. He’s bigger than the plug, but lube helps with the friction. Making the experience a blistering, head-spinning one. He thrusts.
He’s thrusting.
Jesus holy…
His dominant hand strokes pleasure from my hardness between our chests, and he pumps and pumps. Our eyes stay locked when we’re not sharing primal kisses.
I will let him fuck me again.
He can tomorrow, even.
And the next day.
He works his hips. “Highland,” he groans against my mouth. We’re heavy grunts, sweat, and earnestness—feelings that carry us further and further.
The friction inside me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. He reaches my prostate, and I gasp on a noise I’ve never even made before now. “Os, Os.”
Pleasure mounts all around me, and I close my eyes to stop myself from saying his full name. Hand to the back of his head, I tangle my fingers in his curls, then drop them back to his ass.
The pace kills my senses as I feel him rock into me.
His ass flexes against my palms. I squeeze his ass cheeks, and a husky, pleasured noise rumbles out of him.
I slap his ass.
He grins back at me while thrusting.
I smile until a groan tears out of me. “Fuck,” I grit down. That feels amazing. Sweat builds on us, and he quickens and deepens his pace.
Reaching the spot again.
And again.
Holy—
And I come so hard, I almost black-out.
“Fucking ah,” Oscar groans, thrusts one more time, two more times as he ekes out a climax, and his hand is still wrapped around me.
I breathe too hard and glance down at our chests. Cum—my cum—is slick between our abs. My lips begin to lift.
Oscar laughs out a heavy pant. “God, that was seriously A+++.”
“I’d give you another plus.” I’m still scrounging for oxygen.
“Don’t. Let me aspire to something,” Oscar grins, and gently, he pulls out and falls back next to me. I stretch my legs, our ankles hooking.
We hold each other a little and talk about it.
How much we enjoyed that, and the truth is, I’m starting to understand why I’m so caught up in the moment with Oscar. Why I come too easily when I never did in the past.
It’s not that he has a “perfect touch”—though it feels like it—I’m just used to concentrating on someone else’s pleasure in bed. To feed their orgasm. To help them reach that place.
Having sex with Oscar, I feel…selfish.
My tongue weighs heavy when I consider bringing up my feelings. I’d much rather not ruin the moment. Sex on the floor in front of a fire in Greenland.
With Oscar Oliveira.
I couldn’t have written the script any better.
Before we sleep, Oscar tells me, “Set your alarm for 5 a.m.; we’re getting our asses up early.”
“What for?”
“You’ll see.”
I almost mention that Charlie is rubbing off on him with the lack of details, but exhaustion takes hold, and I fall asleep.
26
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
“Best idea you’ve ever had,” Jack says in an aching sigh of relief.
He lowers across from me into the steaming cedar hot tub. We’re out on the side-deck. Privacy walls and an overhead trellis block any potential onlookers, but we still have the same views of the iceberg-dotted sea out front.
