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She snakes a hand between her legs and rubs circles on her pussy. I’m transfixed as I watch the movement of her hips and hand. “That’s hot.” My hand goes around my cock and I stroke it as I watch Olivia pleasuring herself.
Her eyes are clouded in a sexual haze and she doesn’t seem to be focusing on anything in particular. Her fingers become soaked in her body fluids. My dick is so hard, it’s painful and after a moment, I have to have her. I move her hand away and replace it with my dick, dragging it along her swollen clit. Her sticky fluids coat my dick.
“I want you,” Olivia moans and I’m only too happy to oblige.
I penetrate her in one fast, deep thrust, and for a couple of seconds, her eyes widen as if in disbelief.
“Oh God,” she cries over and over again.
She’s deliciously tight and the nerve cells in my dick are going crazy. My orgasm draws near, despite my best efforts to ignore it. The tempo of Olivia’s moans changes and I know that she’s close too. I shift my weight to one hand and use the other to tease her clit. When I pinch it, she climaxes and her body becomes a shivering mess. I pump in and out while staring at her. So fucking beautiful. My balls tighten and I grit my teeth at the oncoming sensation as I come. I keep pumping until there’s nothing left to give. I collapse on top of Olivia and then roll to the side. She turns and drapes her hand around my waist and I hold her close to me. The tension that had knotted up by body is gone and I feel as if I’ve been on a month-long vacation.
“Why didn’t you say anything in the office?” Olivia asks, turning to look into my eyes.
“I was determined to ride it out. I was sure that it would come to an end. You can’t be horny forever, can you?” I stroke her hair as she laughs. “Did you miss me?” I ask.
“You have no clue,” Olivia says. “I came so close to demanding that you kiss me.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask.
“Pride and fear of rejection.”
She strokes my chest, sending heat all over my body. Her hand moves lower and my belly lets out a rumbling noise. “Someone is hungry,” she says with a laugh then pushes herself to a sitting position.
“Let me clean up then make some sandwiches. I have left over chicken from last night.”
“Or I can order a Mexican dinner for us,” I tell her.
She licks her lips. “Yes, please. Sounds yummy.” She pads to the bathroom. “Choose for me. I love surprises.”
I pick up my phone and place a call to my go-to restaurant for takeaway Mexican food. I order more food than two people can possibly finish and Olivia will have leftover food for the next day.
She comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. I swing my legs to the floor and when she gets close to me, I tug at the towel. “You are perfectly made,” I tell her as I run my hands all over her body. Her skin is soft and firm in all the right places.
“Thank you,” she says and then steps out of my reach. “I need fuel for the rest of the night.”
“Mmm…is that an invitation to spend the night?” I tease.
She laughs and disappears behind the closet door. “Maybe. I could get used to waking up with wood pressing me from behind.”
I laugh. “Do I do that a lot?”
“Every time we sleep together,” she says. When she emerges, she’s wearing a long t-shirt that comes down to her knees. I take that as my cue to freshen up and I head to the bathroom. The doorbell rings when I’m in the bathroom and when I join Olivia in the living room, the food occupies the whole coffee table.
“What is it with you and food?” Olivia asks with amusement in her voice. “You always order more than we can possibly finish.”
“You’ll thank me for the leftovers tomorrow,” I tell her.
We dig in and feed each other. When sauce drips down Olivia’s mouth, I lean forward to lick it off.
“This is wild,” she says staring at me. “We’re eating messily but it’s still sexy. Who would have thought?”
I laugh without a care in the world apart from how soon I can take Olivia back to bed. When we’re done eating, I help her pack the rest of the food and store it in the fridge. I pull out a bottle of wine from the fridge and she hands me a wine opener.
“Have you written Ivy’s story?” I ask her as we sit at the kitchen table sipping wine.
Her eyes twinkle. “I’ve done the first draft and I like it, if I do say so myself. Don’t worry, I’ve used pseudonyms and I haven’t associated it with your clinic,” she says.
“I appreciate that,” I tell her. “We’ve all worked so hard to get the clinic to where it is now. I’d hate it to be maligned in any way.”
