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My hand lies flat on his tight abdomen, and I can’t help grinning every time he tenses and smirks with every twitch or stroke of my fingers. We lie like that for maybe five minutes before Oliver’s hand curls around my shoulder, thumb stroking a small patch of skin on my upper arm through my sweatshirt.
“Hey, Tyler, you still a night owl?”
“Uh-huh.” I glance up at him and his eyes are wide open, staring out into the dark. “You?”
“Yup.”
“Are you tired?” Even as I ask the question, his smile gives him away before he says a word.
“Nah.” He tilts his head back against the lounger. “You?”
“Nope.” Under the comforter and blankets, my fingers glide over the soft fabric of his pullover, and his stomach muscles bunch and flex at my roaming touch. “Whatever are we going to do to pass the time?”
“We could talk…” He says it in such a way that it sounds like the last thing he wants to do. “Or I could…” The hand not wrapped around my shoulders slides under the blankets, grazing my arm, then skimming over my middle, down, down to the edge of my sweatshirt where it comes to rest.
“Could what?” Voice a breathy whisper, I quiver as his fingers curl around the hem. The soft pads of his fingertips slip under and onto the hot, bare flesh of my stomach.
“Oh, you know.” Now he’s staring down at me, shifted slightly so that he towers above me. “Go down on you. Put my dirty mouth on your pretty pussy.”
A thrilling chill dances along my spine as the pads of Oliver’s calloused fingertips trail soft, sensual tendrils along the waistband of my leggings. One of his muscular thighs presses into my own, and now, almost every inch of his strong, taut side touches mine.
I forget how to breathe. He wants his mouth on me and I want it too. So desperately that the anticipation of it renders me speechless.
Hovering above me, he studies me intently. His warm, minty breath feathers across my cheek.
“Wren, I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.” The back of his free hand caresses my neck, expression serious—maybe even apprehensive. “The last thing I want is for you to think this, us, is only about sex. It isn’t.”
“Uh, what? No. I don’t think that.” I wrap a hand around his wrist to keep him close, troubled that he might pull back like his words suggest.
I lean my head toward his until our lips are a mere blink apart and pause.
Breathe, Wren, breathe.
“I want nothing more than for you to taste me.” My tongue darts out to flick at his upper lip. “To make me come.”
His dark lashes fall closed, and his head tips forward until our foreheads are touching. “Damn, Tyler, your mouth tastes so sweet.”
A giggle escapes my lips, and emboldened by how easily I have him hanging on my every word, my touch, my fingers unfurl from his wrist. I skate my hand down his tight stomach to the apex of his thighs to grope his bulge.
He is rock-hard. Oliver groans and curses under his breath, while I grip his remarkable length through his sweats.
“Fuck,” he grinds out as his hand dares to journey beneath my waistband, fingers dipping into my panties.
With the slightest brush of his fingers across my folds, I ignite. Hot, tingling sensations sweep across my stomach, growing hotter and gathering speed straight to my core.
“Oliver, please…your…mouth.” Mine latches onto his neck for a quick suck.
Then, lightning fast, Oliver flips back the covers, hands grasping the sides of the waistband of my leggings, and he pulls them off.
Chapter4
Wren
The chilly night air slaps at my exposed skin and goose bumps erupt on my thighs, yet I’m not bothered with the cold. Oliver’s face is between my thighs, one hand yanking my panties to my ankles, another traversing the length of my leg.
And then it’s game on. Just a warm, wet swipe of his tongue against my clit reduces me to a greedy, single-minded nymph.
“Jesus. Twist,” I cry out, fingers curling into Oliver’s hair as my head tumbles back onto the lounger.
