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“I must admit, I'm surprised you really want to play this game,” I say.
“It's fun.” Olivia tosses over her shoulder as she pulls on a pretty red dress with short sleeves. When she walks, it swirls around her knees. “I never loved dresses as much as I do after two months of nothing but khakis and Hawaiian shirts. I'm so glad the Colonel relented and allowed us to wear what we want unless we're working in our businesses.”
“Keep twirling,” I say as I spin my finger in a circle, encouraging her. “It shows off your spectacular ass. I guess that’s the beauty of being a designer. You can create clothes that accentuate all the gifts you were born with.”
I lift one eyebrow to accentuate my statement, not bothering to hide the leer that tells her I’d be happy to detour to the bed for one more round of sex before we leave our Quonset.
She laughs and tosses her head. A few weeks ago, she would have said something self-deprecating about her body, but she knows better than that now. How could she doubt how beautiful she is when my love for her shines so brightly from my eyes?
“You ready for some fun?” The tone of her voice impliesbedroomfun, although I know that’s not what she’s talking about.
My cock thumps against the placket of my pants. It's funny how words that used to have no emotional valence are now filled with second and third meanings. Just take that last word. Fun. Every other activity I have ever considered to be fun now pales in comparison to the fun my lovely Olivia and I share in bed.
“Absolutely. I’m ready for fun.” I wait until she stops primping in the mirror and looks at me to add. “We could have much more fun if we stayed here, in our Quonset, took off our clothes, and—”
“Stand down, big guy. We're going to the rec room to play charades.”
I scowl.
“And if you're very, very good, we'll share a different type of fun when we get home. In that very bed.”
I stride to her and slip my arms around her waist, taking the opportunity to steal a whiff of the fragrance clinging to her. Not the scent of her flowery shampoo, but the scent of pure Olivia I catch when I inhale deeply.
When I reach around, slip my hand under her hem, and snake one unsheathed claw up her tender flesh from above her knee to—
She makes a clucking sound with her tongue and dances out of my grip.
“Maybe I liked you better when we were playing our waiting game before the Colonel gave us permission to share this Quonset—and so much more,” she mock-scolds.
I catch her in one stride and lift her in my arms to kiss her. It's amazing how my lips and tongue can make her breathless in the span of only a few seconds.
“You miss the waiting game?” I cock an eyebrow. “Olivia, I can tease you all night long. I know so many of your secrets now. If I want, I can have you wet and panting for me all during our game. Your panties will be dripping for me before we return to our big bed.”
“Oh, really, big guy?”
She grips the red fabric at her dress’s hem and slides it up, swishing it side to side as she goes. I may be the one with the tiger DNA, but her smile is feral enough to terrify a prey species.
I swallow, my Adam's apple bobbing as the material slides higher, then chuff when Olivia exposes not the pretty panties I was anticipating, but the tuft of brown hair at the juncture of her thighs.
“My panties aren't going to be dripping, Ty. I’m not wearing any.” She flashes me a knowing smirk, and sashays to the door, the dress whirling at her knees.
Big, tough splicer that I am? I give a plaintive, feline whine and follow behind. It doesn't make me feel any better knowing my friends would call this behavior pussy whipped. I'll never tell.
Olivia
The thought that I'm a bad person flashes through my mind. There must be something terribly wrong with me that the idea I’m not nice doesn’t bother me in the least. In fact, I just give it a nonchalant shrug.
I've discovered many things about myself in the few weeks Ty and I have been together. One is that I'm shameless—witness my currently naked nethers. Another is that I love sex more than I ever dreamed. And another is that I love living with a male who endlessly desires me.
“You're good for my ego,” I tell him on the short walk to the coed lounge.
Although the charades game was my idea, I have excellent delegation skills and we arrive to a room that is already fully set up.
We divide into two groups, letting people decide which team they want to be on. Most of the women who are not part of a couple are on one team, the unattached males are on the other. Those of us in relationships stay in pairs, but divide between the two.
Knowing that none of the males and some of the women have no idea how to play charades, I make my way to the front of the room and act out an example, allowing both sides to guess so they get the hang of it.
I pick a hard one, and although they guess “soup,” immediately and “tomato” shortly after that, no one guesses “creamy.” When the buzzer buzzes and I announce the word “creamy,” then repeat the phrase, “creamy tomato soup,” I make certain to spear Ty with my most smoldering look.
