Chapter 7
SEVEN
brYAN
“Is this okay?” he’d asked right back. This unassuming man in pink pajamas, with the enticing bulge.
My only reply was to place my hand over his and slowly guide the zipper down.
Once we’d fought it open, he ran his hands up my stomach, over the T-shirt he’d lent me.
The tee was too big, and I wondered again to whom it might belong.
Did Oliver have a boyfriend or husband stuck somewhere because of the snow?
I knew lots of people in open relationships.
They weren’t my thing, but why should I care if this man was attached? We were just having a fling, right?
Something in my gut swooped. It was a feeling I had only ever had when watching or reading something romantic. I’d had my fair share of hookups, and none of them had ever involved a swoop; this tug to my heart that screamed this, this is important. He is important.
His hands landed on my shoulders, and he drew the hoodie down. As soon as he cast it aside, I pulled the T-shirt off. I was about to toss it away, when I think we both realized our proximity to the fire at the same time. “Careful,” he cautioned as I balled it up and sent it through the archway.
I went to reach for the buttons on Oliver’s pajama top, but our hands clashed. I pulled back, but Oliver didn’t. He’d noticed my tattoo, one long stem of sea lavender that ran down my chest, almost, but not quite, under my arm. The bloom was visible, but the stem ran to my hip.
Oliver’s fingers brushed against it and traveled down. “I’ve always loved sea lavender,” he said.
Not that it was time to be thinking about work—as a matter of fact, I was in the middle of a really great distraction from all of my frustrations—but the next sentence came out anyway.
“I can’t use it in my designs. Too far from the coast.”
Two fingers had just started to tuck into the waist of my borrowed sweats. He paused, looking up from the tattoo to catch my gaze.
“Design?”
“Landscape. I’m a landscape architect.”
“Oh. It’s beautiful. I think we had some out back before I …”
He trailed off, but I responded, “You did.”
I focused on his buttons then, hoping he would go back to getting into my pants. His hand traveled up instead of down, teasing the sensitive skin under my arm. It sent a chill through me that rivaled the swooping feeling.
I dislodged his last button, mimicking his move of running my hands up his chest to slip his shirt off.
It landed on the floor at our feet. We stood for a beat, and then Oliver’s hand found my face, the other grasping my hip as he kicked his whimsical slippers from his feet, using me for balance as he shoved them behind us.
Part of me wanted to jump him, or have him pounce on me again, in a frenzy of touch, but instead, I held out my hands. As his moved to meet mine, I lowered myself to the blankets and he followed.
“Lie down,” I encouraged, tugging at his hands as I sat in the center of the blanket. He didn’t let go as he did so, and I went forward with him, my upper half landing on top of him.
I reached over for the pillow, dragging it and lifting his head.
He was so beautiful, his brown hair splayed out, the gold in his eyes sparkling in the firelight, a look of amazement mixed with a subtle bit of insecurity, maybe, like he was surprised to find himself sprawled out on his living room floor with a stranger looking down at him.
Or maybe I was projecting because I was pretty surprised myself.
I locked my arms above him, and we looked at each other until a smile broke out on his face, and I had to kiss it away.
Like when he’d jumped me, he asked for more immediately.
No, he took more, wrapping his arms around me until mine gave out, and my weight was on him.
I tucked an arm under his neck and rolled us until we were both on our sides.
Our lips were in concert, both understanding that we in no way wanted to separate.
We pulled in tightly, one of my legs slipping between his, one of his swinging over mine.
My cock ached where it pointed up and pressed between us, a cool sensation letting me know it had forced its way out of the worn waistband of the sweatpants. I think Oliver felt it too. He pulled back and looked between us.
Then he took the arm I had plastered to his back and lifted it up and over my head, running first his fingers, then his lips, up and down my tattoo.
He reached my armpit and even kissed me there.
I thought about the long day I’d had. I’d not washed up before bed, but Oliver didn’t seem to mind as he inhaled before finding his way back down until his lips met my waistband.
He guided me to my back. I watched as he kissed along the waistband until he met my leaking intrusion. He kissed that, too, not quite taking it in, though he took a taste. The noises we made were shockingly similar, mine just a little lower pitched.
He sat up. “May I?” he asked, thumbing the waistband.
I wanted to scream yes and hurry, but instead, I grasped his arms and lay him on his side, placing his hands back where they’d been before grabbing for his pants myself.
We started to tug at each other but realized it would be much easier if we took over for ourselves.
Hurriedly, we worked to kick off our own pants, our bodies in a rush to reunite.
I got my first glimpse of his cock, looking painfully purple as it exploded from his pajamas.
The sight of it, no, the sight of him, made my own dick jump and leak, and I let out a hiss that caught his attention as he kicked at his pant legs.
“Careful,” we both said, not exactly simultaneously. I sat up, first pulling his pants off and then mine, losing the pink socks last.
I was locked above him again, lower down on his body.
I let one hand brush his ankle, gently encouraging him to spread his legs.
My lips found the bridge of his foot and worked their way up.
His eyes were locked on mine, but as my lips found his inner thigh, he sighed and leaned back.
I kissed the dip where his leg met his torso and worked my way up his stomach, his chest, his pulsing neck, behind his ear, causing him to hiss and turn, seeking my lips until we were finally where I’d imagined us, entangled in each other from my fingers in his hair, to his arms tight around my waist, our legs intertwined, our cocks sparring with each other as the fire popped and crackled at my back, and the wind raged outside.
I thrust into him, and he let out the most delicious yelp.
It was a cousin of the noise he’d produced when he’d opened the door for me but without an ounce of shock or fear.
It was pure desire, and I understood it immediately, pulling back just enough to find his cock and squeeze, a mixture of pre-cum and sweat easing the way.
He leaned back. My lips tried to chase him instinctively and hungrily while he made another sound that I hoped to remember for the rest of my life. Had I ever made someone so crazy just with kisses and my hand?
His lips returned to mine, and it was my turn to let out a sound as if I were a parched man finally finding water. We were moving as one even as we thrust and gyrated and rolled around.
“Touch me,” I begged, and one of his hands immediately found my cock.
We clung to each other. When I started to feel overwhelmed, it was like he was right there with me, and we pulled apart enough to focus on finishing each other off.
Straining, I kept my other arm underneath him, keeping him close.
There was this wonderful rhythmic huffing sound, layered with the wind and the snap of the fire. It was him, but then it was me, too, and then all sight and sound went fuzzy except for the rise and fall of his chest, which I still sensed even as everything else faded away to pure pleasure.
The heat of the fire and the heartbeat of the man plastered to me brought me back.
He was in my arms, and I held him still, one arm firmly around his back, the other loosely holding him where his member had relaxed enough to rest on his thigh.
His upper body leaned into me, his head on my chest. When I gently let him go, another hiss was my reward.
I had the oddest sensation of warmth, from him and from the fire, but also a chill where my sweat-slicked body was exposed. I tried to reach for the blanket on the chair, but it was difficult, with the wonderful weight on me.
Much as I hated to do it, I lifted up, whispering into his hair, “Don’t move.”
I extricated myself, and he sat up. I glared at him for a second but coupled it with a smile. “You didn’t listen,” I teased. I curved around the chairs, collecting my T-shirt and the blanket I brought from upstairs as I returned.
“Please,” I implored as I wiped myself off. He listened and lay back, his stomach muscles tightening as he did so. I wiped the evidence of our tryst off him with the same shirt I’d used on myself.
I retook my place, flicking the blanket over us and encouraging him to return to my side.
“Is this okay?” I asked.