Chapter 17 #3
“Do you want…” He trails off, voice disappearing into my hair as he turns his face against me. His own fingers, resting in a position mirroring mine, slip into my crack.
“Yes.” I answer the silent question before he can get the rest out. I’ve been waiting for him to ask, particularly on the nights when his mouth was on me and his fingers exploring. I hadn’t told him to stop then and liked how it felt. “I want to,” I add, in case a simple yes doesn’t suffice.
“Are you sure?” he asks, leaning back enough for me to see his face. “We don’t have to.”
“Yes,” I repeat, stroking up his sides again. The skin around his ribs is the softest thing I’ve ever touched.
“We can do it however you’re comfortable, however you want.” Oliver’s voice is soft and hypnotic in the dark room, aquamarine eyes framed by a fringe of pale lashes.
“You don’t bottom,” I remind him, lifting one hand to stroke my knuckles down his cheek. Despite the thrumming of my pulse, I’m not anxious or stressed. I’m not worried about stuttering in front of him, and with every word that comes out smoothly, I sink further into that comfort.
“I can, though.” I shake my head. No, he can’t. Not if he doesn’t enjoy it. After a second, he asks softly, “Condoms?”
I have some in the bathroom, recently purchased and the box as yet unopened.
Teasing the strap of his garter, I hook my finger through and run my knuckle along his skin.
The condoms had seemed like a good idea at the time and the type of preparation I could handle alone.
Now, I’m wondering why I bothered. We’ve both had our testing done and come back clean. We’re both in this together.
“Do we need them?” I ask. Oliver contemplates my face, looking for all the messages he’s able to read right off my skin. I trust you, and I want to do this, I add on silently, knowing he’ll hear me anyway.
“We don’t need them,” he agrees, kissing me a little harder and pushing against me. I clutch him to me, careful not to damage the red slips of fabric covering him, but eager for where this is going. When he turns me, I walk backward with no further prompting.
He follows me down when I reach the bed, kissing my neck and along the center of my chest. Tilting my face, I look down at him—his hair in loose disarray, legs spread and knees planted, straddling mine.
When he lifts up enough for me to get a clear view of red mesh cupping his dick and fine crimson straps resting across his hips like a present waiting to be unwrapped, arousal hits me in a wave of dizziness.
“Like this?” he asks, hand on my thigh and perilously close to my throbbing cock. I think I could come merely from looking at him. When I don’t answer, he leans down to kiss my stomach before asking again. “On your back?”
I nod. He sits up, weight resting on my legs, body framed by the light from the lamp, and a coy smile on his lips. He strokes fingers up my hip and murmurs, “Good.”
I reach down with the intention of relieving some of the pressure that has suddenly built in my groin, but Oliver catches my hand and gently pushes it to the side, bending over me once more and kissing sweetly across my torso.
“Not yet,” he admonishes, voice low and husky, breathed against my skin. “Not yet.”
He’s achingly gentle, as though I’m something he needs to treat with care.
Somehow, the light touches and featherlight kisses activate every nerve in my body.
I close my eyes and regret it when I feel his mouth between my legs, jolting at the surprise and the burst of pleasure that zips up my spine like a lightning bolt.
“Lift up for me,” Oliver murmurs, making a noise like a purr when I dig my heels into the bed and comply. I feel every beat of my heart in my dick, pulse pounding, when he slips a pillow under my lower back and whispers a few good boys into the sensitive crease of my groin.
“O-O-Oli,” I warn, wondering how I could already be so close to coming.
“You won’t come,” he tells me, hands slipping underneath my legs. “Not until I say you can. You’re going to be good for me.”
A sensation like electrical currents underneath my skin shivers through me.
Understanding what I’m meant to do, I bring my legs back with his urging.
This time, it’s safe to close my eyes when he lowers his head, already knowing where he’s going.
It’s hard to lie still when he licks across my hole, and impossible when he settles in and begins working me open in earnest. When my hips start to roll, unable to take so much sensation and have no place to put it, Oliver flattens his hands to my pelvis and holds me still.
I don’t recall how or when he got his hands on the lube, but when I hear the cap click, I look down at him.
The angle provides little more than flashes of red straps on pale skin, long fingers, muscled shoulders, and a glint of blue when Oliver looks up at me.
I slide my fingers through his hair and relax.
He’s done this before. I know how to breathe, bear down, and relax.
I know how to sink into that blissful state of being told what to do and knowing the person giving the orders has my best interest in mind.
It feels like a long time before Oliver is satisfied, slipping his fingers out of me and murmuring soft praises against my heated skin.
This is the first time where he’s pulled back and told me to stop when I was about to come, the first time he’s walked me to the edge of release and away again, back and away, back and away again, dancing along a thin ribbon of control.
I haven’t done anything more than lie here, and yet I’m covered in a slight sheen of sweat, my foot is cramping from how my toes are curled, and I can’t seem to manage more than broken noises of pleasure.
Oliver sits up, still kneeling between my legs, and gently directs me to relax, stroking his hands up my quivering thighs.
He’s giving me a minute to cool down, but it’s futile.
If anything, I feel closer to coming now that I can see the flush of color on his beautiful face, the garter and the moisture bleeding through the red fabric covering his dick, proof of how turned on he is by what he was doing to me, even as he remained untouched.
Looking at the thin straps around his thighs and waist, I try to ignore the aching throb in my cock in favor of figuring out how to see Oliver’s without him fully undressing.
Knuckles sliding teasingly along the crease of my groin, making my hips twitch, Oliver sees me looking and understands, the way he always does.
“I can leave parts of it on, if you’d like,” he offers, voice silky and hushed. I smile at him, and he leans over to plant a hand near my shoulder, bending low to kiss me.
I feel slightly more in control when he pushes my legs back once more, half the lingerie discarded onto the floor, but quickly realize that it’s not going to last. When he slips inside, it feels different than when he touches me with his fingers—a bigger sort of pressure and an awareness of my body that I couldn’t tap into before.
The straps around his hips catch on my palms as he rocks slowly forward, praises whispered breathily in my ear, a strong body warm and heavy above mine.
He’s barely inside me, thrusting so slowly I can feel the drag of him over every single nerve, before release burns hot in my abdomen once more, spiky slivers of pleasure shooting through my limbs as I come.
Oliver stutters to a halt, mouth hot on mine and against my neck and pressed to my hair as he talks.
I’m floating boneless on a wave of good boy and you’re so perfect for me when I realize he’s not moving and I’m the only one who’s finished.
Reaching down, I urge him back into motion, fingers seeking purchase on his ass and the tops of his thighs.
He groans as I pull him flush against me, burying his face into my neck as he rolls his hips.
He feels so good like this—skin hot against mine, and the constant, full ache of pressure inside me. I curl my arms around him and turn my face into his hair, holding on through the overstimulation and the ache in my pelvis as my dick tries to get hard again.
It doesn’t take him long to finish, gasping and pressing his groin hard against the backs of my legs as he comes deep inside me.
I groan, turning my face to the side and pressing my lips to his face until his mouth meets mine.
I want to pull him down on top of me—feel the full weight of him pressing me into the mattress, chest against mine and body cradled between my legs.
But after only enough time to catch his breath, Oliver moves carefully away.
He doesn’t give me time to complain, though, just pulls out slowly and removes the pillow before crawling back into the circle of my arms and settling down.
He laughs softly when he encounters the cum already drying on my chest and stomach, but doesn’t pull away, wiggling his hips as he tries to settle into a comfortable position.
I tip my chin so I can feel the tickle of his hair on my lips and smell lavender over the sweat and sex.
Distantly, I know we’ll have to get up and clean off—change the sheets—but more immediately, all I can care about is Oliver and the ache in my groin and the heavy, satiated weight of my own body.
I stroke a palm down the center of Oliver’s back.
This is what I love most about having sex with him.
The pleasure is nice, but the closeness and absolute trust is the real intimacy.
Tucking his hair behind his ear, I slide my fingertips across his cheek to his mouth, tracing his lips with my thumb. He laughs, a soft puff of warm air against the pad of my finger.
“Even I don’t have anything to say,” he jokes, correctly understanding what I’d meant with the gesture. After a moment, though, he adds, “Okay?”
“O-o-o-okay,” I agree, squeezing the arm I’ve got wrapped across his back and closing my eyes. Perhaps we’ll nap first and clean up later.