Chapter 20
We sit on the worn sofa and Olan immediately pats his lap.
“Lie down,” he beckons.
I place my head on his lap, and his hands – assertive, but tender – begin massaging my head and playing with my hair. There’s no television and the quiet welcomes our conversation.
“This has been one of the best days I’ve had in a long time,” I mutter with my eyes shut.
“I love it out here. Having you here only makes it better.”
I take one of his hands, kiss the top of his palm, and gently return it to my head. Lying here, the weight of my head on his lap, I’m supported by Olan in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time. Maybe ever.
“Imagine being able to live here, year-round?” I ponder.
“There’s a small but active full-time community, but I’m not sure about the school.”
“The island has a small school, but it’s part of the mainland district.”
“Interesting, food for thought. I mean, living here would be amazing.”
“Amazing, yes, just, well, not realistic for most,” I say, reminded of the thirty-two dollars currently in my checking account.
We chat and cuddle on the sofa until the fire’s last embers begin to smoke, and it’s finally time to head to the bedroom. Olan takes my hand, pulling me off the couch, my legs leaving small indentations in the soft leather. He tugs me up the stairs, and my heart swells. We stop by Illona’s room, her door open a few inches, and he peeks in without dropping my hand. He winks at me as he shuts her door completely. My stomach flips, and I tighten my fingers around his palm. This man, such a loving father, adores his child. And why that turns me on so much feels like a mystery I can’t quite crack.
“Do you need the bathroom?” Olan asks.
I brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face, freshening up and also reminding myself I’m not dreaming. I change into a plain orange T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. Back in the room, I’m greeted by Olan. He’s only wearing gray sweatpants shorts, the hem struggling against his thick thighs. Can we please thank the universe for giving us gray sweatpants? There should be a holiday celebrating gray sweatpants season. I would gladly fall on my knees and pray to gray sweatpants.
I want to run over and caress his bare chest. To touch every part of him, with my hands and mouth, but he stands, just staring at me, and I want to honor his pace.
“Hello,” he says.
“Hey. Um, if that’s your idea of pajamas, I am so on board,” I say, feeling slightly overdressed.
That chest. Yikes. I’m not typically into muscles, but right now, with them in the room, in front of me, for me, my hands want to live on his warm, firm pecs forever. Olan places his hands on my hips and draws me to him, and we fit like two puzzle pieces coming together as his mouth finds mine. We stand there, hands frozen as our lips dance.
He pulls back just enough to mutter, “Can I?”
His fingers lightly tug at the waist of my pants, and once again, the asking sends me over. I press my mouth to his as my answer, and he pulls them down. Unable to contain or hide how aroused I am, my dick pops up like bread from a toaster and smacks Olan’s leg. A short chuckle escapes from him, and we both laugh without taking our mouths off each other. Standing here, kissing Olan Stone, tasting the sweetness of his skin, the light smell of the ocean mixing with the musty house, his hands on me, all of me, as we make these noises into each other’s mouths, I’m overtaken by the closeness, something more than a friendship, more than dating, more than sex, and so much more than I anticipated.
He starts to lift the bottom of my shirt. He wants it off. But by reflex, my hands rush to stop him.
“What’s wrong?”
He’s never seen me without a shirt. No pants, in darkness, the focus solely on my cock, but not completely naked. The thing is, Olan Stone could be on the cover of a men’s fitness magazine. He may be nerdy and not entirely aware of the level of his hotness, but what will he think about me without any clothes on? I don’t work out. I eat what I want, and the good Lord blessed me with relatively good genes. I’ve never been ashamed of my body, but with him, I suddenly feel painfully average.
“Look at you,” I say, waving a hand over his torso.
“What about me?” He genuinely doesn’t understand.
“You’re. This.” Both hands gesture to his body.
“And you’re adorable. Let me. Please.” His hands tug at the hem of my shirt.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and relent.
Olan lifts my T-shirt off and tosses it to the ground. He runs his hands over my chest, my skin burning under his touch. Pausing to press his thumbs along my clavicle, his fingers finally travel up my neck to my mouth. His right hand strokes my face, and desperate to taste him, I turn, pop his thumb into my mouth, and begin sucking it gently.
“Marvin. You are so fucking hot.”
Not adorable. Hot. I can’t remember the last time someone called me hot. Has anyone ever? The way he’s looking at me, his thumb in my mouth, I might actually consider believing him. And because I know everything we’ve done so far is new for Olan, I ask him, “What do you want?”
“You.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that. But what do you want… to do?”
“Oh.”
He lets a breath out through his nose and dips his head, and I swear, Olan Stone makes that sweet bashful face that alerts me he’s blushing. Heat radiates from his cheeks, and desire grows in my center. I want to move closer and bite his lower lip just hard enough to make him wince.
He snakes a hand around my waist to my back, lowers it, and pats my backside two times.
“May I?”
“Such a gentleman.”
He wants to fuck me. My body shudders, thinking about having him inside me. It’s been, well, since Adam, but one thing I know, there’s a direct correlation between how turned on I am and how amazing it feels. Right now, my dick aches, a predictor of potential bliss. Taking Olan’s hand, I guide him to the chair in the corner of the room. I move my backpack to the floor, right next to the thick wooden leg of the seat. My hands slide between his gray cotton shorts and warm skin and push them to the ground until he steps out of them. His cock, thick and rigid, clearly ready.
I press Olan’s chest, urging him to sit and the contrast between the chair’s creamy corduroy fabric and his onyx skin reveals even more of his beauty. Like a tourist in a new country, I want to pause, grab my phone, and take pictures to capture the moment. Naked and gorgeous. I want to remember him this way. He tilts his head up to me from his seated position and smiles. The biggest, widest smile, with so many teeth shining at me, and my body relaxes in a way I can’t remember ever happening. I’m calm, tranquil, ready.
Unzipping the outer pocket of my backpack, I grab a small bottle of lube and a condom I smartly packed and present them to him for inspection.
“Oh, were you expecting something to happen?” he asks.
“My brief two-week stint at seven as a Boy Scout taught me always be prepared. Wait, also, men in uniforms are hot.”
He tilts his head back, opens his mouth, and lets out a laugh. Watching his Adam’s apple ascend and descend his throat turns my insides to melting wax, and I take it as an invitation to kiss him there. Apparently, my mouth on Olan’s neck works magic because he trembles at the contact.
“Ready?” I mutter into his ear.
“Fuck, yes,” he moans. “Your ass, so fucking hot.”
His hands cup my cheeks and playing with my ass appears to lull him to euphoria. This Olan, the one with no clothes on, the one who talks dirty, the one who becomes unleashed, I wonder if anyone else has ever seen this version of him. Was he like this with his ex-wife? Did she get to witness him truly letting go? There’s sadness in thinking Olan waited his entire life to feel this, but a selfish part of me delights in the possibility I’m the first to witness him this way. I have so many questions for him, but not now. Now it’s us, here, together, close.
Kneeling before him, I open the condom and gently roll it down over his shaft. He shivers a little under my touch, and I bend over to kiss his inner thigh, making him tremble. I take the small bottle of lube and rub some of the slickness between my palms, warming it up so as not to shock him with the cold. But even so, when I finally wrap my hands around his cock, his chest and shoulders rise with the new sensation. I lean forward, inches from his face and carefully say, “Breathe.”
Once a generous amount of lube coats my hole, I stand and straddle him. My feet planted on the hardwood floor, I brace myself, hands on his chest, and carefully ease myself down. Olan wraps his hands around my neck, pulling my face toward him.
“Easy, we’re gonna take this slow,” I whisper.
He nods. His eyes wide open, so eager and curious about what awaits. I reach around to guide his cock. Gingerly, I sit, only taking the head at first. An explosion of pain and pleasure erupts as stars overtake my field of vision. Deep breaths and I stand.
“Give me a second,” I say.
“Take all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere.”
I chuckle and Olan pulls me down for a kiss, his mouth warm and wet. Our tongues mingle and I lower myself again, pausing at the same point where I previously stopped. Once I’ve completely welcomed him inside, I pause again, allowing my body to remember how to do this. Breathe, relax, and wait. Having my feet resting on the floor allows me to take Olan in at my own pace. Like tying shoes, something as a kindergarten teacher I’m highly skilled at, muscle memory takes over. Warm, sweet pleasure flows from every nerve in my body as Olan slowly begins to thrust to match my motion. The pleasure makes me mindless, and I reach down to feel his cock sliding in and out of me. He growls at my touch, and I move my hand down to cup his balls and massage them gently.
“Oh, oh damn,” he moans.
“Fuck. Your dick feels so good.”
Having Olan inside me, my brain goes round and round. Levitating from the pleasure, my heart pounding, I don’t want to come down from this high. My head falls forward, my hair following suit. Olan leans in to roll his head back and forth in my curtain of curls, our two frizzy heads of hair meshing together. With so much happening, sensation, and focus, Olan’s eyes roll back a little, and I press my lips to his forehead.
“Kissing. Please,” he pleads, and I weave down to his lips.
I never thought the kissing, our lips and tongues moving from teeth to cheeks to ears to necks and back again the entire time was something anyone did, certainly not me, and it heightens every nerve and sensation. Moving my body a little faster, Olan responds, thrusting his hips eagerly. My own cock, hard and wet with precum, slaps against my stomach as he moves his hands to my waist, guiding my motion to match his thrusts. As we continue, it’s clear Olan’s cock actually becomes harder, and the sensation of him inside me blows me open. My heart pounds, this man literally rocking my world, and I cradle his face in my hands while my tongue plays in that tiny gap between his teeth.
Olan takes my hands and returns them to their home on his chest, and I know we’re hitting a new level. He’s using his body to ask for what he wants. I lick both my thumbs and start massaging his nipples, and he starts to move faster.
“God, you’re starving for it,” he says.
“Only for you.”
Olan unravels me and I want to remember this feeling, being connected, literally as close as we can be. His hand comes up to my head and he grabs my hair, a little tighter than last time, and damn why does that turn me on? I lean forward and place my mouth on his chin, sucking gently as he begins to buck faster.
“You feel so fucking fantastic,” I spill into his mouth.
“You’re blowing my mind.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and crash my mouth on his. There’s sweat on the brow of his lip, creating a sweet saltiness to our kiss I devour. I’ve come unhinged. My entire body shifts, and I want him closer, deeper. Carefully lifting my legs off the floor, I rest them on the soft chair on either side of him. In this new position, he’s able to pound me even deeper.
“Right there. All of you. Fuck me. Harder.”
With a tinge of surprise in his eyes, Olan draws me to him. There’s such emotion on his face, I’m kvelling and why do I keep wanting to bite him? I swear I’m not a vampire. He reaches around and places his fingers at the exact spot where he’s entering me, delighting in the literal location of our connection. His eyes flash electric and he rocks with more intensity, and damn, the pleasure makes my eyes roll back for a moment. His breath quickens, and I move my lips to his, our tongues another way to nestle inside each other.
“I’m close.” He fumbles into my mouth.
“Come for me. Fuck me. Harder. Please.”
My hips hurry, trying to make this as pleasurable as possible for him. I bite his lower lip, slightly harder this time, and return my hands to his chest, flicking and pinching his nipples. Olan makes a sound that starts soft and low but builds and finally comes out as “Fuuuuuuck.”
I can feel his orgasm inside me, pulsing, throbbing, his face contorted in ecstasy, gasping for oxygen. Slowly, his breathing quiets, and we come to a momentary pause.
“You okay?” I ask.
“You wrecked me. But, I’m perfect. What about you?”
“Amazing. That was, you are, amazing,” I pant.
“No, I meant, what about…” Olan gently grabs my unyielding erection.
“Oh, well, let’s see.” I stand slowly and move to the bed.
“If you give me some time, I could be ready to go again,” he offers from the chair.
“Not necessary. Come.” I summon him with a hand.
Lying on my back, I take his hand and pull him down next to me.
“If you just cuddle next to me, maybe kiss me a little, I can get myself off.”
“Okay,” and he begins kissing my neck. He moves his lips up to my ear and a jolt vibrates through me. My dick throbs, becoming even harder in my palm.
“How about this,” he murmurs in my ear, his steamy breath tickling the inside.
Olan reaches down and gently begins to finger me, slowly at first, until he realizes I’m more than open and willing. I shift my hips and then legs up, allowing him easier access. As his finger moves inside me, I stammer, “Another, please.”
“Now, who’s the gentleman?”
With my invitation, Olan adds a second, and now between his mouth and hand, frissons of pleasure overtake me. I begin to tremble as the crawling build of my climax approaches.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Don’t stop,” I cry.
Olan moves his mouth to my chest and begins to kiss and nibble, sending my eyes rolling back in complete euphoria. I allow myself the release, shooting all over my stomach and chest, a few rogue drops landing on his shoulder. He props himself up, covered in sweat, skin glistening, and I want to lick him up and down.
“Come here,” I say, too breathless to move.
“I want to look at you like this,” he says.
“Like what?”
“So fucking perfect.”
Embarrassed, I cover my eyes with my left arm. Olan returns to my side, resting his head in the crook of my neck. I turn and bury my face in his hair, the smell of sweat and coconut mixing on his brow. Feeling euphoric and slightly hungry, I place my lips on his hair and mouth at it a little.
“That was… incredible. You are incredible,” he says.
“Now you’ve wrecked me.”
I gnaw at his hair like cotton candy.
“Marvin, what are you doing?”
“I’m trying to eat your hair,” I mumble.
“You are absurd. Fucking absurd.”
I shower and return to Olan lying on the bed, eyes closed, covers folded over, waiting for me. I slide in with my back to him, trying not to disturb him, but as soon as my body touches the sheets, his arms fly up and move to pull me close, tangling with mine. I can’t tell where his arms begin and mine end, and the smell of his sweat, slightly sweet, and the clean linens intoxicates me.
He pushes his head forward, his lips brushing my ear, and whispers, “Good night, Marvin.”
I crane my neck and turn just enough to kiss him – soft, slow, sweet – and reply, “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Thank you for coming. Thank you for everything.”
Collected in Olan’s arms, the entire back of my body pressed into the entire front of his, being the little spoon makes my head buzz. I lie there taking it all in, and soon his breathing gets heavy, and there’s a low rumble from his mouth. He’s fallen asleep. I close my eyes and inhale his smell, his warmth, his energy. There’s no denying the intense heat between us, but perhaps, more importantly, our connection. Opening my eyes, I peek at his silhouette in the dark one more time and drift off to the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years.