38. Oliver #2
Her eyes are shining as she looks up at me. There’s no hiding my erection now, and her leg rubs against it teasingly, sending a zinging electricity through my entire body.
My hand slides under her shirt and over her body as she shivers in my arms, and I roll on top of her, keeping my weight light so I don’t crush her.
“We don’t have to do anything, you know,” I say as she looks me over, her pupils dark with lust.
“I want to,” she whispers. “As long as you do.”
I chuckle. “There’s never any question of that,” I say, rocking my hips against her.
I bend down, kissing along her neck as her hands come up to rub my back. I tense as her fingers run over the ridges of the scars under the fabric, but she doesn’t say anything.
I throw the covers back, too hot suddenly, as I tug the shirt over her head and throw it to the side. She’s lying beneath me against the gray of my bed sheets, and I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.
“What do you want?” I ask, the snow sending circular shadows falling across her skin.
“You,” she says simply, and the intimacy of that simple word undoes me completely.
Trying to regain control of myself, I grip her wrists, pushing them roughly over her head as she gasps, arching into me.
“I’m going to tie your wrists to my headboard,” I say as her legs widen. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
Reaching toward the chair beside my bed, I pull the tie I was wearing from the neatly folded pile of clothes.
Pulling it toward me, I run it over the bed and up between her breasts. She’s breathing heavily now, her arms above her head, eyes following the tie in fascination.
I tie one wrist to the headboard, then the other. She tests the bonds and moans when she realizes there’s hardly any give in them.
“Are you okay?” She nods. “You might need another bath after I’m done with you.”
“Oh no,” she says, biting her lip. “That would be a tragedy.”
“Open your legs.”
She does, my hand moving down to her center as she moans beneath me. I’m pleased when I push my finger inside her to find she’s wet and ready for me.
“Hm,” I say as she writhes upward again. “Why are you so wet, Lissa? Were you thinking about me during your bath? And how well I fuck you?”
She gasps as I push in another finger in one long stroke. Her head is thrown back now, mouth open as I lower over her, covering her lips with my own.
The kiss is soft and gentle, quite different from our usual time together, and as I move down her body, Lissa’s moans grow in volume as I pleasure her with my tongue, sucking at her clit.
After a while, I’m pushing three fingers inside her, watching her every reaction as she tugs at her bonds, her whole body moving against the sheets, panting desperately, incoherent words falling from her lips that sound a lot like begging.
I sit back on my heels, slowly pulling my fingers free and stroking my hard cock, her eyes fixed on it, licking her lips.
Before I can think too much about it, I grab the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head and throwing it to one side.
Lissa moans as I lean down, letting my weight press into her. She’s really pulling at her bonds now, but doesn’t ask me to untie her.
I line up my cock, groaning as I push inside her wet heat, feeling the walls of her body suck me in as she groans beneath me.
“Fuck,” she whispers. “Let me touch you.”
I lick her neck, shoving my hips forward the last inch as she cries out, too loudly, and I cover her mouth with my other hand.
As I push my cock into her again and build the rhythm, snapping my hips forward with every thrust, she goes wild beneath me, pulling at the tie incessantly, begging silently to release her.
Although a part of my brain is telling me to keep her tied up, keep her locked away where she can’t touch me, the other part obliterates my fears and my hand moves, untying the knot with a flick of my wrist. Instantly, her arms go around me, and we writhe together, her hands roaming over my back, over the scars, without pause, pulling me against her, accepting me, just as I am.
It’s the best and the worst night of my life.
I slam into her for what feels like an eternity, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as we come together. I punch my hips forward, going as deep as I can as she shivers beneath me, her arms around my neck. We’re one in that moment, twisted together with no space between us.
I collapse on top of her, breathing heavily, her fingers touching my back so very gently, but I can’t cope with the feeling for long, the alien nature of it triggering something at the back of my mind, an unpleasantness that has nothing to do with her.
I roll away.
We lie like that, staring at the ceiling without speaking, my hand finding hers against the sheets, our fingers interlacing loosely as she gives a contented little sigh.
I’m just on the edge of sleep, but I pull myself out of bed to go to the bathroom. I close the door, attempting to settle my muddled thoughts. I take my time soaking a warm washcloth for her, glancing up at my reflection, surprised by the contentment I see in my own expression.
But when I step back into the room again, I come to an abrupt halt. Lissa is sitting up in bed, her phone in her hands and a frown on her face.
I pause, the washcloth in my hand, waiting for her to speak, but she doesn’t say a word. Then, she looks up at me, and my stomach clenches at the hurt in her eyes. Hurt and anger.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You put fifty thousand dollars into my account,” she says, her voice shaking. When I don’t reply immediately, she gets out of bed, tugging on my shirt, glaring at me in a way she never has before.
“I did,” I say carefully. “I wanted to make sure you were properly compensated.”
And I really wanted to give you so much more.
She scoffs loudly, stepping over my discarded shirt as she approaches me, and it’s only then that I realize I’m naked, exposed, my scars on full display for the first time in my adult life.
But as she comes up to me, she simply passes me by, going to the door. I reach out instinctively, desperate for her not to leave.
“Lissa,” I say, but she shakes me off, going to the door and looking back at me as she opens it. “I wanted to give you something. I have so much. Please take it as I meant it.”
“And how is it meant?” she snaps.
I don’t speak, horrified by the rage on her lovely face.
“Goodnight, Oliver,” she bites out and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her quietly so she doesn’t wake Henry. Truman’s head rises from the ottoman, whining at the back of his throat as he watches her leave.
Fuck me.