chapter seventeen A Deluge of Awkwardness #3
before things progressed.”
“I did, yes.” Technically, that was Lex’s idea, but I’m not going to correct him.
Olsen turns me and leans me against his vehicle, stepping closer so that we’re toe to toe, hip to hip, mouth hovering near mine. “Do you feel you’ve got to know me well enough to come back to my place for a glass of wine?”
I slide my hands up his chest as I mull it over, feeling torn. I know I should say yes, but part of me wants to go home. This
date has gone so well, continuing it is like laughing in the face of the curse and daring it to do its worst. I’ve already
sent this guy to the hospital once, so who knows what will happen? What if I set off a smoke alarm and the firefighters bust
down his door and we’re mid-coitus and they have to carry us out of there and we have to stand outside buck-naked while a
whole crowd gathers and then somehow it’s my underwear that’s in the oven and it’s lit on fire and everyone sees them and—
“We don’t have to.” Olsen’s low, raspy voice holds no trace of disappointment. I look up at him, the streetlamps casting warm
shadows on his handsome face, and note that his eyes betray nothing but sincere concern for me. He genuinely doesn’t want
me to do anything I’m not comfortable with.
I may not have much experience with relationships, but I can tell by the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way
he speaks to me, that he has some semblance of feelings for me. Maybe it’s enough. Maybe tonight’s the night, and we’re going
to break the curse, and I’ll be able to move on with my life.
There’s only one way to find out.
I lift onto my tiptoes and press a kiss to his lips. “I’d love to.”
The drive home is quiet. Music plays in the background, Olsen’s hand rests on my thigh, his thumb strokes over my bare skin.
The closer we get to his home the more nervous I become, like a storm has been brewing in the distance but is now swiftly
approaching, growing darker overhead. Soon the skies will open and a deluge of awkwardness will soak me through, leaving Olsen
in its calamitous wake once more.
We arrive at the home he shares with Lex and I step inside, slipping off my heels and wiggling my toes into the plush rug.
As Olsen opens a bottle of wine in the kitchen I take my time in the living room, remembering the last time I was here and how different I felt.
I’d been rushed then, moving through this phase as fast as I could in hopes that I might trick the curse into leaving me alone for five minutes so I could feel the warmth of another human body without the awkward consequences. How wrong I’d been.
This time, I feel the opposite; I want to delay as long as possible, drag it out, maybe finish a bottle of wine and stay up
late talking and cuddling on the couch before moving toward anything bedroom related.
I step toward three pieces of art hanging on the wall next to the fireplace, and the abstract swishes and swirls draw me in
like they had before. I know now, like I knew then, that someone with art like this is the sort of person I want to be around.
“You like those?” Olsen asks, stepping beside me and offering a glass of red wine.
“Love them. You have great taste in art.”
“Lex bought them in Peru when she went backpacking in South America during her first-year uni break.”
I look to Olsen, then back at the paintings. Lex chose these? I take another look around the room. “What about that lamp?” I gesture at it, the pop of colour a stark contrast against
the suede sofas and grey shag rug.
“Lex found it thrifting.”
I bite my lip. “And the throw cushions?” But he doesn’t have to answer—no straight man would be able to so cleverly coordinate
the lamp with the paintings and pillows.
“All Lex. She’s the decorator. Before she came along my walls were bare—except the TV.”
Of course. Now that I’m really looking, I can see Lex’s taste everywhere; all the comfortable, homey touches that bring the space to life and attracted me in the first place are only here because of her.
Olsen’s hand finds its way around my waist, his mouth lowering to my neck as he places soft, delicate kisses to my sensitive
skin. I keep my gaze fixed on the art as I tilt my head to give him more room. Like the wax of a candle warmed by a tiny flame,
I slowly begin melting into him. Yearning for affection, my body arches toward his, tingling at his touch. It’s been so long
since someone’s touched me like this. Months. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like.
I take a long gulp of my wine for courage before setting my glass upon the fireplace mantel. Turning in Olsen’s arms, I close
my eyes and press forward to kiss him, but I push against him a bit too forcefully and he takes a step back, stumbling into
the couch. He sits quickly, dragging me with him, and we fall with a thunk onto the brown suede. I pretend I meant for this
to happen and swing a leg over his lap so I’m straddling him, feeling a delightful pressure at my centre where his semi-hardened
form presses against me.
“Is this too fast?” Olsen asks, lips hovering close to mine. “You said before you wanted to take things slow.”
This is the slowest I’ve ever taken anything in my life. I can’t carry on like this—I just have to know. I’m ready to put
this experiment to the test. I’m ready to see if the curse really can be broken. And the only way to do that is to move forward.
Instead of words, I reply with action, kissing him intensely.
Olsen responds as if he’s been wanting to do this for a very long time, his hands eagerly exploring my body as his mouth claims mine.
I close my eyes and focus on the sensations, chasing my arousal and letting my body take what it needs.
My hips begin slowly working, building pressure where I can feel him growing thicker with our contact.
Olsen’s fingers find their way to the straps of my dress, which he slowly peels down.
I shiver as cool air touches my bare breasts, my nipples hardening to delicate points.
He caresses me on one side while his other hand holds me firmly in place, his lips not missing a single beat.
I gasp into his mouth as he pinches one nipple, sending a zing down my belly and right to my clit.
I grind harder against him, needing more.
Despite my obvious arousal, Olsen takes his time.
His lips leave mine, trailing wet kisses down my neck, over my clavicle, and then lower, until he sucks one nipple into his mouth while pinching the other.
My back arches involuntarily and I draw in a sharp breath through my teeth.
I wrap one hand around his neck, then pull him on top of me as I move into a horizontal position on the couch. Olsen settles
between my thighs, pushing them deliciously apart as he presses himself against me. My body’s response to another person’s
touch, their weight and warmth, their excited exploration of my skin, sends a tingling rush to all my extremities. With his
mouth still eagerly enjoying my breast, I take his other hand and guide it lower, drawing it past my rib cage, over my abdomen,
to my hip, and then finally between my legs. His fingers trace over my panties, and he rumbles a low moan in his throat. “You’re
so fucking wet.”
Fuck. I am. There’s a delicious zing from my clit as he palms me, pressing the base of his thumb against my most sensitive area
as he moves in slow circles. My hips lift toward him, aching for more, pressure building deep within me and begging for release.
“Please,” I murmur, my bottom lip trembling.
Olsen’s teeth tug at my nipple and I gasp, my hips bucking against him.
He chuckles lowly, enjoying this slow torment.
I feel like my body is a dam, its reservoir overfilled by far too long being left alone, far too long without the pleasure of another person’s touch, far too long being held back by this horrible curse.
I need this release so fucking bad, and he’s taking his goddamn time with it, like I’m not squirming beneath him, a jumble of tight muscles and aching, built-up need.
His fingers finally slide my panties out of the way and trace their way along the slick, delicate intricacies, coating themselves
in how eager my body is for this, how badly I need it. One finger slips inside easily, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough.
“More,” I murmur, squeezing my eyes shut to focus on the sensation.
Olsen moves down my body, his tongue tracing lines over my belly, to my hip, and further down. He manoeuvres his way onto
the floor and turns my body so he’s kneeling between my thighs as I lounge on his sofa, my legs draped over his shoulders.
I keep my eyes shut, focusing on all my nerve endings as he kisses his way to my centre. I gasp as he sucks on my clit, sliding
one finger back inside me, then another. I moan with the added fullness, my body drawing him in and craving more. His tongue
expertly laps circles around my clit as his fingers stroke in strong, rhythmic pulses, and fuck—right there. Right . . . there . . .
“Oh god!” My voice is little more than a high-pitched whimper.
He slides his fingers out, leaving me momentarily bereft, before slamming three back into me. My entire body trembles and
tenses as I come, coating his hand and his couch as my body shudders and pulses, swept away in the intensity of my much-needed
orgasm.
But in the heat of the moment my pleasure-addled brain moans a word so unexpected it brings us both to a halt.
“Lex!”