22. Cala
When Oliver stops talking, silence hangs between us like thick fog—heavy and suffocating.
Tears slip quietly down my cheeks; the pain feels like a crater opening in my stomach.
There isn’t much to say.
No words could ever heal the kind of wounds he carries, but actions might. And I’m willing to offer him shelter.
I rise, turn toward him, and without a second thought, straddle his lap and kiss him like I could chase the hurt away.
Oliver’s hands find my waist, pulling me tight against his bare chest. I’ve never felt him this much, this everywhere—his fingers gripping my back, my hips, my neck—anchoring me in place as he deepens the kiss.
It’s primal.
Possessive.
Ours.
“I want to try again,” I gasp. “I want you to feel pleasure there.”
Mesmerized by my plea, Oliver nods, and I don’t waste a minute of this small window of opportunity he’s giving me.
Whispering his name, I make sure my voice is clear and strong so that he remembers who is giving him this.
I kiss his thighs and play with him, getting close to his cock without touching it.
My plan works, as I build up his pleasure and desire until he starts to thrust his hips, wanting me to touch him in the forbidden zone.
He wants me to suck him and I’m more than willing to help.
I slowly take hold of the base with my hand. Oliver tenses up, but leaves his hands at his sides, his fists clenched as he resists the urge to push me away.
“Here I go,” I say, sliding my tongue from the base to the head.
“Oh God.” With his eyes closed, he punches the mattress.
I lick again, as if it were the best ice cream on a hot summer’s day, and he gasps in a way I’ve never heard before.
And this is only the beginning.
When I take the tip into my mouth, Oliver moans so loudly that he has to cover his face with the pillow to muffle the sound.
I smile proudly to myself and begin moving steadily and rhythmically. It feels salty and thick in my mouth as if it couldn’t possibly get any bigger, but it does.
“Fuck!” He throws away the pillow and begins to move his hips, seeking to go deeper and take control. I let him because that’s exactly what he needs: He needs to take control of his sexuality and get the pleasure he deserves.
His hand digs into the back of my neck, holding me steady as he penetrates me mercilessly. Our eyes meet.
“Wait, wait, I’m going to come, Cala.” He warns me, pushing me away, but I cling to his legs.
It’s too late.
Oliver comes in my mouth.
His eyes are closed, his body is tense and his mouth is open, but no sound comes out.
Once he has finished, I move away from him and wait for him to open his eyes and focus on me. He looks agitated, his eyes wide open and fixed on me.
I have always thought that the only time a woman can see a man at his most vulnerable is during orgasm. However, after our conversation and being the lucky person he chose to tell his story to, I’m not so sure anymore.
Although this orgasm was unique for him, I could see it on his face.
“Thank you,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me onto his lap. “Thank you, thank you.” He hugs me, burying his face between my breasts.
I can feel his tears wetting my skin.
We both cried, and I realized that crying for him was inevitable, just like hugging him and telling him that I was there for him, that I was in love with him and that, if he accepted me, I could give him what he needed.
Instead, I melt into his embrace and wait for him to unleash all that has silenced him these past years.
When I open my eyes, the first hint of sunlight is breaking through the window.
Oliver’s arms are wrapped tightly around me, our legs tangled together. I wiggle closer, pressing my back into his chest. I didn’t think we could possibly be any closer, but somehow, he proves me wrong pulling me tighter against him.
A smile tugs at my lips. He never stays the whole night. He usually slips out the moment I fall asleep.
But not today.
“Good morning,” I whisper, running my fingers along his arm.
“Don’t say that,” he murmurs against my skin. “It means my time here is over.” He presses a kiss to my neck, and a chill ripples through me.
“And right now,” he adds, voice low and rough, “I’ve got other plans.”
“What kind of plans?” I whisper, the house still quiet around us.
Oliver climbs on top of me, pushing his member between my thighs to show me how aroused he is. This time, I take it a step further and guide him inside me with my hands. When he enters me, he hisses, closes his eyes and loses himself in the moment.
“I like your plans...” I say, digging my nails into his back.
“Fucking you in the morning,” He buries his face in my neck and traces the curve of my ear with his tongue. “I have to cross that off my list.”
“I didn’t know there was a list.”
“I have lots of fantasies about you and your body when I’m driving home.”
His thrusts increase, as do my moans, so he covers my mouth with his hand and sinks deeper into me.
I close my eyes and thank God for his hand silencing my moans.
Orgasm hits us at the same time, and we finish with a sensitive, slow kiss.
Oliver possesses a mind-blowing ability to shift between raw, instinctive passion and gentle tenderness, often within moments. Primal and soft at the same time, creating an intense and memorable experience that lingers in my mind.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Cala, honey, can I come in?”
The tender, magical moment comes to an abrupt halt and we both tense up.
“No, I’m changing clothes, Mum!” I say, pulling up the sheets and running around the bedroom like a headless chicken.
Oliver smiles and seems to maintain his composure.
“Well, I’ll wait here.”
Shit.
“No! No, go downstairs! I’m coming; I just need a second!”
Oliver covers his sleepy face with the pillow to hide his laughter.
“Don’t laugh!” I whisper.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she says.
“Of course she’s okay. I just gave her an incredible orgasm,” the bastard whispers.
I hit him with a pillow.
“Yes, I’m sure. Go!”
I press my ear against the door and listen to my mum’s footsteps retreating down the hall and then down the stairs.
My soul returns to my body.
Oliver gets up calmly and picks up his clothes one by one, getting dressed as if nothing has happened.
“Is it just me, or are you a bit nervous?”
I shove him, feeling annoyed. “Why are you so calm?”
In the middle of my failed attempt to push him away, he grabs my hand and brings it to his chest, pulling me toward him until I’m inches from his mouth.
“Last night was the best night of my life,” he says, dropping a kiss on my nose. “And that’s because of you.”
“Yeah, well, my mother can’t find out.” I march toward the bathroom, turn on the shower and feel panic starting to crawl up my throat. “You know my father will absolutely lose it.”
I take a step inside, but Oliver’s hands stop me. He spins me around and presses me against the wall.
“The only person you should be worried about is your boss, sweetheart,” he murmurs in my ear. “This ranch runs on my orders. If your father’s got a problem with that, he can come and talk to me.”
I poke his chest with my finger, ignoring how sexy he looks right now.
“He might not say anything to you, but it’s different with me. And I’m not going to disappoint him.”
“And what do you expect us to do? Hide forever?” His eyes darken and his whole energy shifts.
“Yes.”
“No.” His answer is sharp and immediate. “That’s not enough for me.”
He crosses his arms, the lines between his brows deepening.
“Well,” I snap, pointing at the door, “maybe one day you’ll understand that what I want doesn’t matter right now. I have parents to take care of.”
I point again, harder this time. “Out of my bathroom.”