Oliver
I’ve been working on this room for days, making it ours. A place where she won’t worry about notes in her room or people sneaking in.
Lyra starts undressing. Shirt first, lifted slow and steady like she’s testing me. I stay still. I let her have the control. Her skirt falls next. Pink lace clings to her body like sin, making my throat go tight. I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop the sound that claws up my throat.
“Take off your boots.” She obeys, sliding down the zipper of her knee-high boots before she reaches her thigh-high stockings. I hold up my hand. “Keep them on.”
Her fingers pause, then she straightens as I stare at her.
I toss my jacket aside and push up my sleeves before walking over to her.
She backs up until her ass hits the window.
My hand goes to her throat—my favorite part of her: soft, vulnerable, and so delicate.
Her pulse ripples under my fingertips. It’s a miracle she trusts me with her breath.
With the most fragile part of her besides her heart.
God help anyone who ever makes her heart race from fear again.
Although God won’t be able to help them anyway.
I squeeze, then stroke. She sighs, already rising to her toes. I bite the side of her neck, hard enough to make her gasp. Not enough to break skin, just enough to leave my mark. My Dollface loves pain with her pleasure. Not to please me but to please herself.
She’s a vision of bravery and resilience.
“Off. Now.” She rips my shirt up over my head. My baby is impatient. She unbuckles my belt and slides my jeans down, taking my boxers with them. I chuckle, then bite her nipple through the lace; her back arches like I’ve pulled a string inside her. She moans, and I relish the sound.
I rip her bra down; my mouth moves from one nipple to the other, sucking, biting, licking, soothing until she’s writhing, crying my name over and over, ripping my hair to pull me closer. It is my favorite sound. Other than when she tells me no.
I slide her panties down her legs. I stop a breath away from her shaved pussy, breathing her in before I place a soft kiss, once, twice, before she physically rips my hair to get me to stand. I bite her clit hard, reminding her who is in charge.
My hand slides down over her collarbone, tracing the line of her sternum.
The other stays at her neck. I lift her leg, wrapping it around my waist, before grinding into her.
She moans, leaning her head back, and once again I kiss and lick the column of her throat, letting her feel my dick pressing into her, getting us both wet.
“I need more.”
I don’t need to be told twice. Lifting her into my arms, her legs wrap around me as I walk to the bed, throwing her down, and watching with rapture as her tits bounce. Beautiful.
“You didn’t ask me.”
“No,” I admit, standing over her. “I don’t ask. Not with you. I already know the answer.”
I climb over her. My mouth trailing over her. I push her thighs wide and flatten her against the bed, my hands digging into her sweet flesh.
I make my way down her stomach. I pause at the scar and kiss it once. I’m mad I didn’t know about what happened earlier because then I would have had the satisfaction of watching the light from their eyes dim, knowing why they are dying and at whose hands.
There’s still Molly. I went back and forth last night, debating on how I could kill her without Lyra getting upset.
I also want Blaine to suffer. Maybe not die, but he deserves some sort of punishment for not killing his so-called friends himself.
When my mouth finds her cunt, I groan against her skin.
I grip her thighs and drag my tongue through her slit, up to her clit, over and over, until she’s gasping my name. “F-Fuck, Oliver…”
I smile into her pussy. Before Lyra, I was selfish. Sex was just physical, meaningless. I’d take what I needed, leave when I was done, and feel nothing. Not even satisfaction. Just a dull emptiness that always came after release.
But with her it’s different.
I’d give her everything.
My mind. My body. My fucking soul, if I have one.
Rip open my chest and hand her the bones if it meant she’d never leave because she’s the only thing that’s ever made me feel alive.
“Let go, baby.” I suck her clit into my mouth and flick the tight bud with my tongue. “Let me hear how sweet you fall apart for me.” I lift my eyes, watching her unravel.
“I’ve had you here a hundred times in my head,” I whisper, teasing her entrance with my tongue.
“Against the wall. On that bed. On this floor. The kitchen counter. The shower. This is only the beginning. I plan to fuck, suck, taste, and tease you until we have thoroughly used this room to its full potential. I want the sheets wet with your cum. The floor slick with sweat, and the windows fogged.” Then I dive in.
“Oh, oh…! I—” She’s making no sense, her words breathless and half spoken.
It makes me fuck her faster. I thrust two fingers inside of her, rubbing that spot that makes her clamp down and hold back. I want her to squirt all over my face. I want her to drench the sheets and flood my mouth. Her legs shake.
“Feel it, Lyra, and let go. Fucking. Drown. Me.” She screams my name, shattering like I knew she would, squirting all over me as I release my hand, open my mouth, and rub her clit. I don’t stop. I drink every last drop of her until she’s limp and I can’t breathe.
“What the fuck was that? I've never—” she gasps.
Then I crawl up her body, hovering over her. Her hair fans around her like a golden halo. I grab a fistful of it and slam my mouth to hers, forcing her to swallow.
“My new favorite drink.”