18. Trinity
Trinity
The man had more talent in his tongue than most men had in their whole body.
As he seated himself inside me, I reconsidered.
His tongue obviously wasn’t the only talented part of his anatomy.
I pushed forward, angling my hips so he hit just the right spot as he eased in and out, up and down, over and over and over again.
Stretching my legs out behind him, I leaned back.
He followed, clamping my hips to his while he lowered himself over me.
I didn’t even mind the hard floor under my ass, as long as Oliver kept driving into me.
My hips rose, meeting him midair while my nails raked down his side.
Need coiled inside me, winding tighter and tighter.
His mouth went to my ear. “You’re beautiful, Trinity. So fucking gorgeous it makes my heart hurt.”
This was physical. Nothing but two people enjoying each other’s bodies for an hour or two.
I didn’t want anything to do with his heart.
Hadn’t I made that clear? He opened his mouth like he was about to say something more.
I slid my hand behind his neck and met his mouth with mine, silencing the words I didn’t want to hear.
If he kept talking like that, he’d ruin everything, and I intended to finish what he’d started.
I didn’t have a choice. My body was practically moving on its own accord, grinding and thrusting to some primal rhythm that had been ingrained long before I met Oliver Martin.
His mouth—damn, the way he kissed seemed like he was devouring some piece of my soul.
I focused on the way his abs felt under my hands, the way his cock felt buried deep inside me, and the way my body strained for something just out of reach.
Finally, he pulled back, almost leaving me entirely.
I clawed at him, desperate for him to fill me, to chase away the emptiness he’d left behind and take me over the edge.
Then he drove into me, going deeper than before, igniting the spark that raced through me, sizzling, crackling, burning, until my body tumbled into release. My fingers stilled on his sides, my hips fell to the floor, and I took in deep breaths as the sensations took over.
But Oliver wasn’t done with me yet. He slid a hand under me, flipping me onto my stomach. His palm slid down my back until he reached my ass. Then he reached between my legs, stroking my clit as the aftershocks of my orgasm pulsed through my system.
“Get up on your knees.” He hovered behind me, stroking, reigniting the spark.
I didn’t have the energy or the desire to argue so I got to my hands and knees, pushing myself back until he slid inside me again.
From this angle he had use of his hands.
His fingers continued to tease me as need built again.
He increased the pace, groaning as he pumped in and out.
Just hearing him, the way his hips crashed into me, the hot breath of his efforts blowing my hair out of place, made me hot and horny and desperate to let the desire building inside rip through me.
Panting, I came again as he clamped a hand around my waist and drilled into me a final time. His fingers kept circling, teasing the last bit of my climax from me. Then he gently laid me down on the canvas, spooning around me, pulling me against him.
“You okay?” His voice came out gruff, like he hadn’t spoken in hours even though it had only taken us about ten minutes to go from flirting to wholly, deliciously fucked.
“I don’t think I’ll be wearing shorts for the next few days, but yeah, I’m fine.
” My knees burned from kneeling on the hard wooden floor, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.
Oliver didn’t know it, but he had the ability to take me to heights I hadn’t reached before.
No need to admit it to the man, it would only give him more ammunition to use against me. But I knew it.
“Sorry about that. I should have found something soft to put under you.” He traced the curve of my hip with his finger.
The paint had pretty much dried. Did I want to see the damage we’d done to my sign? “It was worth it.” There, that was about as close as I could go to paying him a compliment and letting him know just how much I’d enjoyed our finger-painting lesson.
“You going to soap me off now?” The whiskers on his chin scraped against my neck. The sensation was oddly comforting. Maybe I could get used to sharing more than something physical with a guy. My stomach clenched as I considered what that might mean. Giving up my freedom. Giving up control.
“You really want to try out my shower?” I asked.
“How bad could it be?” He ran his palm over my shoulder and picked at the paint. “You don’t want to live like a reject from the Blue Man Group, do you?”
Despite my reservations, I let out a laugh. “No. But I haven’t got around to doing much with it.”
“We could go next door and use mine instead.”
My heart hiccupped. “But we’d have to go outside.”
“Yep.” He rolled over me. “I could wrap you in a tarp and carry you upstairs.”
“You want someone to think you’re bringing a dead body into your apartment?” I teased.
His hand cupped my ass, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’d say you’re very much alive.”
“How bad do I look?” I glanced down, trying to see how much of my skin had turned blue.
“You look damn good to me.” Oliver sat, pulling me up next to him. “Maybe we should stay here until it wears off.”
Stifling a laugh, I ran my gaze over his chest. Half a heart remained where I’d painted an outline on his pec.
The plaid lines had merged together, making the rest of his chest a solid mass of blue.
The canvas I’d worked so hard on earlier looked even worse.
Streaks of blue, smudges where we’d rolled around, and drips of paint covered the background.
Blue paint obscured half of the letters.
“Sorry about the sign.” Oliver stood then reached down to help me up. “Do you want me to help you fix it?”
“No. Definitely not.” I searched the floor for my pants. “I’ve seen how you handle a paintbrush.”
He grinned, his smile making my stomach warm. Fine, he was cute. Absolutely adorable the way the edges of his lips ticked up. That didn’t mean anything.
“Do you mind if I use your shower?” I reached for my shirt. The paint had pretty much dried. If I was careful, I should be able to toss on my clothes long enough to get over to Oliver’s place.
“Only if you let me soap your back.” He handed me the jeans I’d had on before stepping into his own.
A flicker of heat sparked in my chest. If I let Oliver in the shower with me, I’d never get around to finishing the sign tonight. “You know, as tempting as that sounds, I think I should take a rain check.”
His smile faded. “I was just joking. About soaping your back.”
“Some other time, okay?” It had taken me hours to do the lettering on the sign. If I started now maybe I’d be done fixing it before midnight.
He held his shirt to his chest. His hair stuck out on the side, and I wanted to smooth it down.
He’d slid his jeans on over his hips but hadn’t buttoned them yet.
My hands itched to pull them back down and spend the rest of the evening rolling around in the paint with him.
But that wouldn’t get any of the items checked off my list and that’s what I was all about now…
getting things done, becoming the business maven my grandmother knew I could be, even though I still didn’t see that part of myself yet.
“Yeah, okay.” He gathered his things and made his way toward the stairs. “See you around.”
Something tugged at my heart. I didn’t want to send him off like this. “Oliver, wait.”
He paused at the top of the steps. “What do you want?”
What did I want? Not to tie myself down. Not to become just like my parents and my older brothers and sisters. “I don’t know.” That was probably the most honest answer I’d given anybody since I’d come back to town.
His shoulders slumped, his head hanging down, so he looked at his feet. His blue feet. “You let me know when you figure it out.”
Then he was gone. His steps faded down the steps and across the floor downstairs until the front door closed behind him.
I pulled my shirt over my head, trying to appreciate the time we’d spent together, the sensations he’d driven me to.
Enjoy the moment had been my mantra as long as I could remember having one.
Hooking up with the Kiwi from next door wasn’t going to change that.
No matter how hurt he looked behind all that swagger.
But maybe I’d been too harsh. He’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for a commitment.
If I set the ground rules, and we were upfront with each other, we might be able to find some common ground where we could enjoy each other’s company from time to time.
He’d be leaving soon anyway. I vowed to bring up the subject the next time I found myself alone with him.
With a little less heaviness in my heart, I squatted down to assess the damage we’d done to my sign.
An impression of Oliver’s butt cheeks covered up half of the “T” in “Limits.” I traced my finger along the edge, wishing I was touching his naked ass instead.
A few toe prints by the “N” made me think of how I’d pushed up and into him.
My cheeks flushed, heat tracing a line from my neck up to my face.
I wasn’t going to get anything done tonight.
At least, not on the sign. Not when the evidence of our little get together sat drying before me.
Groaning, I shoved my feet into my shoes and grabbed my notebook, intent on retreating to the first floor where the air didn’t hold the aftermath of a hot, sweaty tryst on the floor.
There had to be something on my to-do list I could accomplish tonight.
Something that didn’t remind me of how Oliver made my toes curl, my cheeks flush and my core hum.
Because if I focused on that, I’d probably end up climbing the stairs to his apartment and asking about that shower.
And I wouldn’t let myself go there again. Not when I had so much to do.
So I slid down to resume my spot on the floor. As my butt hit the ground, my phone rang.