“At least you didn’t shoot at me back then, like that bastard on the boardwalk,” I tried to joke.
Being around Olivia again had me thinking back to those days, especially given her seemingly fresh anger. I never thought I’d been much of a bully. It all seemed so trivial when I looked back, but I only saw things from my perspective, not hers.
Now, the anger she held for me had ebbed, either thanks to the wine or hopefully me proving myself to be much more than I had been back in the day. Without the withering glare my way or the silent treatment, she even reminded me of that innocent girl I’d first met back at school in Thun.
“I didn’t have a gun then,” she giggled. “You’re just lucky you’ve changed… and I left the revolver over there.”
She took another gulp of the wine. I downed my glass and grabbed the bottle. A little drink might help ease her nerves after the shooting. But it was never a good idea to let yourself get lost in the drink, especially after a trauma. Given vodka was my usual poison of choice and I had at least a hundred pounds on Olivia, I could handle a little wine better than she could.
“Hey, don’t be a pig,” she cried.
Her empty glass clinked against counter and she surged forward. Hands snatched at the bottle. I held it high above my head. Olivia jumped to reach it but fell short. Her momentum sent her even closer. She landed against me, breasts pressed against my chest.
She definitely wasn’t that skinny teenager I’d teased at our boarding school anymore, not that I needed a feel to notice that. I had eyes, after all. Even when she’d given me the silent treatment over the last couple of days, the mansion wasn’t big enough for us to not cross paths. I’d had more than enough chances to sneak a peek.
Olivia paid more attention to the wine bottle I held aloft. She leaped again, rubbing up and down my chest as she did. When the bottle proved just out of reach, her hands fell to my shoulders. She tried to use them as a springboard for extra height.
One of her hands slapped around my wrist. Surprisingly strong, her grip held, not that it helped her. My arm remained where it was. She dangled from it, one tippy-toed foot her only connection to the floor.
A grunt escaped her lips. She shook her shoulders but I held against the shifting. Her whole body pressed against mine. Her weight couldn’t move my arm, but she was so warm and her spicy perfume enveloped me. She distracted me horribly.
“You are too damn strong,” she huffed, so close to me her breath wisped across my neck.
“It seems I’m just strong enough,” I chuckled, “and you have a whole cellar full of wine. The smart move would have been going for a new bottle.”
“But they are so far away,” she whispered, before jerking her arm at the same time she hopped, “and I want this bottle.”
Her other hand snatched my wrist and she kicked her legs up. With her full weight on my arm, she would have jerked it down but I had another arm, too. Bracing my arm, her center of gravity shifted. Her body thumped against mine, bent legs to either side.
Only a few inches separated our heads. Her heart shaped face contorted in effort. Even a grimace couldn’t mar her beauty. Those dangerous eyes of hers narrowed, but her jaw relaxed. Every one of her panting breaths rubbed her breasts against my chest.
She stopped struggling. Eyes widened but her brows furrowed. It seemed she had finally realized the position she’d put herself in. I braced for the inevitable end of the moment. She’d come to her senses and jerk away like my skin ran at subzero temperatures.
My new wife must have acclimated. We remained like that as time stretched. As if I was dealing with a skittish animal, I didn’t want to move a muscle lest I startle sense into her. She had other plans.
The bent legs hanging to either side of me kicked once more. They latched behind my back. The powerful grip surprised me. The legs she displayed under her skirt suits looked perfectly feminine and slender. The hold didn’t hurt, but I bet if she wanted it to, it would have.
Her head darted forward, lips bridging the gap. They fit everything else about her, soft yet unyielding. Her tongue demanded entrance. As much as I should have, I didn’t deny her.
When someone finds themselves in a dangerous situation, they go through a fight or flight response. The Wikipedia article on it doesn’t discuss the third F: fucking. What better way to celebrate surviving a deadly encounter than to enjoy some of the greatest pleasures life had to offer.
When the sun rose tomorrow and the wine wore off, she’d come to her senses, remember this moment differently. That didn’t matter now. Her body pressed tight against mine, our dueling, wine-soaked tongues, and my focus narrowed to the now.
One of her hands slid down my arm, fingers exploring it like it were Braille and she were blind. Our mouths separated as she pulled back. A panting breath escaped her open mouth before it curled into a lopsided smirk. She tilted her head back and poured a small fountain of dark wine into it.
“You sneaky little mi—” I hissed, but her lips crashing against mine interrupted the words.
The wine gave her a blackberry taste with a little spice mixed in. She’d just used a kiss to distract me enough to steal the wine. That didn’t stop me from falling into another. I stumbled back against the kitchen counter. My arms dropped to her back, pressing her closer.
Athunksounded. She’d dropped the wine bottle. The hand that had held it snaked between us. It burrowed between the buttons of my shirt. Cold fingers against my bare stomach, the touch buzzed with electricity. I wanted more. Any misgiving about the morning after evaporated.
Olivia squealed into my mouth when I spun us in one quick movement. Her legs squeezed even tighter before her backside landed on the counter. She dropped back, breaking our kiss. Her eyes bored into mine, unblinking and without any of the anger or suspicion that usually clouded them. I could get addicted to that look.
My hands slipped from her back when she leaned away. They glided down her sides to her legs. She spread them further when my fingers moved from her dress to her bare thighs. Up they explored, sliding along her smooth thighs, pushing the dress up with them.
She sucked in a breath when my fingers brushed over the black briefs she wore. I let my finger rub up and down them, eyes rising to watch her face. She exhaled long and slow, eyes half lidded and head crooked to the side. My fingers grew bolder, more pressure and less teasing.
Her hips bucked and another deep breath arched her back. The move blocked my view of her face, but I was more than happy to stare at her breasts. My fingers hooked to the side of her underwear, their tips glanced against her already slick folds.
