I take her hand and place it over my erection and then cover it with my own hand and begin to slide our paired hands along my length. Looking down I feel myself stiffen further, not that I thought that was even possible, but the image of Olivia’s tiny looking hand fisting my dick while encased in my own larger one is like every pornographic fantasy I have ever had rolled into one.
She begins to move a little faster and is rewarded with clear liquid escaping, making my desire evident. Her thumb circles the head, spreading my arousal as her lip darts out from between her lush mouth.
“God Livy, what are you doing to me?” I have no clue what the answer to my question is because in the space of what, a week? This woman has tipped my world upside down and my head is still fucking spinning from it. Everything I thought I knew is now in question because of her. I certainly don’t expect her to answer, but she does, just as she begins cupping my balls.
“Well I hope I’m going to make you come, but if you mean the bigger picture I think I might be doing to you what you’re doing to me, flipping my stomach, my heart and my world until I can’t think straight.”
I am unsure whether it’s her words or the increasingly rapid fisting of her hand that is in complete contrast to the gentle manipulation of my balls that she is caressing but as I feel the familiar tightening in my groin I realise I am about to come and suddenly become aware of the fact that we, I, am going to make a mess.
Had I remained alone I would have grabbed a washcloth to absorb the evidence of my pleasure or even moved closer to the washable shower enclosure, but I was interrupted and now I have no wash cloth and am still in my original position.
“Baby, this is going to be messy,” I warn her, although I have only just realised that I have no clean clothes here at all, so I need to avoid ending up covered in my own cum.
“Pull your t-shirt up.” I oblige. In fact, I pull it off completely. “I love your tattoos.” She smiles, stepping closer, putting herself in my direct firing line.
“Olivia,” I warn, but know I won’t stop now. I can’t while she has her hands on me and her words are laden with fresh desire, as are her eyes.
“Mase, come on me,” she says with her usual flush of discomfiture that is my final undoing.
With the first spurt of spunk covering her hand and then landing on her ridiculously sexy underwear I am groaning her name whilst covering her hand with mine again to control the pace and pressure she applies while I continue watching her watching me come across her body, jet after jet of white creaminess covering her black underwear and then disappearing as the fabric absorbs it, drawing my cum onto her skin.
“Fucking hell,” I sigh, roughly pulling her to me, my own wetness spreading between our bodies. “Shower, let’s shower,” I pant, already pulling her underwear over her head revealing my arousal still sticky across her belly. “That is seriously horny.” I reach forward to run my hand across her abdomen, spreading my seed over her, marking her as mine, only mine.
The journey to my home in the back of a cab is quiet, but comfortable. I manage to talk Olivia into packing extra clothes even though she insisted she would need to go home tomorrow night. She won’t, I’m sure.
The ride up to my flat is still quiet but already the anticipation between us is building. There’s the usual sexual tension that seems to dissolve briefly after sex and then it begins to simmer again, gently bubbling beneath the surface until it feels like a powder keg ready to be ignited, but there’s more and I think it might be our declarations in Olivia’s bathroom, my own fairly silent ones except in my own head followed by hers, honest, open and deep.
Maybe one of us should say something, maybe I should as I am the one turning it over in my mind. The lift comes to a standstill then we’re stepping into my flat where I turn to find Olivia standing next to the lift still, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.
“You can come in,” I say with a smile.
“Sorry, shall I leave my things here?” She glances between her belongings that I have placed on the sofa and the bag she is carrying.
“Or you could take them through to the bedroom,” I suggest and immediately see why she is so anxious. In her mind she is back here a few days ago when she slept in my bed and woke to hear a conversation about her that wasn’t what it seemed. “Please, take your things through. There are spare hangers and a couple of empty drawers you’re welcome to. I’ll make us something to eat and then we can find a film to watch and just chill.”
“Thank you,” she croaks out, staring at the space where Arianna had been when she’d referred to herself as being my incredibly attractive and understanding wife.
“Olivia.” I regain her focus. “If you need to, we can talk about Arianna, but I won’t keep apologising for what you heard or explaining myself. You need to believe me. To trust me.”
Her eyes are large, wide open as she takes in what I’m saying before she gives me a single nod, yet that nod of the head concerns me because she doesn’t seem convinced by it any more than I am. Why is it so hard for her to believe and trust what I’m saying and have already said about Arianna and our conversation? I reason that she must believe it, or she wouldn’t have spent the last twenty-four hours with me or be here now, so that only leaves her trusting me.
“We’ll talk, later,” I say and hope the smile I give her offers some reassurance.
She nods again before retrieving her belongings and moves towards the bedroom, my bedroom.
Once Olivia has returned from the bedroom wearing tight, black leggings and an even tighter red vest I feel reassured that she plans on staying. I pass her a glass of juice before excusing myself to grab some clean clothes that I slip on. Following her lead, I change into a relaxed outfit of grey track bottoms and a black t-shirt.
Standing in my dressing room I allow myself a small self-satisfied grin at the sight of her clothes hanging there and imagine how her things look in the drawer but stop myself from opening it to look, just.
We are curled up together on the sofa after a dinner of kedgeree watching a movie that neither of us seems awfully interested in. I reach forward and refill our glasses with the crisp, white wine we started with dinner and turn off the TV so we can talk, properly.
“You want to talk?” She curls her legs beneath her and turning to face me she accepts her refilled glass.
“Seems a good thing to do as you don’t seem to trust me even if I think you believe what I told you about my conversation with Arianna."
“Trust is earned rather than simply given,” she states so matter of factly that it stuns me into silence for a few seconds.
“I hadn’t realised you were quite so cynical,” I finally manage to say causing her to offer me a simple shrug.
