In synch, we somehow slipped down to the carpet, holding on to each other. He was on top of me, and our hands glided over the other’s body while our mouths never let go.
Oliver held me tight. He was heavy, and his body hard everywhere. He was hard in his jeans, and that hardness pressed deliciously into my pelvis.
I raked my hands over his back, shoulders, and arms, savoring every inch of his warm skin, of the taut muscles under his shirt, craving to feel those without the cotton that kept me from directly touching him. I held his face gently in my palms, brushing my fingers over the wounded side.
One of Oliver’s arms curled under my neck, cocooning me, while his other hand grazed down from my face and neck to my breasts and waist, and farther down to grip my thigh and wrap my leg around him. He scorched every inch his palm touched, even over my clothes. What had felt like a bumpy flight with Zane, felt like skyrocketing through clear air with Oliver.
He could have yanked my pants off and penetrated me at that moment. I was more than ready and willing. My panties were wet, and I was grinding against him, seeking more contact everywhere, while my lips and tongue craved more and more of his taste, more and more to absorb his pain.
But instead of ferociously taking what I offered, Oliver flipped us over, and I found myself on top of him, still kissing him. He was giving me an out. Unlike Zane, he was letting me decide. I could have stopped all of it right there.
Enclosed in his arms, I broke our kiss and lifted my head. We gazed at each other. Some of the usual sternness in Oliver’s eyes was replaced with softness, which seemed almost out of place after the rage I had seen there just before. His eye socket was purple now.
He freed one hand and caressed my face and hair as I hovered over him.
Though Oliver was beautiful to look at even like this—his eye blackening, his hair ruffled by me—although his body felt just what I imagined a male body should look and feel like and ignited in me everything that I had dreamed a male body should, it wasn’t lust that made me pull myself up until I was straddling him and take my shirt off, exposing myself to him without breaking our eye contact.
What drove me most of all was that instinctive need to absorb his pain and rage into me, to take it away from him. I didn’t know why. I didn’t have a name for loving undefinedly.
Oliver watched me. I almost expected him to ask again, “What are you doing?”
But he didn’t. The green in his eyes burned as he traced his gaze over my freckled, bare shoulders and chest, my plain nude-colored bra, and my tummy. My muffin top tummy. I was far from thin, far from sexily dressed. But I was also far from self-conscious under his gaze as I had been with Zane.
Oliver made me feel beautiful.
Still hard under me, he reached out with both hands, and his warm palms caressed me from my neck down to my shoulders, then over my covered breasts, and down to my waist. He rested them on my thighs, his fingers digging into my flesh over my jeans. And all that time, his eyes followed the path his hands took.
He then brought his eyes back to mine.
“Untie your hair,” he rasped.
I reached up and did as he ordered. My hair, curly and dark bronze, fell to my shoulders. Well, some of it did. Some probably remained in the shape of the ponytail. I couldn’t imagine it was a sexy look, but Oliver didn’t seem to mind.
“Take off your bra.” His eyes were on mine, and the look in them took my breath away just as much as the command in his voice did.
I unclasped my bra and slid the straps slowly down my shoulders and arms then dropped it to the carpet. Oliver’s gaze still held mine. I was baring my breasts, but his eyes were glued to mine.
I broke our gaze and looked down at my naked torso. His gaze followed mine. My breasts were big, my belly wasn’t small, but my young skin was tight. The belly button ring glistened in the light that came through the shades.
Oliver reached out and touched it. I watched him as he then trekked his hands up and cupped my breasts. My nipples hardened even more under his touch. I exhaled. He watched my face as he kneaded my flesh. My eyes drifted shut.
He slid his hands up to my shoulders, splayed his fingers on my neck and jaw, and his thumb skimmed my lips that were wet and swollen from our kiss, separating them. I felt it between my legs.
“Open your eyes. Look at me.”
I did.
My breath fluttered.
“Take my shirt off,” he graveled again.
I did. I trekked it up his torso and helped him take it off, tossing it away.
I had never seen him shirtless. The sight intensified the pulsation I was already experiencing on top of him. I smoothed my hands over the warm plains of his chest and arms.
Oliver reached up, buried both his hands in my hair, ruffled it, and pulled me down for a kiss. It was a deep, slow kiss. He caressed me with his hands, with his mouth. We breathed in synch into our kiss.
He then rolled us over and was on top of me again.
