His brow relaxed at my promise. Our mouths met in a slow—luxury-level slow—kiss. The kind of kiss that tingles on your lips, lingers on your tongue, and then latches onto your soul.
His mouth was soft and warm, with the faint musky taste of me that shot straight to my brain and short-circuited a few things. His hand slid from my jaw down my neck and over my chest. This low, happy sound rumbled out of me. I really liked Oliver’s hands on me like this. So sweet and fond and affectionate.
“Do you have lube? Condoms?” he asked.
“Bedside drawer. Top one.”
Reaching over me, he grabbed the lube and condoms, handing me the bottle. He poured some into my palm, his voice dropping low. “Stroke me.”
Yeah, okay, with a voice like that I’d become an expert in string theory if he wanted.
Stroking him, I paid attention to every sound he made. That’s what did it for me, the feedback, the closeness, the privilege of being the one who got to hear those breathy sighs, the low moans, and that ridiculously sexy little purr thing that slipped out when I pressed my thumb over his tip.
Our mouths found each other again. It started slow and patient, but then boom, leveled up into something deep and full and stupidly good. Holy hell, this man knew what he was doing with his mouth. I’ve enjoyed sex with him so far. It’s been good—no, better than good—it’s been epic for a dude whose engine didn’t always start the same way as other people’s.
But kissing? Kissing was my favorite with him. Like main event. The show-stopper. Every time our lips connected my brain went, “Yep, this is the good stuff, this is the part we like.” Itwas one of the few acts of intimacy that felt instantly right in my body and my heart. No warmup... just yes.
I groaned and felt the first stirrings of blood returning downward.
“There you are,” Oliver murmured, voice all low and honey-coated. Wowzers, did I love it when he talked to me like that. Sexy Oliver voice did things to me that were borderline spiritual.
Coating his fingers with lube, he asked, “How do you want to do this? It might be easier to open you up from behind.”
Mm, nope. Hard pass on that. I didn’t want the “easier” version. I wanted him filling me while I stayed right there with him, face-to-face, sharing the same breath, the same moment.
“No. I want to stay like this. Want to see you. Want to be able to kiss you.”
He leaned down to place a light peck on my lips. “Okay. Lift your legs and bring them toward your chest.”
Doing as requested, he shoved a pillow under me, while I became hyperaware of my own body in a way I never had before. I’d been extra careful the last few days, smart food choices, thorough showering, the works, but now I spiraled. Was there a checklist? Should I have shaved? I didn’t think I had a full forest situation going on, but what if I was wrong? Should I have douched? Was no deuces on deck good enough? I have never put this much mental energy into one square inch of my body before.
“Look at you, handsome. You’re going to let me in here, aren’t you?” he asked, running a soothing hand along my hamstring, while with his other hand, he dragged his pointer finger up my crack then back down.
“Yeah,” I said, breath catching halfway through the word. “Yeah, I’ll let you in. you already live in my heart, might as well have you in my butt.”
He paused, then collapsed forward against my thigh, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. “Oh my god,” he managed between gasps, his voice muffled against my skin.
“Yeah,” I groaned, dragging a hand over my face. “That sounded way more romantic in my head, I swear.”
Leaning over me, he caught my mouth in a smiling press. “It was perfect,” he whispered. “It was so you. And I know what you meant.”
Twice more, he ran his finger through the cleft of my cheeks, each time pausing to tease at my entrance with the pad of his finger, the contact a phantom knock. There and not, there and not. I shifted, hips rising, seeking him out, trying to press into the touch but he kept retreating, denying me the satisfaction.
A whine escaped me. A real honest-to-god, needy whine. I was the kind of man who whined now. If I’d been standing, I think I would’ve stomped my foot in impatience. I’d never been so greedy for sex in my life. But being physical with Oliver came so freaking easy. It wasn’t about bodies and parts and this going here and that going there, it was emotion riding into the physical. It was him and me having a conversation.
“Shh, it’s alright,” he said, kissing me again. “I’ve got you. You’ll get what you want. In the meantime I’m giving you what you need, to make it easier for me to enter,” he promised.
I wasn’t convinced teasing me within an inch of my sanity was medically necessary for preparation, but he was the experienced one. I wasn’t in a position, or state of mind, to argue.
He continued circling my hole with growing pressure, his touch no longer fleeting but persistent. Pressing more firmly, his lube-slick finger swirled over the furl of muscle. When he finally began to push forward, the pressure shifted from tease to intrusion, and my whole body tightened on instinct.
“You okay?” Oliver asked stopping his advance.
I nodded, breathing out slow. “Yeah. My brain just needs a sec to send the all-access pass down there. Right now, everything south of my waist is like, ‘Buddy, this is a one-way street and you’re directing traffic the wrong way.’ It’s confused.”
He chuckled, warm, affectionate. “Okay, that’s okay. It can be a bit foreign your first time. You’re doing great. Think you can take a little more?” His finger gave a tiny side-to-side wiggle that sent a weird jolt through me.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”
