This has happened before. In the past, anytime I’ve jumped into bed with someone, they end up hurting me. Sometimes accidentally, sometimes intentionally. I enjoy sex, maybe a little too much, according to some people in my family. In my heart I know I also get attached way too fast.
Oliver chuckles softly against my mouth. “I didn’t come here with the intent to make out with you; I came here to feed you.”
“So shut up and feed me,” I breathe, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him in for a deep, long, wet kiss, this time letting my tongue dominate. With a groan of need, he takes control, cupping my face firmly as his tongue lashes into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat.
Without breaking the kiss, Oliver hoists me up and sets me down on the cutting table, laying me down on top of the pile of fabric scraps. The feel of his solid frame between my thighs has me pawing and tugging at him like a feral thing, needing him closer. Oliver takes both my arms from the back of his neck and weaves his fingers through mine, resting them above my head, keeping my grabby hands out of the way. The kisses grow wilder and more frantic, with our fingers locked together over my head and my body fitted against his. I love the weight of him on top of me. I love the domination. I love that both of us are equally swept up in this moment, not being coy or denying what we want.
And why should we?
His deep, demanding kisses pull a needy moan from my throat. Wanting to ride him so badly, I try to lock my thighs around him, but Oliver pulls away for a quick moment.
I sit up to watch him reach back and swiftly tug off his shirt. I notice the bunching of the muscles at the backs of his arms, the sparse hair dappling his broad chest. The silver nipple ring. There’s so much skin to touch. Oliver is built, but not overbuilt. Strong like a warrior, yet limber. It’s the perfect combination. He’s built for sex. He’s built for really, really good sex, and the anticipation of that makes my inner muscles tighten against nothing.
I need to be fed, but not falafel. Maybe later.
I run my hand over his chest, noticing the softness of the light hair, the rapid beat of his heart.I touch the piercing and check his reaction. He sucks in a breath as his nipple hardens.
Oliver stares down at me, pupils blowing out the intense blue eyes. His jaw ticks.
With a questioning gaze up at him, I lean in, signaling, “May I suck it?”
He growls nad cups the back of my neck. I lean in and tease my tongue over the piercing. Oliver lets out a soft curse, and I suck that pierced nipple into my mouth and gently suck and flick my tongue there.
“Fuck me, Iris.” Oliver’s breath is ragged and his grip tightens on the back of my neck. “You got me so fucking hard I can’t think straight.”
Oliver’s reaction to me has my head buzzing with energy. I’m only thinking in cavewoman thoughts at this point. Need more contact. Need more touching.
I pull back and he lets go, watching me peel off the tee-shirt I’m wearing and chuck it aside, exposing my breasts.
“I knew you were beautiful, but bonus points for not wearing a bra, I just…” Oliver’s words trail off as I pull him back in. Less talking, more kissing. I don’t need to hear about what I look like to him. This man is absolutely beautiful and obviously enjoys sex. And sure, I’m moderately attractive, but let’s not get carried away. No one has ever said I’m beautiful before, and I don’t know how to handle that.
He eases back from the kiss and goes very still for a moment, hovering over me, staring at me. He unclenches his grip on my fingers and drags his strong hands down the inside of my arms, touching every inch of soft skin on the way down. He sweeps his hands over my armpits—oh my god, did he just do that of his own free will?—over my chest until he’s cupping both my breasts, and growling. Actually growling.
This man has my head spinning; I don’t have time to feel weird about him caressing my armpits because the fact of his calloused thumbs rubbing both my nipples is making me forget everything else. Maybe even my own name.
Instinctively, I lock my legs around Oliver’s waist. Slowly, he angles his head down and takes one taut nipple into his mouth. And sucks.
I gasp at the multitude of sensations rocketing through my body. His sturdy frame gripped tightly between my thighs. His wet mouth on my breasts. His powerful hands caressing and gently squeezing. The scent of him. The salty taste of him still in my mouth. The wet, soft pop of his lips releasing one nipple and moving slowly to the other one.
I grip tighter, demanding more, feeling the hard length rub against my core through the front of his jeans.
He understands what I want. Of course he does.
Oliver pulls away from me for a second, and I lick my lips as he unzips.
I sit up and watch him reach inside and rub the meat of his palm over his underwear. Up and down once, twice, over the underside of that bulge, all the while, an angry red tip, shiny with precum, peeks out of the waistband.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
It’s all I can do to rip my gaze from what his hands are doing. When I make eye contact, his face looks pained.
“Let me…let me help with that…”
“No,” he says with a grunt. Another pump over the front of his undies.
Oh god, he better not be one of those guys who just wants a woman to watch him jerk off…
As if he can read the worry that surely shows on my face, Oliver makes me lie back down on the table and says, “Lift up for me, Biscuit.”
