“I do…” It’s such a faint whisper I have to strain to hear her. “I have… touched myself while thinking of you.”
Oh God, that confession makes me feral. I swear I might come in my pants right this second. I lean in and claim her mouth with mine. I want to not just explore every inch of her, but claim it, if only for these stolen seconds. My dick bumps her again and a fuse lights. I will explode if I’m not careful. So I do what I do best, make it worse.
My mouth leaves hers and as she pants her way to recovery. I kiss her neck, and her jaw, and when I reach her ear I command, “Show me.”
“Wh… what?”
“Show me how you touch yourself.”
"Now? Here?" Her eyes are quickly losing the glassy quality as they shift toward the staircase and the dull murmurs of the guests downstairs.
“Now. Here.” I kiss her just below the earlobe, where a small fleck of a diamond stud is. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think of the way I fucked you.”
Everything about her stills. She's not even breathing, I don't think. I move my head so our eyes can meet and at the same time, I reach up and take her arm, which was resting on my shoulder, and move it down. I pause only long enough to kiss her palm and then I rest it in the crook between us. “Show me.”
She blinks once, twice, three… so many times it’s just a flutter. Like I’m sure her heart is doing. But Olivia likes being told what to do. She likes being guided and she complies like the perfect student that she is. I watch with lust swirling in my veins as she slips a hand under the waistband of her skirt. I yank on it. It’s an elastic waistband so it gives easily without breaking, so I can peer down at her hand as it slips into the pale green cotton underwear she’s wearing.
“Ahhh…” A perfect little sound escapes her perfect lips and she sighs.
I take a second to snap my eyes to the stairs, which are blissfully devoid of anyone, and then I focus back on the delicate little hand and those long narrow fingers that are doing a demure dance inside her panties. I wish I was Superman and had x-ray vision because I need to see what’s happening in there. “Oh…” she sighs and her back arches a little.
“Are you touching your clit?” I ask and she nods.
“Are you wet?” She nods again. “What are you thinking of?”
“Your tongue,” she whispers. “The way you looked when you tasted me for the first time.”
That’s it. I am going to explode if I don’t come. But I don’t want to ruin what’s happening in front of me so I clench my jaw and use the hand not holding the waistband of her skirt wide open to rub the front of my jeans. I shudder at the contact. She shudders too but it’s deeper. Her whole body jerks and a wave of heat climbs up her chest to her neck and cheeks and her back is arched off the wall. She’s coming all over her hand. It’s beautiful.
When her body starts to slack, I reach between us and slowly pull her hand up. Her index finger and middle finger are glistening and I stare at them like they're the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Glorious, incredible, a work of art. She doesn’t see my look of awe because her eyes are still shut, and I get it’s embarrassment more than euphoria keeping them shut. This is all so new to her. So I show her how okay I am with what just happened. How much I fucking love it. I open my mouth and wrap my lips around her fingers.
Her eyes are wide open now and she’s watching with rapt attention as I suck her juices off her fingers. Now it’s my turn to groan as the salty perfection that is Olivia Garrison coats my tongue.
Footsteps.
Oh fuck!
I leap back and she launches herself off the wall and past me, clipping my shoulder with her own as she bolts into the bathroom. Olivia manages to quickly close the door without so much as the slightest thump just as Tate appears at the top of the stairs.
I'm not facing him. I'm leaning against the wall, my back to the stairs, thinking of all the gross pictures I've seen of pucks to players' faces, hoping the bloody visions will make the steel rod in my pants wither and die.
“Crew?”
“Hey!” I look over my shoulder. “Just waiting for the bathroom.”
“I thought you left,” he says and walks around so we’re in front of each other. I turn and lift my leg so my foot is against the wall, knee bent, hopefully camouflaging my shrinking, but not shrunk, cock.
“I was gonna, honestly, but there was a line for the bathroom so I came up here to try this one and…” I motion toward the door.
Tate nods. “I came up here looking for Liv. Have you seen her?”
"No. I mean try Dylan's room or… maybe she's the one in the bathroom," I suggest casually. I sound casual, right? And my heart that's beating at twice its normal rate is doing it quietly, right? He can't hear it, can he? “Does she take an obscenely long time in bathrooms? I don’t have sisters or female cousins so I don’t have any idea.”
Tate laughs at my joke but moves to the closed door beside me and cracks it open. A proud smile slides over his face. “He’s dead asleep. And alone. So where is Liv?”
I point to the bathroom door. Tate pauses, his face contorting in anxiety for a second as he lifts his hand. “Please may she be alone in there.”
He knocks twice. “Liv?”
