“Lift up,” she commands. I move my hips so she can pull my pants and boxer briefs down. My dick springs free, hitting my belly. Olive’s eyes turn round and appreciative as she looks me over. I can’t help the smile that sneaks onto my lips.
“You, uh, you don’t need to worry about me. I can deal with it later,” I say. I don’t want her to feel pressured into anything. I know it’s a delayed response, but with her on top of me, words are hard.
“Nope, you might be a gentleman, but I also know how to serve.” Olive leans forward and swiftly takes me between her lips, sucking me from root to tip.Fuck!Her mouth is hot and wet, the suction is incredible.
“Shit. That feels so good.”
“Mmmm . . .” She moans around me, the vibration buzzing in a delicious form of torture.
She licks up the underside, swirling her tongue around the tip of my cock. My hips bounce a little, and she opens wide, taking me to the back of her throat. I’ve never been with someone who’s able to take all of me so perfectly. She’s enjoying it too, I can tell.
“Fuck, you’re doing amazing, baby.”
Olive smiles, using her hands to work me over while she watches my face like she’s studying. When a small moan sneaks out of my throat from the pressure her small hands are applying, she takes me back in her mouth. Olive is taking me so thoroughly, hollowing her cheeks out on each pass while cupping my balls and applying the perfect amount of pressure.
“I’m going to come. You have to stop.” I look down at her, making eye contact as she shakes her head no. I guess if this is what my girl wants, then who am I to deny her.
I buck my hips a few more times, pumping in and out of her mouth at a steady pace. Her eyes water slightly at the corners, but each time I pull back, she leans in, pushing me further. It’s so fucking hot, I’m losing it. I can’t hold it in anymore—I explode in her mouth, hot jets spurting down her throat. She doesn’t move a muscle, she simply swallows and proceeds to lap up every last drop. If I wasn’t already falling for her, I would be now. Olive swipes her mouth on the back of her hand and curls up beside me.
“That was . . . I don’t have words.” I pull her on top of me and kiss her like my life depends on it. I can taste myself, but I don’t even care. After a few minutes, she breaks away, laying her head on my chest while tracing my tattoos with her fingers.
“How did you, um, decide that you liked something enough to keep it on your body permanently?” she asks, her voice a soft whisper.
“I’m not sure. I guess in the beginning it was more for the thrill of it than anything. But then I fell in love with the history of the art, and it became more about honoring the beauty of it.” I pull her in closer, grazing my lips on her temple.
“I never considered getting one, before Irina’s spell I mean. My mother would kill me.” Olive shifts so her leg is over mine like she’s a koala bear wrapped around me.
“She didn’t let you get away with much, did she?” I ask, patiently waiting to see if she will open up.
“No. She’s not a bad mother. She just has high standards and expectations. Having a tattoo would not go over well at the country club.” Olive burrows into my side a little closer. There’s a hint of her holding back, but I won’t push her to say more. I can sense this is something she needs to tell me in her own time.
“I see. Well, Mabel wasn’t pleased with the first one, if it makes you feel better,” I say, closing my eyes briefly, remembering how my mother reacted. She’d lost it, crying about how the body she made was ruined for all time.
“What? No way. Mabel doesn’t seem like the type, she’s so loving.” Olive sits up, gently placing a hand on my chest and positioning herself to look into my eyes.
“She’s loving, for sure, but she is fiercely protective. Once she realized how much I loved it, she got on board.” I pull her into my arms, hugging her to my chest and kissing her forehead.
“It must be nice to know you always have a safe place to land,” Olive says softly before blowing out a long, slow breath.
“Hey, look at me.” I use my hand to prop her head up, so she can see my face clearly. “You have a safe place to land, with me.”
“That’s sweet, Sam. But you can’t say things like that. You don’t know enough about me to form a full opinion, yet.” Olive scooches so her bottom is perched on the edge of the bed and she’s facing my dresser.
“I know plenty, Olivia Bowman. Whether you want me to or not, I see you. You’re kind and compassionate, funny and a little sassy”—I sit up next to her and wrap my arm around her middle, pulling her close—“stubborn, but also easy to take care of. You are the real deal, and I’m not sure what ideas you have in this beautiful brain of yours, but I am not going anywhere.”
She doesn’t say anything in response, she simply closes her eyes and breathes deeply, almost like she’s afraid to accept my words. It’s okay if she doesn’t believe me yet. I plan on showing her that I’m the kind of guy that sticks around.
“Ma, I’m here. Can someone give me a hand?” I shout, struggling to juggle three very large pumpkins as I make my way through the front door of my childhood home.
“Be right there,” my mom shouts back.
I make my way into the dining room, since it’s the first place to set anything down, as Mabel sashays in, wiping her hands on her fall-themed apron.
“Sam, you didn’t need to carry three at a time. Dad and I can help you,” she scolds me.
“I know, but there’s a lot of them, and I have an appointment to get to in an hour.” I shrug and check the time on my phone.
“And you thought it would take an hour for the three of us to carry in seven pumpkins?” My mom raises an eyebrow at me. She can read my every thought and feeling. She knows something is up.
