by Zoe Norman
I watch Olivia, deep in conversation with my mom. When she looks up at me, I smile and mouth, “You okay?” She nods her head slightly and winks at me reassuringly.
I try to keep an ear on Mom and Olivia’s conversation while talking with Emily and Vince—more like avoiding their incessant questions. I catch bits and pieces of both conversations, but my attention is focused on Olivia. I overhear them talking about my mom’s newest obsession of growing eggplants and watermelons.
“When I come to stay with Owen before we fly out for Travis’s wedding, I’ll bring you some veggies and fruit if you want?”
“Oh! I’d love that!” Olivia tells her excitedly.
I would like that too, actually. One of the things I have come to enjoy when Olivia stays over is her cooking. It makes me feel like we’re a real couple, which is a feeling I’m still growing accustomed to. It’s kind of like we’re playing grown-up, X-rated house and it gives me a sense of what it will be like when Olivia moves in with me.
“Owen!” Mom points her finger over to me, jarring me from my thoughts. “Lunch will be another half hour or so. Why don’t you show Olivia around the house or sit outside with her and have some lemonade on the back porch?”
“Mimi, are you sure you don’t want some help?” Olivia asks.
“No, no. Emily is going to help. I want you to relax and enjoy yourself. There’s a little brook in back that runs through the woods. It’s pretty back there. Have Owen show you around and relax.”
Olivia nods her head, still seeming unsure.
“Come on, beautiful,” I assure her. “I’ll show you all my childhood hangouts.” I smile mischievously, and Olivia lifts her eyebrow, knowing that I have a plan brewing.
I take Olivia’s hand in mine as I lead her out of the kitchen and down the hallway toward the formal living room. I point out a picture of my father’s swearing-in ceremony when he became a senator for Connecticut. After taking the picture from the mantel, I trace my fingers around the framed glass, remembering that day with great pride and fondness. I recall how stoic and official my dad looked talking with the Vice President of the United States and the beaming smile on my mom’s face as she held the Bible while dad recited his oath to dutifully serve his constituents. It makes my heart ache that he’s not around to meet Olivia. I know he would have loved her too.
Silently, I put the picture back in its place and glance down at Olivia, who looks contemplatively at me. She lovingly strokes my arm and leans her head against my shoulder as if reading my sad thoughts.
I chuckle reflectively as I pick up another old family picture. I was maybe twelve years old with a mouth full of braces and wearing a hideous navy-and-yellow-plaid shirt complete with silver snap buttons. Emily is seated on my dad’s lap with pigtails in her hair, looking adorable in a pink, floral-print dress. I recall the photographer positioning my hand uncomfortably on Emily’s shoulder and how Mom kept complaining that the poses were too fake. As I look back at the picture, I realize that Mom was right. This picture belongs on one of those awkward family photo websites.
As I recount the story to Olivia, she laughs and comments how handsome I was even back then. I pull her close and give her a chaste kiss on her temple. My hand absently travels down her waist and over her ass, trying to feel if she’s wearing any underwear under her dress.
“Owen! Stop!” she scolds.
“What? I’m just trying to figure out what you’re rockin’ under this dress. I’m going a little crazy thinking about it, actually.”
“Someone could walk in,” she whispers loudly through a clenched jaw. “Do you think that’s a very good impression to make on your family?!”
“I really don’t care what they think, to be honest. I blame you for making yourself so damn fuckable.”
“Owen. Seriously. Stop.”
“Sure, you say that now, but you won’t be saying that later.” I lean in to her ear and whisper, “You’ll be saying, ‘Oh God, Owen, don’t stop! Don’t stop fucking me. Harder, Owen! Faster! More!’” I say with a breathy chuckle as Olivia pushes against my chest, feigning shock.
She gives me a chastising look and shakes her head. “You are such a horndog,” she says, stifling a laugh.
I lean forward and place little kisses on her shoulder and up the side of her neck. A soft moan escapes Olivia’s mouth, and after getting the response I was after, I pull away, leaving her reeling. Her eyes flutter open at the loss of my mouth on her warm skin. I smile playfully and take hold of her hand to lead her out of the living room and toward the backyard.
“Come on, beautiful. We have more to see.”
We step out onto the patio in the backyard through the French double doors. Walking down the short stairs and onto the lawn, I point out Mom’s flower garden and, farther down the way, her vegetable garden. As we near the end of the yard, I take Olivia’s hand in mine and help her down the small embankment toward the brook that runs adjacent to the yard. We throw stones into the water as I share stories of when I was a boy and would come into the house wet and dirty from playing near the water’s edge.
I pause to watch Olivia try to skip a flat stone across the water and a flash of my future plays before my eyes. I see Olivia laughing and smiling as she stands behind our child, instructing him how to skip rocks along this very brook. She lovingly kisses his head and looks up at me with pure happiness.
“Owen?” Olivia calls to me. “Owen? Is everything all right?” She stands and walks toward me.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts, confused at the scene that just played in my mind. What the fuck was that? “I’m good, babe.”
Seeming apprehensive but taking me at my word, Olivia reaches for my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. “This is nice,” she says as she leans into me. “Thanks for showing me your old stomping grounds.”
“Oh, we’re not done,” I reply with a mischievous grin. “I’ve saved the best for last. Follow me.”
“What are you up to, Owen?” she asks with hesitation heavy in her voice.
Purposefully ignoring her, I lead her to the base of the enormous, old oak tree that takes up a large corner of the back yard.
I take Olivia’s hands in mine and tug her to my side. “I’ve spent many hours right here. This spot holds some great memories.”
Olivia looks around with a confused look on her face. “Well, it...it looks like a very nice tree, Owen.” She pats the bark of the old oak, clearly unimpressed. She’s humoring me.
I throw my head back in laughter. “Look up.”
She tilts her head upward and smiles. “A treehouse! How awesome is that?!”
The treehouse is as solid as the day my dad built it. I remember helping my dad lay two-by-six planks in and around the solid oak tree branches and handing him nails as he assembled the fort. We weather-treated the boards and replaced a few throughout the years. Although it’s been well over twenty-five years that the final nail went into the tree, the only way this sucker is coming down is with the tree itself.
“I’ve never taken a girl up to my treehouse. You’ll be my first. After you, missy,” I announce, ushering her to the ladder my dad built into the tree. “In full disclosure, I cannot guarantee that I will not look up your dress as you climb up.”
With one foot on the first rung of the ladder, Olivia turns to look at me over her shoulder and smirks. “Men!”
I watch as she carefully climbs up the ladder. Three steps up, I place a hand on her calf and slowly move it up her tan, toned legs, sliding it higher up her bare thigh.
“Owen Maxwell!” Olivia shrieks.
I let out a deep, throaty laugh. “I told you. No guarantees. That body is just too damn perfect for me to pass up.”
I GET TO THE top rung and pull myself up into a large treehouse. It’s far larger than it looks from the ground and was clearly made by someone who knew what they were doing and had put a lot of thought into to. It’s about the size of Owen’s bathroom and has benches built into the wal
ls all around it. There is a thick rope tethered from an outside branch to the inside wall, seemingly for climbing or to swing down with. The walls are decorated with paint. Owen’s and Emily’s names are written in varied colors along with several other pictures clearly painted by small hands. It’s really endearing, giving me a glimpse into Owen’s world when he was a little boy.
“This is amazing,” I say as Owen clambers up next to me.
“I had a lot of good times here with my buddies,” he says wistfully. “We would sit up here for hours playing Dungeons and Dragons and talking about sports and girls.” His hand wraps around my waist as he says “girls” and pulls me into him. He kisses the top of my head as he places his other hand on my middle, my back to his front.
“We used to talk about what it would feel like to kiss a girl,” he recalls as he starts to kiss down my cheek to my neck, “and touch a girl.” Now his hands are gliding over my stomach, up toward my breasts.
“You did, huh,” I say, smiling to myself, envisioning Owen as a prepubescent teen; horny and dreamy. My body is starting to respond to him; a familiar warmth building between my legs. I instinctually start to rub my behind into him and feel that he’s aroused. “So I’m the first girl you ever brought up here? You sure about that?” I ask, teasing.
“Mmmhmm. Very sure,” he hums as he continues to kiss along my neck. His large hands cover my breasts and I feel my nipples tingle then harden under his touch. He turns me around to face him and tilts my face up until my gaze meets his. “I’m ready to make a new memory. How about you?”
His fingers gather up the material on the back of my dress, exposing my ass. He bends his head down and gently brushes his lips over mine.
“Here’s the thing, Olivia,” he says, kissing and licking down my neck. “I want to fuck you. Now. Here. And I’m not going to be gentle about it. I want you under me. I want you filled with me, and I want you to be very quiet about it,” he grumbles and starts to unbutton his shirt. “If you want to save those panties, I suggest you take them off. Otherwise, I’m ripping them from your body and you’ll go around commando all day...which I am totally okay with."
I take a deep breath. “Owen, is this a good idea?” I ask as he steps back, locks eyes with me, and pulls his shirt over his broad shoulders.
“Olivia, your panties are in danger. Hurry up and take them off or it’s cool breezes under that skirt for the rest of the day.”
He’s not smiling. Not even a little bit. Normally, I love this Owen. I like it when he takes control. He makes me feel so wanton and sexy and necessary to him. It’s not domineering. It’s just possessive and hot.
But here in his childhood treehouse? There is a loud voice in my head saying, Look at him, Olivia. Look at your sexy-ass man. Lighten up. Have some fun. Get it on. While this voice is battling with my more sensible voice, it’s much louder.
Fuck it. Game on.
I reach up under my dress as he starts to undo the button fly of his jeans, and without losing eye contact, I start to pull down the tiny, lace panties. When they hit my ankles, I kick my sandals off to the side, followed by my panties. He pushes down his jeans and boxers, grinning at me as his erection springs free. Jesus! He’s rock hard already! His face is lit up with the grin of someone who found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
“Good girl,” he whispers.
He starts to step toward me but I hold a hand up, causing him to halt his steps. I slowly slide the thin strap of my dress on one shoulder down my arm. I then repeat the process with the other strap and, with a shimmy, shrug off my dress so it pools at my feet. I have on a little bralette since the straps were so thin on this dress, and I reach behind me, slipping open the clasp and letting it too fall to the floor.
“You’re so beautiful. You take my breath away every damn time.” He steps toward me and pulls me into his arms, kissing me tenderly at first.
His lips pass over mine, softly pecking at me then letting it turn into a more urgent kiss. He coaxes my lips open with his tongue, which he slips into my mouth, lapping at me and tasting me. I pull away, my eyes full of lust for him. Our gazes match the other’s, and the fire between us is palpable. I move toward him and, while on my tiptoes, plant kisses along his collarbone, across his chest, letting my nose brush the light smattering of hair he has there. I start to lower myself and kiss down, down, down his stomach.
He groans and then whispers, “Olivia…” It’s not a warning. It’s a plea.
“Shhh…” I say as I lower myself down farther.
I pick his shirt up off the floor, fold it neatly, and lay it down so I have something to lean on. I’m now at eye level with his proudly jutting cock. I reach a hand out and grasp it at the base, giving it a slight squeeze.
“Ask me, Owen,” I say, getting acquainted with my powerful side.
“Please, Olivia. Please suck my cock. Taste me.”
I stroke him slowly, a slight grin playing over my lips. I love doing this to him. I love watching him unravel while I pleasure him. It’s a heady feeling knowing that you’re doing that for someone, especially when it’s someone you love. Our sex life has become one hundred times more intense since we professed our love for each other. It’s not any less hot or any less raunchy when we want it to be, but that knowledge of our connection—our commitment to each other--just makes every touch, every moment, that much sweeter.
“My pleasure, baby,” I say and I lean forward, placing just the tip of his cock on my tongue.
He inhales sharply, slightly tilting his hips forward, sliding his length over my tongue, into my mouth, and toward my throat. I close my lips around him and he grunts. I suck gently, lightly stroking his balls with the tips of my fingers. When his hand finds my hair, he slips intrepid fingers through it until he is holding me by the back of the head, gripping handfuls. I pull back, massaging the underside of his penis with my tongue, letting it flutter along his length. His breathing is ragged, and I can already feel him lengthening and swelling in my mouth.
Owen is a very visual person, so I imagine watching me suck him off in his childhood tree house is doing insane things to his libido. My guess is he won’t last too long this way. I start to move faster, bobbing my head, taking him as far back as I can.
His hand tightly grips my hair and he lets out a long, low growl that sounds something like, “Olivia”.
“Stop...stop...stop. I’ll come if you keep that up. I need to be inside you. Turn around.”
I lift to my feet, staying low to the ground, and spread his shirt out so it covers the wood floor. I turn from him, getting on my hands and knees, my behind angled up as if inviting him in. I hear his knees hit the floor and feel one hand on my ass, the other sliding a finger between my pussy lips, testing me.
“Fuck, baby! You’re drenched. God, I love that about you,” he says. I can hear him start to suck on his fingers, and a shiver runs through my body at how dirty that action is. I love dirty Owen. “So fucking good, baby. Damn!”
His hand slowly runs over my ass cheek and down my thigh, and before I know what’s happening, I feel his tongue slip between my lips, gently rubbing my clit and then gliding up and back.
“Owen! Gahh…” I exhale in a long, moaning breath.
He gets up and positions himself behind me again, his hands on my hips. “Couldn’t help it. You’re just so perfect.”
I feel him guiding his cock against my lips, sliding it up and down, teasing me and getting himself wet with my juices. I push myself back against him, feeling greedy for him.
“Ask me, Olivia. Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I whine. “I want you. Please, Owen. Come on. Take it... Take me.”
He groans, and without hesitation or warning, he slips just the head of his cock inside me. I start to accommodate myself to his girth when he slams into me in one slick movement. I make a muffled “mmpfh” sound as he pushes into me, trying to not be too loud.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, Olivia. Fuck, you feel
fucking amazing!” He pulls back and starts to slowly thrust into me, forcing me to feel every blessed inch of him.
I close my eyes and drop my head as his hands grip my hips hard enough to leave bruises. There is nothing I like more than having him take me the way he wants me. It’s so hot. I push back against him, every thrust stretching me to the brink. As long as we’ve been together, part of me is happy that I haven’t fully accustomed myself to his size. It’s that slight bite of pain that makes it so pleasurable and damn addicting.
I turn to look at him over my shoulder. He’s watching himself slide in and out of me. He’s always fascinated by that view, and I frequently catch him staring. He’s told me before that it mesmerizes him, the physical connection we have, the fact that part of him is literally inside me.
“Owen…” I breathe, breaking him out of his trance.
“Shit, baby. You’re so hot,” he grunts and leans forward, kissing and licking my back and my shoulders.
He lets one hand slip over my waist, and I know it will be on my clit soon enough. I continue to rock against him, and when his finger finds its goal, I mewl loudly.
He clasps his other hand over my mouth. “Shhh, baby.”
I push myself up with my hands so my back is to his front, effectively changing the angle of his penetration and causing us both to groan loudly. I reach behind me and wrap my arm around the back of his neck as he bends down to kiss my shoulder.
“My God, Owen. You’re so deep. Slow down. I want to feel it—all of it.”
He immediately slows his thrusts, every sweet inch of him sliding in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. It drives me crazy as he drags over the sensitive nerves inside me, the head of his enormous cock brushing my G-spot with each thrust. My breathing increases. I’m oh so close.
“Like that, baby?” he growls hotly into my ear. “You want to feel all of me, don’t you? You want to feel me fucking you like this.”