“Shall we go?” He extends a hand, which I take, and lace our fingers together.
The electricity between us, the banter … it feels like nothing ever changed. Maybe Jillian was right, this was a second chance.
Dinner had been awful.
“I’m so sorry your steak was basically raw. I shouldn’t have taken you there, it’s a new place, the staff was terrible.” Oliver shook his head, and I could see how anxious he was about the meal and service being pretty bad.
I stroked a hand down his arm as we walked the streets of SoHo. “Seriously, Oliver, don’t worry about it. I had a good time.”
And I wasn’t lying, I had had a really good time. The meal and service might have been awful, but I don’t think either of us noticed until it got pretty shitty. We’d sipped on a bottle of red wine for the first hour, the liquid putting us at ease. He’d talked about work, and I found it seriously sexy the way his face lit up when he talked about how Graphite Home was taking off after its launch.
Oliver had opened up about his childhood, the silly things about him and stuff that wasn’t even important. The things he had never let me see the first time around.
I told him about my job and my friends; let him in on the ridiculous phone calls with my mother when she told me how to avoid being raped in the city. We laughed over the most recent Instagram snafu by a celebrity, and talked about our plans for the coming weeks. We had normal, stupid conversation … and it felt, lovely. It hadn’t mattered that our appetizers were burnt or that the entrées were cold. I wasn’t there for the food anyway. I’d come because I needed to prove to myself, one way or another, what Oliver had been and what he was now to me and my heart.
“Well, I promise that it will be better next time. If you give me a next time.” His bashful smile set my heart sprinting.
“How about tomorrow?” I didn’t know a better night for a date than a Friday night.
“Eager, are we, Miss Morgan? You’d think you’d play a little more hard to get.” He was busting my chops.
“I don’t do games anymore. A wise man once told me to be honest.” I leaned in closer as we walked side by side, our hands hanging onto each others.
I’d gotten my answer loud and clear. We walked the many blocks back to my apartment, him insisting on taking me to my front door. The night was cool but beautiful, early fall making me huddle into my coat, and Oliver, for warmth.
Once we got to my stoop, I stopped, unsure of how to part.
“I’m a patient man, but if you invite me up, I’m not saying no.” He raised his dark eyebrow in question.
A sly smile filled my face. “I can’t. That time of the month and all, you know.”
His mouth formed a surprised O. “Ah, an homage to our first encounter. So are you saying that because Aunt Flow is really in town, or because this date was really as awful as the one with the dickhead the first time I met you?”
I laughed, not being able to help thinking about the hilarity in how fate brought us together. “I’m saying it because it’s full on PMS over here, and you don’t want your dick anywhere near it.”
Oliver blew out a long exhale and wrapped his arms around my waist, bringing me into him. “Like I said, I’m a patient man. I meant it when I said there didn’t have to be anything physical between us yet.”
Looking up at him, the street lamp falling over our joined figures, my heart sped up. I was in a genuine New York City fairytale.
“That … takes a bit of the pressure off. I’m not sure I’m ready to get naked with you just yet. Well … again.”
But I do lean in, resting my head just under his chin as he holds me on the cold street where I live.
His voice tickles my ear. “Nothing that we want so badly ever comes easy.”
Are we supposed to hurt for love? Is it supposed to be a tooth-and-nail fight? I think that maybe something that precious, something that sought after, requires it. Sure, we know the exact moment that it happens. But isn’t there a proverb or bible verse or some other wise piece of literature that says the things we truly want are those we must suffer most to get?
“Did you read that in a children’s book?” I whisper as he holds me.
“Maybe. But I think it’s true. This also isn’t the end of the suffering.” He backs away and my stomach drops. It must show in my face. “I don’t mean that I’m going to hurt you intentionally, Gem. I mean that I have never done this. I’m a thirty-year-old man, and this will be my first time trying to have a relationship with a woman. An incredible woman, even if she does like crunchy peanut butter over smooth. But nonetheless, I’m going to fuck up. There are going to be times when I’m an oblivious dude, and if you need something you have to tell me. None of that shit where you say you’re fine but you’re really not. And no cold shoulders, God I hate that shit. Just be up front with me.”
For the first time since we’d met, I think we were finally being extremely clear with each other. We’d talked about honest and no game playing, but we hadn’t truly exercised it until right now.
“I’ll try, as long as you promise never to intentionally hurt me. No more phobia of commitment, you can’t run away from your feelings and act like I’m about to chop off your bachelor balls. I want to spend time with you, not bait you and hang you on my wall like a talking fish. Okay?”
Oliver’s lips tip up, and his finger traces the outline of my jaw. “I love that we’re not perfect.”
And then, he kisses me. They might be some of the least romantic words in the history of first dates and first date kisses, but they’re true.
The kiss is slow and purposeful, it has its own heartbeat and oxygen. The way Oliver assaults my senses and steals every pint of blood flowing through me is almost criminal. It’s the gentlest way anyone has ever slayed me, and when he finally lets me breathe, I know I’ll never be the same.
It wasn’t like any moment we’d ever shared, because I could feel his emotions behind it. I was still standing dumbstruck on the sidewalk as he whispered good night, and stayed rooted there even when he turned the corner at the end of the block.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Oliver
I was a patient man whose cock was going to fall off from neglect.
Thanking my good graces that Gemma had agreed to date me again, I had sworn up and down that we could take it slow. And we had. A couple heavy makeout sessions on the street. Some petting in a cab home the night we’d gone to happy hour. But my balls ached, and if I looked at them up close, I could see the blue of subdued come squeezing them like a noose. My right hand was growing calluses, and each morning I woke up with rigid morning wood that I poked into the bed so hard, I’d almost made holes in the mattress.
God was testing me. He was seeing how virtuous I could be, pop quizzing the shit out of my word that I promised Gemma. Three weeks, fourteen dates, and still my cock had not been inside her sweet, sweet pussy. I’d watched every brunette on every porn channel trying to take the edge off and disallow myself from being a horny fool around my girlfriend.
I’d called her my girlfriend on our second date, and she’d blushed and stammered before I kissed her because she looked so darn cute. I wasn’t kidding, I was jumping without a harness, diving without a parachute. This was all in for me.
“So is tonight the night, buddy?” Archie’s voice came from the speaker on my phone.
“What are you, my love shrink? I don’t know … and it’s weird to talk about. We aren’t chicks.” I picked an olive sweater with a high zip up collar out of my closet.
“Dude, it’s healthy to talk about sex with your male friends. It’s not a competition, and we can always share tips. Girls do it religiously, why wouldn’t we?” He lounged on his couch in San Francisco. I loved my friend, but sometimes he was just fucking weird.
“Arch, why are we even Facetiming? This is super weird. Like you’re prepping me for a date with my girlfriend.” I shake my head, laughing at the situation as he watches me run around and put on cologne.
“We’re Facetiming because I miss ya, and I need to know how you’re going to approach it. Are you going to do smooth and romantic? Or maybe straight up porno-style boink? There is always the savage animal fuck too, because you haven’t had each other in a while.”
Oh my God. “Bye Arch, love you brother, thanks for the talk.”
I clicked the red end call button before he could go on talking about how I was going to put the moves on Gemma. Glancing at the clock, I saw I was fucking late.
Twenty minutes later, Gemma was complaining in our Uber. “We’re going to miss the previews.”
Her lip pouted out, and all I wanted to do was capture it between my teeth. “I’ll get you a huge popcorn and some Sour Patch Kids.”
“But the previews are the best part.” She pouts still, but there is a smile on her face.
I was surprised when my makeup loving, chic, princess of a girlfriend had told me she wanted to see the latest superhero blockbuster.
“I love everything Marvel and DC. Girls can love comics too, asshole.”
That’s what she’d said to me when I’d teased her, and then she’d punched me in the shoulder. I came to find out that Black Widow is her favorite, with Iron Man coming in a cool second. And I also came to find out that it was fucking sexy my girlfriend was a comic nerd.
“Don’t worry, we will be there right on time.”
The Uber dropped us off just minutes later at the huge movie theater downtown near Brookfield Place. We speed-walked in, Gemma dragging me by the hand as we stopped off for tickets and popcorn.
“I don’t really like the movies,” I grumbled under my breath as we pushed past coughing strangers to our seats.
“Who doesn’t like the movies?” Gemma whisper yelled just as the lights went down.
We were wedged in between a family who had three children that were definitely under the age of ten. Just from the trailer I could tell this movie wasn’t kid-appropriate, but whatever, they weren’t my minions. To Gemma’s right was a couple; an average looking guy and girl that I hoped would be polite.
Oh how wrong I was.
Before the movie even started, the girl was laughing at things that weren’t funny at full volume.
“What the hell?” I shot them a dirty look, acting every second of my thirty crotchety years.
Gemma touched my arm and quietly laughed. “Babe, they’re high as kites.”
The intro music to the movie boomed through the speakers as I studied them more closely. Eyes the size of saucers, grabbing at any snack they can find in front of them, giggling into each other’s shoulders when there isn’t even an actor on the screen. Yep … high as fuck.
“Great. Do you think I can ask them for whatever they’re on? Because without it, this movie experience is going to be annoying as fuck.”
Gemma shh’s me, and tucks into her popcorn as the superhero squad fights the latest bad guy up on the screen. But I can’t relax. The high couple next to us starts making out, heavily, almost right on top of my girlfriend.
And is if that isn’t bad enough, the person in back of me just decided to use the space next to my head as their own personal footrest. The kids next to us are asking questions about the movie, at full volume, indicating to me and their parents that a lot of it is going over their head.
I’m so wound up and tense, my balls physically shrivel up from sitting next to the gorgeous comic nerd and not being able to take her in the bathroom at this fucking movie theater. I roll my neck and grip the armrest, trying to focus on the story playing out on the screen.
“Are you okay?” Gemma whispers at me five minutes later.
“Fine.” I force a tight smile.
“Your foot hasn’t stopped jiggling, and you’re gripping that armrest like we’re on the most turbulent plane in history.” She places a warm hand over mine and squeezes.
I know she’s trying to help me feel better, but her touch only makes me go more insane. I stare into her eyes, conveying everything I’m feeling and I hope she picks up on my message. I move her hand, first off the armrest, then between us, and then to my lap.
Those big hazel eyes only get bigger when she feels the enormous bulge in my jeans. I hear the audible gulp in her throat. The rest of the theater watches the blockbuster, but we have our own little scene playing out right here in the chairs between us.
I lean forward, never taking my eyes from hers. “I want to get out of here.”
Gemma must be a in a trance, because she’s staring at my lips. “We just paid forty dollars for tickets and food.”
“I’m rich, I can take the hit.” I don’t give her another second to respond.
Taking her hand and setting our popcorn on the floor, or more likely leaving it for the marijuana twins over there, I usher her out of the theater.
“Should we call an Uber?” Her hands are under my shirt the minute we hit the hallway.
“Shit.” I hiss, because it’s been so long since her hands have been anywhere near my needy dick. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it twenty blocks, much less in a cab.”
I move her until her back hits the wall of the hallway, no one in sight, but anyone could come out and see. I pepper her jaw and neck with kisses.
“Mmm, Oliver … I’m not doing it here. Not the first time. I want to be alone with you,” she whispers deep into my ear. “I want to be able to scream as loud as I want when you drive inside of me.”
Her dirty sentence sends my world tilting on its axis so hard that I have to catch my breath and brace myself because my knees go weak.
“This had better be the fastest fucking cab driver in all of Manhattan. Or I might die of erection, like they say in one of those Viagra ads.”
Chapter Thirty
Gemma
There was already a broken lamp on the floor. Six steps in and we’d knocked into a floor light as Oliver had slammed me up against the wall, and the lightbulb smash was drowned out by my screaming groan as he bit at my neck.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I’ve missed this so much.” Oliver pulled at my clothes, planting kisses on any bare inch of skin his lips can find.
My scalp burns where he’s shoving me against the hard drywall, but I couldn’t care less. My clit is yelling at me, throbbing for release already, the weeks I’ve gone without Oliver inside me making me ache with horny need.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed your dick.” I grab his face where it’s attacking my neck, and probably leaving hickeys, and pull it up to my mouth.
Our tongues collide, probing heatedly but sloppily. There is nothing graceful about how we’re coming together right now.
“We are going to break through this drywall,” I breathe as he pulls my sweater over my head and tries to shove the bulge in his jeans between my legging-clad thighs.
“I’ll get those brothers from that fix-it show to come repair it. I don’t fucking care. I just need to be inside of you.”
He hiked my leg up, my leggings still firmly on, and hooked it around his waist. He ground against me, and I couldn’t accommodate any space to back up. My ass was trapped against the wall, and Oliver’s huge, pulsing cock was trying to rip through the collective materials of our pants.
I was feasting on him just as much as he was feasting on me. None of my sexual experiences had ever been like they were with Oliver, and I realized that now. We had passion, but we also had understanding. He was tending to my needs, and I was tending to his. And while neither of us was focused on our own pleasure, it made our final crest into the stratosphere of orgasm that much better.
“These things make your ass look so damn good, but they’re impossible to take off.” Oliver struggles to get my leggings down my thighs. “Maybe you could take them off, strut around all sexy. Do a little dance.”
He bites gently on my earlobe and I see stars. “In your dreams. Just because you can’t get my clothes off doesn’t mean you get a lap dance.”
I push his shirt o
ff of his shoulders, having already undone all of his buttons. His slacks are next, and I had those off in a timely and elegant fashion. “I’m winning.”
“We’ll see who comes first.” A challenge flashes in his eyes as he finally gets me naked from the waist down.
I’m about to smile, but it’s wiped clean off when Oliver plunges two thick, warm fingers inside of me. With the first two pulses of his fingers, he pushes all of the air out of my lungs. With the second two, he has me screaming for the high heavens.
“Oh my fucking God, Oliver …” I’d forgotten. He knew exactly where to push me, how to get me there.
Since we’d been fuck buddies before friends, and now a couple, we’d been training each other to fuck. Working out our sexual muscles, studying each other’s playbooks. I’d schooled him on how to find my clit and G-spot, the exact rhythm I liked, how I wanted it just before I was about to shatter into a million pieces.
And I knew that he liked when my nails raked over his ass when he was inside of me. That he liked if I reached back and massaged his balls as I rode him. That when he came, he liked my tongue in his mouth so he could take me in multiple places.
“I want my girlfriend to come around my fingers. Come for me, baby.”
It’s ridiculous that I’m this close to an orgasm already, but I haven’t had sex in weeks and no one besides my left hand has made me truly come in months. Everything is overwhelming; Oliver’s eyes boring into mine, his sexy, crisp scent, the rough of the wall behind me, his dirty whispered words. I bite down on my lip, wanting the release but fighting it all at the same time. It always seems like my body’s natural chemistry is to fight my climax for as long as possible, so that when I do fall over that cliff, it’s a free fall into oblivion.
When the first tinglings hit the back of my neck, my legs give out.
“I’ve got you.” Oliver catches me, holding me to him and keeping his fingers slowly pumping as my orgasm pierces through me.
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