Page 29 of What If It's You?

“I am. Only yours,” I said, desperation and guilt whetting the edge of my desire, needing to believe that if I just held on tightly enough to Ollie, it would keep me here, with him, the man Irememberedloving. “And you’re mine,” I ventured, the gut-wrenching feeling of losing him, of living in a world where we were nothing to each other, still waiting in the wings.

“Always.” He reached up to cup my jaw in his hand, guiding me gently to his waiting lips, and when they pressed against mine, the need that swirled through me felt different, both sharper and softer than it had before. Thin, glittering threads of tenderness, and history, and being reallyknownby another person shot through the cord of want that was pulling me toward him.

God, when was the last time I’d really slowed down andfeltthis? Realized that our love wasn’t just an ambient warmth but a fire, the flames lit in each of us by the other impossibly beautiful as they danced around and between our bodies, flickering over our skin, changing and shaping us by their burn?

Hadit felt like this recently?

But there was no time to wonder about that, because Ollie’s arms were wrapped around me, his lips still locked on my own as he guided me backward to the couch, low and narrow, upholstered in a deep red velvet that I’d loved and he’d gamely agreed to. I lay back along it, feeding on the intensity of his gaze as it slid over the curves of my breasts, down along my stomach, over the lacy underwear I had no memory of putting on that morning. I thrust my hips up to pull them off, throwing them to the side as I stared at Ollie, my chest heaving. Eyes locked on mine, Ollie pulled his own underwear off and took himself in one hand, stroking slowly as he moved over me, using his free hand to position my leg along the back of the couch. He knelt between my legs, a gleam of desire in his eyes as he bent to put his mouth on me.

“Oh…god,” I moaned as Ollie’s tongue moved over me with a slow, gentle pressure, the fingers of his free hand slipping inside. Until Ollie, I’d never been able to let go enough to really enjoy someone going down on me. But he’d been so persistent, asking me what felt good, trying different techniques, completely unflustered when the feeling-good-so-good-even-better built to the point where, teetering on the edge, I fell back into overthinking things instead of letting go. He’d taken the time not only to learn what I liked, but to make me feel comfortable lingering in my own pleasure.

“I love the way you taste,” he murmured, the hum of his words buzzing over my most sensitive parts, banking the fire that was already raging through me. I threw my head back as his tongue flicked over me, faster now, and my hips bucked against his mouth of their own accord. I could feel myself coiling tighter, building toward a release…

“Ollie…please…I want you inside me,” I said, voice breathy.

“You’re close? Because I don’t think I can hold out long,” he said, running his tongue along my folds in a way that made my entire spine arch.

“Now, Ollie.Please.”

And then he was lifting my other leg over one arm and thrusting into me, the fullness and pressure in all the right places making me gasp, and I was lifting my hips to meet him, matching his rhythm, faster faster faster, each movement twisting the spring tighter, my skin going hot all over, every part of me clenching around him, holding him against me, urging him deeper, until…

“Fuuuck!” I could feel Ollie shuddering against me, into me, the pulse of his orgasm triggering my own. My breath hitched in my throat, every part of my body caught up in the earthquake of my release, the tremors building to an impossible height before they slowly started to recede.

I collapsed into the couch, still trembling as Ollie slid his body behind mine, wrapping an arm around my waist and nuzzling his mouth into the crook of my neck. Even after the last aftershock had long since faded away, we lay there, his body wrapped around my own, warming me.

“I love you, Lo,” he whispered against my neck, the words seeping into me rather than heard, like a spell written on my skin.

“I love you, Ollie,” I murmured back.

And somehow, even though I’d said the words thousands of times, even though we’d held each other this way in dozens of different beds, and couches, and cities, and countries, the moment felt entirely new.

After a few minutes in each other’s arms, Ollie pushed himself upright with a grunt.

“Are you coming?”

“Sorry…what?”

He smirked sideways at me as he tugged his boxer briefs back on.

“If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.” He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, like an annoyed teenager. “But, just guessing here, you seem like you need a reset, and I happen to have the perfect option. By the way, if you want to go like that, I’m not going to stop you, but the police might.” He gestured at my recumbent nudity. With a sniff, I retrieved my underwear.

“You think you’re soclever,Oliver Hughes.”

“I do,” he said, nodding sagely. “So? Shall we?” He extended an arm, dark eyes twinkling with mischief. I should go to work. Yes, I’d called out for the morning—last week, actually, when I’d received my “annual physical” calendar reminder—but the appointment would need to be rescheduled, and my To Do list only ever seemed to grow, and I was still so new in my role, I didn’t want anyone tothink I was phoning it in. But somehow I found myself taking his hand. Ollie had always had a way of making me want to cross fewert’s, of making me believe—however briefly—that there was another, freer Laurel hiding inside the business casual version most of the world saw.

After a brief stop at our favorite café for stuffed croissants—We’re venturing into realms unknown, Lo, we need to fortify ourselves—Ollie started leading me through the streets of Somerville, stopping every few minutes to check the map on his phone. We didn’t talk much, but silence with Ollie had never felt awkward, even on our earliest dates. There was an easy comfort there, one I was more sharply aware of after the last two days. Not that I wasn’t comfortable with Drew—I was, at least when I knew the parameters of what we were to each other…

“Osprey,” he said, pointing up at a large, shaggy nest balanced atop a telephone pole, a large bird with a fierce, hooked beak perched on the edge of the mess. It was a habit with him—pointing out wildlife I was otherwise unaware of—and all our road trips were punctuated with a string of animal names,deer, wild turkey, shit is that a falcon?

“Someday your kids are going to besoembarrassed by that.”

He looked at me for a long moment, expression unreadable, before he answered.

“Yeah, but then some much later day they’ll start doing it themselves. Just ask Shelly.”

“You’re saying this is biologically inevitable?”

“Who really knows where the line between nature and nurture is?”

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