Page 118 of Oliver
Instead of answering, I pushed him down, sliding my feet up his body to drape my knees over his shoulders, surrendering to the slow burn he'd ignited.
The teasing heat of his breath against my inner thighs made my core clench with anticipation. Oliver’s hands slid under my hips, lifting me slightly, his fingers digging into my flesh with a possessive edge that made my heart race.
He pressed a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just above my clit, the featherlight touch enough to make me whimper, my hips jerking toward him, desperate for more.
Then his mouth was on me, and I was lost.
His tongue traced a slow, deliberate path along my slit, tasting me with a reverence that made my breath hitch, my fingers tangling in his hair as I anchored myself to him. He groaned against me, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure through my core, and I moaned, the sound raw and needy, echoing in the quiet room.
He parted me with his tongue, the wet heat a delicious torment that made my thighs tremble, my body arching off the bed as I chased the sensation.
“Oliver,” I gasped, my voice a broken plea, my hips rocking against his mouth, seeking more, needing more.
He obliged, his tongue finding my clit with a precision that made my vision blur, circling the sensitive bud with slow, firm strokes that set every nerve alight.
My breath came in ragged gasps, my hands fisting his hair as he sucked gently, the perfect mix of pressure and release pushing me to the edge.
Oliver hummed against me, the sound a low growl of appreciation, and the vibration pushed me closer, my thighs clamping around his head as I writhed beneath him, my body trembling with the effort of holding back.
His tongue flicked faster now, relentless, each stroke a spark that built the tension higher, hotter, until I was a live wire, ready to snap.
Then a gust of cold air blew over my heated pussy, and I whimpered in a mix of surprise and protest. But the sound was swallowed by Oliver’s mouth, plundering mine with unhinged ferocity, my taste on his tongue as his cock stretched me.
I was so close to the edge already that halfway through working himself into me, release tore through me, my body clenching tight around him, a keening cry tearing from my throat but muffled by his kiss, my vision whitening with the intensity of it.
Oliver didn’t stop, his jaw wound tight with a guttural groan, and he thrust hard, bottoming out and immediately starting to pound me with a relentless rhythm.
He fucked me through two more orgasms and still kept a wild pace, continuing until I was a trembling, boneless mess, my chest heaving, my skin slick with sweat, my heart pounding with the depth of what I felt for him.
Then he buried his face in the crook of my neck, his body tensing and jerking with a suppressed roar as he thickened inside me, pulsing, then releasing.
We lay tangled, a sweaty, satisfied mess, lost in the joint beat of our hearts.
Oliver pulled back slowly, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, his eyes dark and hooded as he looked up at me, a satisfied smile tugging at his mouth.
“Merry Christmas, my Lumina.”
“Merry Christmas, my love,” I answered, a broad smile stretching my lips.
Our second Christmas together, and life was on an upward trajectory.
The faint strains of "White Christmas" drifted up from downstairs—Emmet must have arrived—but all I could focus on was Oliver's hands mapping my body, his tongue teasing the hollow of my throat, the delicious friction as he settled between my thighs again.
"God, I love you," he breathed against my lips, his words sending thrills straight to my core.
"Show me how much," I challenged, wrapping my legs around his waist.
He did. Thoroughly. Repeatedly.
By the time we stumbled downstairs, showered, dressed, and wearing matching goofy smiles. The clock read 8:25, leaving just thirty-five minutes before my parents would arrive.
“Morning, Quark,” Oliver greeted him.
"Morning, lovebirds," Emmet winked from where he was arranging presents under our slightly lopsided Christmas tree. "Coffee's ready."
"You're a saint," I said, making a beeline for the kitchen, where Parisa and Darryl were already working, plating the dishes that I’d prepared ahead.
"And you're still loud," Parisa tossed at me with a knowing smirk. "I shouldn’t have let you convince me to crash here instead of staying at a hotel."
