Page 21 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
The tangle of fingers in my hair focuses my entire attention back on Olive. She tugs on the strands, tilting my head back until we’re staring at each other.
“Thirty minutes, Theo. Or else I’m coming up here, dripping wet”—
I’m glad my lap is hidden by the table so she doesn’t see how rock hard I am.
—“and I will drench your laptop in salt water.”
“That’s cruel.” My voice rasps, and I’m not sure if I’m talking about her threat against my computer, or the erotic way she’s delivering said threat.
“I take self-care seriously. See you in a bit.” Then, so quick I almost doubt it happened, she presses her soft lips against my forehead.
In the next moment she’s across the room, rinsing her bowl in the sink, while I’m a maelstrom of lust and need.
Olive doesn’t linger, grabbing a beach towel and sun glasses before disappearing down the stairs. Just as she moves out of sight, I hear her final warning.
“Countdown begins now!”
WEDNESDAY
Before the Buchanan family vacation,I’ve never understood the appeal of a sex dungeon.
Who wants to get tortured in the name of sexual pleasure?
But that’s basically what these past couple days have been. Only, without release at the end.
Yesterday, I made it to the beach before Olive fulfilled her threat. When I dropped my folding chair next to Tim’s, I glanced at the ocean just in time to watch his sister walking out of the water.
Every inch of her skin glistened. Wet hair stuck to the curves of her neck and top of her chest.
Pure, visual, torment.
As she crossed the sand toward me, or more accurately toward her family, I couldn’t help staring. And I wondered how I ever deluded myself into thinking spending more time with her would cure me of this wanting.
The rest of the day involved me making regular trips into the waves to cool down the response below my waist. The frequency was a consequence not only of Olive’s almost bare body, but also the sound of her laughter, and the eager way she related stories of her work in an ER in Chicago. Olive’s intelligence turned me on just as much as her generous ass did.
As the sun sank below the horizon, Melony cooked burgers on a grill in the driveway as the rest of us played cornhole and drank Mrs. Buchanan’s different cocktail experiments. Eventually, my worries faded to the back of my mind. I existed in a hazy cloud of booze-induced happiness.
Until bedtime. Jezebel once again staked her claim, and Olive made the same offer with a smirk and a pat of her mattress. I gave in even easier than the first night.
That morning I woke, finding myself in painful arousal and my years-long crush half straddling me in her unconsciousness.
And just like the previous morning, I slunk out for an icy shower and muscle-exhausting run.
Not sure how much longer I’d be able to hide my dick’s reaction to her teasing and playful threats, I made sure not to pull out my laptop. Instead, I walked down to the beach with Tim and Caroline before Olive even made it upstairs.
She joined us an hour later, and the delicious torture of her presence recommenced.
Eventually, I had to escape, worried I’d do something stupid like confess my obsession in front of her entire family. While she went for a quick dive in the waves, I returned to the house and borrowed a bike. As I rode for miles, cicadas sang a constant song, while the sun beat down on my shoulders, the heat of it almost unbearable.
And as I pedal back up the driveway, I realize that all the excursion did was fill me with regret.
The hours I spent avoiding Olive are ones I’ll never get back.
At the end of the week, we’ll go our separate ways. Another six years might pass before I get to see her again. Maybe even longer.
My chest tightens, and I find myself jogging up the outer stairs, hoping that the setting sun means she’ll be back at the house.
I’m in luck. Pulling open the sliding glass door, I spot her in the dining area with Tim’s fiancée.
