Page 25 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
Taking her move toward me as further invitation, my hand ventures the rest of the way up her leg. Just as I discover where skin and fabric meet, there’s a distinct rock of hips. A demand.
Could she want this as much as I do?
Probably not as much, but I’ll take what she’s willing to give.
Pushing until I find elastic, I use my index finger to follow the path leading in between her legs. The material there is damp. When I press against it, I’m rewarded with another rocking of her hips.
I take my time, stroking the fabric, giving her every opportunity to push my hand away. Then, suddenly, she moves, and I feel soft mounds press into my shoulder as hands wrap around my unoccupied arm. Demanding nails dig into my skin.
This could be so many things. A beginning to something serious, or a quick fling at the beach with the closest warm body. Either way, it’s still Olive, and I can’t imagine giving up this chance to explore the secret parts of her.
Hooking my finger, I tug her panties to the side. Slick, wet heat tears a low groan from my throat. The first definitive sound in our quiet bedroom.
That is until I stroke the tight bundle of nerves at the top of her slit.
“Theo,” she moans my name against my neck, where she’s tucked her head.
Hell.
How long have I fantasized about that? About this?
In the darkness, I stroke Olive Buchanan, savoring every gasp and whimper, cataloging the shape of her body where it presses against mine, memorizing the smell of sweat and arousal.
There’s movement, a tugging at the waistband of my shorts, and the next moment I’m on the verge of spending because her firm hand grasps the hard length I’ve tried to ignore this whole trip.
So much denied pleasure has my balls tightening.
Needing to feel this woman come apart before I lose my mind to passion, I sink one, and then two fingers into her pussy.
There’s a cry followed by a wet swipe of a tongue on my neck.
With a thumb on her clit, I curl the fingers buried inside her, stroking her soft inner walls.
Before, Olive’s body rocked against mine in an invitation. Under my ministrations she writhes in an uncontrolled demand. All the while her skilled hand works up and down my cock, using the drops of my precum to lubricate the motion.
“Close,” she whispers before scraping her teeth along the taught muscle in my neck. The delicious pain has my hips jerking, my spine bowing off the bed.
Knowing I’m seconds away, I slip a third finger into her. She cries out, and I feel the orgasm pulse through her, the muscles inside her squeezing my hand.
The sensation is so erotic, it does me in.
“Olive,” I groan her name, the longing in my voice turning the word into a confession delivered in the darkness. Pleasure spikes from the base of my spine, coursing up my dick. Wetness spurts from the tip of me, as her hand slides away.
We both lay panting, our breaths filling the small bedroom. At some point, hers slow and grow even. I sense she’s fallen back to sleep, our escapade pairing with the early hour to bring on exhaustion.
Feeling my own lids grow heavy, I take a moment to pull her underwear back into place and shuck off my shirt where most of my cum landed.
Our actions and the darkness making me bold. I pull Olive against my chest.
* * *
When I wake up,I’m alone.
Memories return immediately, and my dick responds.
But my mind shuts the reaction down because there’s no delicious warm body next to me.
Did she regret it?
