Page 23 of Forbidden Obsessions

“Spit on it, Olivia.” A string of saliva drips from her pink lips. I drag it down the length of my shaft. Her eyes are pools of emeralds, flicking between my rippling biceps and my cock.

I sink into her without warning, her tight cunt stretching to swallow me whole. “Good girl,” I praise, easing up my grip on her curls, but not my punishing pace on her pussy.

Our heady moans fill the air, echoing throughout the kitchen and the house. It feels so good to lose myself in her like this. While I wouldn’t consider it a dry spell, it’s been one of the longer stretches without sex for us. We’re intimate in other ways, sure—cuddling, showering together, acts of service—but sex has been such an integral part of our relationship that tonight feels reassuring.

“I feel you squeezing my cock, Olivia. Remind me what a good girl you are and come for me,” I groan, getting close myself. My arm reaches around, a palm firmly wrapped against her throat. I would never hurt her, and she knows it. The threat, probably the vulnerability, if I had to guess, sends her over the edge. I feel her trachea working to swallow air as I hold her against me, thrusting into her to the hilt relentlessly.

“Tomas,” she gasps into the back of the chair. I feel and watch her explode, my eyes eagerly trying to capture it all. Between her beautiful face scrunched in pleasure, her full tits bouncing rhythmically against the chair, and the sordid sight of my cock pumping in and out of her, it’s too much.

I tense, my release at the precipice. “Jesus Christ, Olivia,” I groan, burying and emptying myself into her completely. All theworry, ache, and angst over the past few weeks become a thing of the past once I collapse against her, spent.

Our chests heave in sync as we try to collect ourselves. “Well, that was dinner. Ready for dessert?” I ask, my breathing still labored.

“Go get cleaned up,” I say, planting a kiss on her lower back before I get up to do the same. As if on cue, her phone chimes with a text. She scurries across the room to retrieve it from her purse.

“Shit, I forgot,” she sighs, reading the message.

“What?” I ask, cleaning myself off with a paper towel and washing my hands.

“It’s Mia’s sorority thing tonight. She’s been hell bent on me going.” I look at her, trying to read her expression. Does she want to go, or is she trying to downplay because she feels guilty because I can’t go?

“Go have fun, Olivia. You’ve been working hard, and it’s college. Let your hair down for once, apple.”

“I don’t want to,” she pouts. I shrug. If she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t want to go. I can’t force her into something she doesn’t want to do.

Besides that, who knows what kind of danger could be there? A bunch of nepo-babies drinking, fucking, and appeasing their egos all night—what could go wrong?

“You should go. Be a good friend to Mia. She works hard for her sorority, and it’s a fun excuse to get out.” She sighs as she types out a quick message and sticks her phone back into her purse. “Fine. It’s done. I’m going.”

She heads to the bathroom to get cleaned up as I plate dinner. Just as I dress the salad and set the plates down, James texts.

James: Tomas, sorry to bother you. I think Maura’s port has dislodged. Can you come take a look?

Tomas: Yes, but I can’t keep doing this, James. I’m bringing Olivia after we eat. She has to know. I can’t live with keeping this from her any more.

James: I understand. Sorry to have put you in such a difficult spot, James. I’m just trying to protect my family.

Tomas: Be there soon.

Olivia walks out, giving me a satisfied grin.

“What happened?” she says, her smile faltering as she takes in my grim expression.

“We’re going to your parents after dinner.”

“What happened, Tomas? What’s changed in five minutes?”

My mouth opens to give her an answer, but the truth is too dangerously close to rolling off of my tongue. I swallow thickly.

“Eat,” I prompt. Her chest heaves as her breathing accelerates. I feel horrible. I can tell that for the first time in months, she’s close to a panic attack, but if I tell her the truth now, there won’t be any chance of avoiding one.

“Everything is okay for right now, Olivia. Please eat,” I beg.

“I don’t do well with surprises, Tomas.” Tears form in her eyes. I can see it—her crumbling, the ground spiraling away from beneath her.

“I know, Olivia. The only thing I can say is I’m sorry.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. A few tears roll down her cheek, leaving black mascara in the areas she just cleaned up.

After a few moments, she takes a shuddering breath and picks up her fork, taking a delicate bite of pasta and sauce. “It’s good. Thank you,” she says, forcing herself to keep eating in politeness.

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