Page 95 of Waking Olivia

“You have no right to— ”

That’s when I cup her jaw and capture that mouth I’ve longed for the whole goddamn night.

64

Olivia

His mouth comesdown on mine, obliterating my pathetic attempt to object. He seizes it thoroughly, with such certainty, as if he’s spent his entire life practicing for this precise moment—his hands raking back through my hair, his tongue finding mine as he presses against me. It’s so good that for a moment I forget my objections.

His mouth moves over my neck, gentle and harsh at once, soft tongue contrasting with the rasp of his skin, the pull of his lips.Oh that’s perfect. Perfect.Heat pools in my belly, sinking lower.But no, wait … there was something… he did something …His teeth graze my skin and he groans, a noise of despair and satisfaction.I want this, I don’t care what it was …

And then I remember: he and Jessica tonight, the way he walked out my door last week.

“No,” I hiss, clinging to my anger, trying to push away though I don’t budge an inch. “You didn’t want me a week ago but now you do? It doesn’t work like that.”

He loosens one hand, palming my face, turning it toward his. “Olivia, it was never about not wanting you,” he says, his eyes burning, flickering toward my mouth in a way that makes my legs weak. “I just don’t want you stuck in a shitty small town when you graduate. I don’t want being with me to mean you’re giving things up.”

“But—”

“Later,” he growls. “Argue with me later.” And his mouth descends again, melding with mine, hot and rough and perfect. I know there are things I’m supposed to remember, other reasons why I’m supposed to object, but they escape me. I am only this—my body ripe and raw and overexposed, pain and pleasure at once. I’ve wanted this too long, his hands on my skin, my body pressed against his and his mouth creating a trail down my neck.

It’s right.

I’ve known nothing in my life with such certainty as the fact that what’s happening right now is the thing I want most.

His hands move from my hips to my breasts, cradling their weight in his hands, and then he pulls one strap of my dress down, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses over my shoulder and collarbone, almost reverently. Nipping at my skin and soothing it with his tongue. He pulls the dress down to my waist, unclasps my bra with a single hand. He cups my breasts, bringing his mouth to them in the same way, sharp and sweet at once and creating a need in me so intense that it borders on pain. I gasp and arch toward him, submitting entirely as my head falls backward against the wall.

He pulls back just enough to see my face. His eyes are such a vivid blue as he searches mine, looking there for something he desperately needs. Permission. He wants permission. As if I’d ever tell him no.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”

“You’re sure?” he asks, his voice gravelly.

And when I nod he pushes the dress over my hips and allows it to slide to the floor. His hands follow, skating over my hips, down my thighs, and I stand before him now in nothing but panties and heels.

“That fucking dress nearly did me in,” he says, smoothing my skin as he kisses me again. He pushes against me, his suit against my bare skin, his erection pressed hard against my stomach, a quick pulse there as if he is desperate for friction.

He slides his index finger under the elastic of my panties. The moment he touches me, my whole body jolts. “Fuck,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “You’re already soaked.”

His finger slips back and forth, lightly, in torturous circles before it pushes inside me.

“Oh God,” I whisper, my body bowing toward him. He adds a second finger and this time his groan is louder than mine.

“Jesus, Olivia,” he growls. “You’re going to be the end of me.”

I unclasp his belt and unzip his pants, reaching down to pull him from the confines of his boxers. He is thick and heavy in my hands, hissing as my fingers wrap around him, tugging gently. “Stop,” he exhales after a minute. “I’m not gonna last if you do that and there are so many things I want to do first.”

He pushes my panties down and lifts me up almost simultaneously, turning to deposit me on the table beside us. He kisses me once, hard. “Lie back,” he commands.

He drops to his knees, spreading my legs so I’m displayed before him, the slide of his fingers making me arch off the table. Suddenly, his fingers are joined by quick swipes of his tongue.

“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Will … just—”

His mouth and tongue lick and brush and pull, creating tiny flames that begin there and spread all the way to my toes. I try to scoot backward, but his free hand clamps down on my thigh, holding me in place.

“I’ve dreamed about doing this every goddamn night for months, Olivia. So let me.”

I can’t even nod in agreement because suddenly everything inside me is swirling together, muddied, building so quickly that I can’t tell where I am or where I’m going.

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