Ch 4 The Great Unknown
"You should invite him to go to the cabin." Says Liza, still on the quest to find out how Oliver feels about Jess. "She called me crying yesterday."
A sick feeling of guilt washes over me.
"Okay." I say, despite Common Sense hissing,
if you really felt bad, that's the last thing you'd do.
*
Later, we meet up with Jess and Oliver for a milkshake, he's sitting across the booth from me, with Jess curled up against him. She's looking up at him in wonder, hanging on every word that he says. She has her hand on his chest, possessively, trying to keep him all to herself.
Hands off,
I think unkindly.
Jesus
! Exclaims Common Sense,
He might not be all hers, but he sure as hell isn't yours either.
This unpleasant thought is interrupted by the dim realization that something has changed. He's attention has wondered. Liza is talking, but I can see he isn't following. I don't have to look at him, to know his eyes are on me. I can feel them tracking up my body. His expression has changed, his eyes low and a little glazed over. His breathing has slowed. He grazes his lips with his teeth slowly.
Uh, oh.
This doesn't bode well.
Liza is asking him about fishing, but he's a million miles away. I consider giving him a little kick under the table to bring him back to Earth, but experience has shown me, our touch is explosive and the reaction is no longer neutralized by who we're around.
"Do you, Oliver?" Liza asks again, "Do you like fishing?"
He swallows quickly, only skipping one or two beats.
"I love it!" He says emphatically. I try not to show my surprise. He doesn't seem like the type who can sit still long enough for fishing.
Liza looks up at me, nudging me with her eyes.
"What do you say?" I ask, right on cue, "Fishing next week-end?"
"Sure." He says, trying to keep his voice even, but I can see the flash of excitement. It's so obvious, I wonder how the hell Liza and Jess miss it.
*
A crazy, wild feeling of exhilaration takes hold, as we hit the highway. The road opens ahead of us, trees flying past. He's wearing sunglasses, looking ahead. Maybe it's the fact that his eyes are obstructed, but for some reason, I can't take my eyes off his lips. Or his jaw. Or those cheekbones. His legs are parted, blue denim stretched tightly over his knees. He's sitting so close. I could reach over right now, put my hand on his leg. Run my hand up his thigh...
Eyes on the road
, says Common Sense.
*
By the time we get to the cabin, I'm rampant. Wild. It's been so long since I've had him. Days. Maybe a week. My body is screaming for release. Release only he can give me. I can see he feels the same, as we both spill out of the car and head for the trees. I tear my clothes off, not looking back, I know he's right there, behind me. I turn to him when I'm naked, twigs digging into the soles of my feet, Balsam pinene filling my nostrils. I reach for him and pull him toward me, burying my face in his neck briefly. He smells like an orgasm waiting to happen.
I can't think. I can hardly see, as I turn him around, spreading him roughly and in seconds, I'm deep inside him. Relief washes over me, but it's not enough. I can't get enough. His moans are unbridled. Guttural and raw. That husky voice making the sexiest sounds I've ever heard. I fuck him and fuck him, but as soon as I come, before I even pull out, I want him again.
He looks around quickly, looking afraid, "Did anyone hear?"
"Nah," I smile, "and besides, even if they did, no way anyone would think that racket was human."
Well
, admits Common Sense begrudgingly,
that much is true
.
*
The evening passes in a blur. A blur of his flesh. His arms and his legs. His hands and his mouth. His chest. The sweet cheeks of his ass and all the things that live between his legs. I feel drunk, and not just from the beer or the whiskey. I'm exhausted, drained, but I'm also filled with a new, unfamiliar panic.
I can't get enough.
What if I can never get enough? What happens then?
He's a little drunk too. He's had quite a bit to drink and we haven't eaten much. His eyes drooping ever so slightly as he bobs his head to the beat in the background, unreservedly. He's smiling a lot too, even more than usual. That sweet, sideways grin, causing his left cheek to pleat. He looks happy. And chatty. He tells me about his family, about leaving Ireland after his father died. He tells me he was a swimmer at school. The captain of the team, until he discovered girls and then couldn't stand spending his time with his head under water. He tells me about the first time he had sex. The first time he made a girl come.
I hang on every word.
Drunk Oliver is adorable, there's no getting around it. He's even more laid back then usual. His Irish accent a little stronger. He's funny too. I can see why he's so popular. Why he's always the life of the party, despite the fact that he doesn't demand attention or even seem to seek it out.
No wonder everyone loves him.
He's irresistible.
It's getting late, we should probably sleep. Especially, if I have any hope of surviving a whole, uninterrupted day of being with him tomorrow.
"Sleep." I say at last, though I'm a little reluctant to break the spell.
"Sleep?" He says softly.
He reaches for my hand, turning it over, spreading my fingers, exposing my palm and tracing my lifeline with his nail. Despite how tired I am, I feel myself stir. He edges his fingers under the cuff of my sleeve. I wonder if he can feel my pulse quicken. He slowly undoes the button on my cuff, opening it gently, snaking his hand up my arm, the heat of his body running through my veins like venom, paralysing me.
I look at his face, I can't look away. He looks so serene, as he seduces me.
All the lights are off, except for the soft light omitted by a single table light. He's naked and I swear, in this light, he seems to glow. I lie back. My body's exhausted, but I have enough left to give, if he's willing to take it.
He's never ridden before. He's never seemed to want it. I get it, it seems a little too personal, too close. Honestly, if I wasn't drunk and so weary, I'd probably be bending him over, but what he's doing feels good and I find myself completely unable to move.
He straddles me and I can't describe what he looks like, as he carefully reaches back, lining me up, guiding me in. After all this time, I still can't believe that we do this. That he lets me. That I put part of myself inside him.
He's sinking down now, taking me in, impaling himself. He winces slightly.
"Does it hurt?" I ask softly.
He nods, eyes hooded, mouth open slightly. "Just a little, and only at first."
I must be a little drunk too, as my filter seems be slipping. "How does it feel?"
He grits his teeth as he sinks down on me. Pursing his lips and closing his eyes, moaning a little, before saying, "It's heaven."
His body starts rocking.
"Heaven and hell, at the same time. Everything good, and everything bad, all crashing in."
He's shaking and moaning. I'm moaning too.
"It's so big." He whispers, his voice sounding strained, "I feel so full. I feel full in every part of my body. Every. Single. Part."
I can't take this feeling. Seeing him like this. Hearing him like this, is almost too much. My hips start thrusting up. Harder and harder. He's wincing a little, making that sound that I love. The sound when I'm deep. He's stroking his dick, head back, mouth open, hooded blue eyes fixed on me.
"In the end," he groans, "everything is confused, I can't tell where I end or you start."
