by Emilia Finn
“Shut up.” I push off the bed and head toward the hall in search of the bathroom. “I was ending that on my terms.”
“And yet,” she drops back against the bed and giggle-moans until my stomach lurches and demands I go back to her. “I got the last word. Victory tastes sweet.”
“Pain in my fucking ass,” I repeat under my breath when I find the bathroom and turn on the taps.
I wash the excess fluid off my cock, tuck myself away and wash my hands, then I find a washcloth hanging on the side of the tub, so I soak it in warm water and squeeze out the excess.
Turning the taps off, I leave the bathroom and go back to the room to find Olivia exactly where I left her, but with a wet patch on the covers and a filthy grin on her face.
“You look pleased.” I rest a knee on the bed between her legs and begin wiping away the mess.
Olivia jumps when the warm cloth touches near her clit. Her eyes whip open and come to me, but I guess maybe she figures when in Rome, because she gives a bit of a shrug and lies back down again.
“I’m still a little horny,” she breathes as I wipe the cloth over her folds. “I was satisfied, but then you started moving again, and now you’ve left me hanging.”
“Isn’t there something about stopping eating just before you feel full, that way you crave that thing more next time?”
From languid and relaxed, to pushing up onto her elbows and staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind, she studies me with those electric blue eyes and shakes her head. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I don’t know! I was planning on making you come then bringing you back up again so you can’t stop thinking about me. Then you’ll want me more next time.”
“Or,” she counters with an eyeroll. “I’ll touch myself as soon as you leave, and make myself come on my own terms.”
“Videocall me while you do it. I’ll whack off at the same time.”
“Mm.” She grins and brings a hand up to wipe her cheek. “I have a date tonight, William. Do you think your plan was smart, or stupid?”
My eyes narrow to slits, and my heart continues to pound, not because of what we were just doing, but rather, my hunger to slit a man’s throat. “Don’t do that, Olivia. Don’t say that shit to me.”
“Well, it’s true.” She snatches the cloth from my hand and finishes wiping herself off, then pushing to her feet, she fixes her bra and stands in the middle of her room with nothing else on.
Her hips are wide and succulent. Her stomach narrow and defined. Her two bottom ribs poke out a little, but above those are two heavy breasts that fill a whole D cup. She’s an hourglass, perfect and in proportion, and when I look beyond that, I see rosy red lips, a pleased grin, and sharp eyes that miss nothing.
“I’m sorry I cried… like… earlier. We don’t ever have to mention that again.”
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” I answer instantly. “Why should you be sorry for the emotion you feel?”
“Because the emotion I felt was stupid and ridiculous.”
“Stupid and ridiculous are synonyms, no? You’re being repetitive.”
“You’re stupid and ridiculous,” she snaps out and turns out of the bedroom.
She storms along the hall and out of my sight once she reaches the living room, so I drag my ass off her bed and follow her back to the mess – drills, plastic, rope, discarded clothes. She works her way into a fresh pair of yoga pants, and shrugs a new tank on, and once she’s covered, she reaches up and works her silky straight hair into a messy bun that she secures with a clip she takes from the arm of the long couch.
“I said I was sorry for crying and being weird.” Needing something to keep her busy, she goes about snatching up trash from her hammock adventures, and bundles it all in her hands. “I was embarrassed, I said sorry, and now we’re done. So you could probably go now before someone comes here and—”
“Comes here and what?” I take a step forward and challenge her to stand up under my glare. “Catches you lending me a cup of sugar? There’s no crime in that.”
“You and I both know there was no sugar involved today, so if you could just—”
“What are you doing for the rest of today?”
She frowns at my interruption, then thrusts her hands forward. “I’m cleaning my apartment. Then I’m going to test my hammock to make sure I secured the ropes right.”
“You didn’t. The knots are going to unravel as soon as you lay in it. Just so you know.”
“Are not,” she scowls. “Those knots were perfect.”
“No, a two-year-old girl scout could do better. But whatever you say. Now prove it,” I challenge. “Go lay in it, bounce for a second, and prove to me you won’t fall on your face.”
“You just want to see me fall!” She spins away and storms into the kitchen until the sound of her stuffing trash into an already overfull can echoes back into the living room. “I’ll try it once you’re gone and I can have a little privacy.”
“Yeah, because you know the knots are gonna fail. They were really shitty knots, Olivia. Honestly?” I shake my head. “I’m embarrassed for you.”
“You donkey’s ass. I don’t want your sympathy.” She blows past me and heads toward the little balcony.
“I wasn’t offering sympathy,” I follow her out. “I said I’m embarrassed for you, not that I was sorry for you.”
“The hammock is fine,” she growls. And because she’s stubborn, she opens the fabric with a dramatic flick of her wrist and situates it to create the cocoon in which she’ll climb. “Now go away.”
“I’d rather watch.” I lean against the doorframe and fold my arms. “Climb in, Olivia. If you fall and smack your pretty little head, I’ll perform CPR and bring you back.”
Her nose wrinkles, and her eyes narrow. If I had to apply an animal to this look, I’d say she’s a hog readying to charge. “You’re such an ass. No wonder you’re thirty and have no girlfriend.”
I roll my eyes. “Another solid burn, Olivia.” Then I nod toward the hammock. “Climb in, Knotty McKnotterson. Prove that you’re confident in your abilities. Then I’ll leave.”
“Fine! Jesus, you’re obnoxious.”
She lifts one leg, and swallows down a squeak when the hammock tries to shift under her weight. The steel bolts above groan, and the rope stretches until the knots tighten, but she climbs her way into the hanging bed and grins when she’s laying comfortably.
“Told ya.” She spends a minute getting comfortable, another minute fixing her hair and pulling her top down to cover her hips, then she folds her neck back and presents me with a magnificent smile. “I did it.”
“You sure did.”
And she’s not crying.
I take a few steps forward to stop by her shoulder, then leaning over, I accept the way her smile turns to sheer panic for just a second, then as her eyes close when our lips touch.
It’s not hot, the way it tends to be between us. It’s not rushed or tense, like we usually are. Instead, I let my lips glide over hers for a full minute, and for as long as she doesn’t shove me away, I absorb the way she accepts my kiss and slides into it.
She reaches up and wraps her arms around the back of my neck to keep me close, and because the hammock moves, I push my hands down to her hips and keep her still. Her lips are like melted butter, her breath like warm sex. But she sighs and doesn’t try to pretend that what we’re doing is wrong.
Pulling back until an inch or two now sits between her nose and mine, I study her eyes and smile. “Good job with the knots.”
“Thanks,” she whispers and draws her bottom lip between her teeth. “I worked really hard on them.”
“Thank you for letting me in today. Regardless of what kind of asshole you think I am, I really like spending time with you.”
“You like having sex with me.”
“Nah.” I shake my head and drop another kiss on her jaw. “I love having sex with you, but if we never did that again, I woul
d still be happy to be near you.” I press a kiss to her succulent lips when her eyes widen with surprise. “I like looking at you, Olivia. I like talking to you. I like arguing with you. I just really fuckin’ like being near you. The sex is extra, and don’t get me wrong, it’s so good that it makes me dizzy. But if you said we had to shut up shop and never do that again…” Please don’t ever say that. “We could be pen-pals, and that would be okay.”
She draws a breath so deep that her chest fills and lifts, then she lets it out again so her chin wobbles. “You… um…” She nibbles on the inside of her cheek like it helps her think. “Brenten is…”
“Not here.”
“No, listen.” She pushes up to sit in the hammock; a difficult feat, considering it moves beneath her. “Will… at the risk of sounding like a broken record, I have to say it again. I have a boyfriend. I made promises to him, I made a commitment. As far as he’s aware, I’m his, and at no point did we discuss bringing other people into our beds. What I’m doing with you is not okay, and sure, maybe the first time was wild and somewhat… I don’t know, I guess we could say it was an accident.”
I scoff.
“But anything beyond that,” she continues, “that’s not heat-of-the-moment. That’s not ‘oops’. That’s cheating, it’s lying, and it’s not okay.”
“You don’t love him,” I press. “I know you don’t, because when you do love, you do it with your whole heart. You’re fiercely protective, you’re stubborn, and tenacious. Once someone has your love, they have a shield that won’t be broken.”
“Will, I—”
“Tell me I’m wrong!” I demand. “Tell me you love him!”
“No, I don’t l—” She stops, and shakes her head. “I don’t love him, William. Of course I don’t, because if I did, I would be with him right now.”
“So why do you insist on calling him your boyfriend?” I snap. “Dammit, Olivia. Why the hell do you insist on that bullshit when—”
“Because I gave him my word!”
“Well your word doesn’t mean shit anymore. You’re sleeping with me, but planning a dinner party with the fuckin’ lawyer-wannabe. Why? Why are you—”
“You can go now.” She shuts down on me. Like a robot powering down, she was hot and pliable a moment ago, but now she looks at me with dead eyes. “Please leave, William. Grab a cup of sugar on your way through, then let yourself out and don’t come back.”
“Olivia—”
“Go.” She turns and climbs out of the hammock on the opposite side to where I stand. “I have a class to prepare for, then a date tonight that I said I would cook for. I don’t have time for relationship drama – especially,” she adds as she stands tall and fixes her shirt, “when the relationship isn’t even mine.”
“That easy, huh?” I lift the hammock, and shove it out of my way to clear the space between me and the raven-haired succubus. Because that’s what she is, isn’t she? A fucking succubus intent on eating my soul. “You fuck me, then you’ll fuck him tonight like you think that makes it all okay?”
“Yup. Leave now, before someone comes here to search for me. My behavior has been somewhat… erratic lately. My family worries, so it wouldn’t be out of character for someone to drop by for lunch to check in on me. I’d really rather you weren’t here when that happened.”
“You’re fuckin’ cold.” I shake my head and push away from the woman everyone protects, the one they all claim is gentle and kind. They don’t know her at all, because she’s colder than stone, and meaner than a snake. “From one dick to the next. And folks have the audacity to call me loose.”
“Yup.” She rolls her eyes and forges her way back inside. “That’s me. Slutty McSlutterson. Matches my McKnotterson reputation, don’t you think?” She strides through her home, past the remaining hammock mess in the living room, through her kitchen to the door, and with a sharp flick of her wrist to release the chain lock, she swings her door wide and gestures to the hall. “Go. I have things to do, and you’re taking up what little time I have.”
“How dare I?” I step through the door and into the hall. When a large square parcel resting against the wall catches my eye, I pick it up and set it just inside her door. “Mailman came while you were sitting on my cock.”
“William!” From cool and unaffected, to hissing and looking down the hall. “Do you mind? I have neighbors!”
“Sure would be a shame if they heard about your midday fucking, huh? How embarrassing for you.”
“Stop.” Her eyes flicker along the hall – closed doors, no one around. Then she looks back to me. “You swore you wouldn’t snitch. You promised.”
I scoff and turn away. “It’s ironic, don’t you think, that the criminal’s word means more than the gilded princess’? No one would believe me if I told them. Don’t worry, Olivia.” I stop at the end of the hall and turn back with my hands in my pockets. “Your secret is safe with me. And when you want more, all you have to do is ask. I’m in so fucking deep that I’ll come to you anyway.” I flash a peace sign, a habit I guess I learned over the years when my sister wanted the final say when we were having a fight and she wanted to storm away.
The hand signal says peace, but the fire in my eyes and heart says go to hell.
I skip down the stairs with rage bubbling in my blood, and longing weeping from my heart. She wants me to share her, she wants me to be okay with her hopping from my bed to his. And fuck, but he was here first. Maybe I met her first, maybe I announced claim first, but he’s the one with the boyfriend title, the one she brings to family dinner. I’m merely the one she kisses in the dark, and fucks in secret. But once that’s all done, I’m on my ass in the street again, while she stays inside and prepares a fucking dinner for him like she’s some kind of kept housewife.
I make my way down the stairs, consumed in my own thoughts, but in my mind, I imagine the sound of pots and pans clanging together. I imagine the sound of her fridge opening and closing, the click-click-click of her starting the gas stove.
My imagination wreaks havoc on my heart until it becomes a physical ache, but when I push through the building front doors and stop by my truck, I look up to find her standing on her balcony – no pots or pans in sight. She rests her elbows on the banister, and her chin in her hands, and in the silence, she stares at me with what my weeping heart assures me is sadness in her eyes.
She’s sad to see me go. But she refuses to let me in.
Like always, she’s a conundrum, but she’s cold enough to leave me hanging until she figures her shit out.
Olivia
Birds of a Feather
“Hi.”
Seven hours after William slid into his truck and ambled out of my parking lot, I’ve hosted a class at the gym, come home, showered, styled my hair, added a light layer of makeup, slipped into a cute dress, hung my newest chair – white, with cute tassels and a pink cushion – prepared a nice meal, opened a bottle of red wine to breathe, and now I stand at my door and smile for the man I claim to be my boyfriend – despite the fact my core aches from another man’s touch.
My smile shakes when that thought passes through my mind, but I still step forward when Brenten does, and press a kiss to his lips when it’s clear that’s what he’s expecting.
He wears black dress pants with a perfectly ironed pleat down the front, a white shirt, but with micro-thin lines of blue passing through. Shiny black shoes, shiny black hair… Brenten is the poster boy for whatever company sells hair gel and shoeshine. And he holds a bouquet of pink roses.
“Oh wow.” I accept the cute bundle and bring them to my nose to smell. “Thank you, Brenten. Come on in.” I step aside, and smile for him as he passes.
His aftershave is so strong, it wars with the beautiful scent of flowers. It’s not an unpleasant aroma. Just… overwhelming.
“It smells great in here,” Brenten looks to the oven where I’ve left our dinner warming, then to the wine that sits open on the counter. “Whatever you’ve cooked,
I can’t wait to eat it.”
“Oh, well…” I close the door with a nervous clearing of my throat, and move across the kitchen to grab a vase from the cupboard beside the fridge. “Maybe lower your expectations just a little. I tried hard, but I’m not a great cook or anything, I can’t compete with fancy restaurant meals.”
“Whatever it is, it’ll be delicious.”
He makes himself at home, which is completely normal for us – he’s been in my apartment a thousand times, he’s slept over, he’s eaten and made his own coffee without asking for step-by-step permission – but for some ridiculous reason, tonight, my nerves are on edge. Perhaps William left his wallet on my pillow, his shirt on my couch, his boxer shorts on my lamp.
I know it’s irrational, and I searched this place top to bottom today, just to make sure nothing can jump out and ruin all of my hard work, but still, my nerves and conscience wreak havoc on my heart.
Brenten moves into my living room while I fill the vase with water, then stops when he sees what I knew he would find. “You have a hammock?”
“Um… yeah.” I clear my throat and drop the flowers into the water. “I set it up today. Pretty cool, right?” I set the vase on the counter, wipe my hands on a towel, then follow him into the living room. “I grabbed the supplies I needed from the hardware store.”
“And the hammock itself?” He makes his way to the glass door. “Where’d you get that?”
“Online. I ordered it last night, it arrived today.”
“Oh…” Brenten isn’t a hammock kind of guy. His spine is much too rigid for that nonsense. “How’d you know how to install it?” He looks up to the steel bolts in the timber beams, and studies them with a wrinkle in his brow.
“I asked the guy at the hardware store,” I tell him. “I took a picture of the beams, the hammock, then I walked the aisles at the store until I found a guy who looked competent. I asked what he thought the best idea would be.”
“And this is what you got?”
