Oliver (This is Our Life Book 3)

by F. G. Adams

  I giggle at his comment and reply. “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re the ‘brush’ in my stroke, cowboy.”

  Warmth blankets me. Oliver holds me close to his chest. He grinds his semi-hard cock against my bottom, keeping time with the music.

  “Sure thing, honey. I’ll let you stroke me anytime you want. Just name the place and time,” he points out.

  I swat at his hand trying to cup my breast and laugh. “You know you’re insatiable, right? I’m trying to create a masterpiece here.”

  He places a kiss on my bare shoulder.

  “Can’t blame a man for tryin’. I’ll be downstairs in my office if you need me.”

  “M’kay,” I dreamily respond.

  My brain is already centered on the creation in front of me. The idea struck me like a ton of bricks, and I feel alive with the memory. The color blends come naturally as the vision in my mind unfolds on the canvas. The fluidity of my paintbrush bringing to life on the flat surface the beginning of us.

  I smile, a wave of contentment encompassing me as the shapes form on the canvas.

  A man and a woman lost in each other’s gaze.

  I dip the brush and paint from my soul. Tenderly capturing the emotion on each face. The gentle touch of his thumb on her cheek, reassuring her everything is alright. His strength absolute. Her innocent gaze of wonder and confusion, questioning his motives but accepting him. The fierce protectiveness captured in his obsidian eyes surrounded by long lashes, calming her fears. The feather-like touch of her hand over his, grounding her to the earth.

  Hours later, a stifled gasp of surprise escapes my lips when Oliver wraps me in his arms and nuzzles my hair.

  “Been too long, baby. I needed to feel you in my arms.”

  I soften at his words. I’m getting used to the tremendous pull between us. I need him, too.

  My heart sings a song for him alone. I want this man as mine. I turn around and face him.

  “Here I am, cowboy. All yours for the taking.”

  I wink, standing on my tippy-toes to reach him.

  He lowers his firm lips and tenderly brushes the seam of my mouth with his magical tongue. I open my warm and willing ones, instantly desiring any connection with him. My body and soul thirsty for his richness. The taste of Oliver and chocolate explodes in my mouth.

  Damn, he’s delectable. His tongue slowly glides in and out, building a powerful need for more of him. I run my fingers along his solid chest and then down his biceps, lost in the warm sensations.

  Logic scatters the second his palms clamp down on my butt and he lifts me. My legs encircle his waist, and I cross my feet to anchor myself. My hands latched around his muscular neck. I rub my needy center over his full-blown erection. A few steps, and my back is against the wall.

  “Zero to sixty, baby. My dick needs you. Not gonna make it to a bed,” he says in between nips and licks along my collarbone.

  He maneuverers his jeans, and his beautiful cock springs forward. His fingers slide my panties over and thrust into me.

  “Yes!” I chant over and over as he continues to awaken my pleasure.

  “Your cream’s drippin’ all over my fingers. You like it when I talk dirty, don’t ya, baby?”

  I hook my finger in his hair and yank.

  “Enough talk. I want your cock in me, Oliver. Now, damn it.”

  I’ve lost all sense of control the way his fingers keep driving into me and his talented mouth keeps nibbling at the sensitive skin behind my ear.

  “Well, when you put it that way, baby.”

  He impales me on his massive cock. I shudder as the muscles in my core clamp down on his invasion.

  “Fuuuucccckkkkk!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

  He pistons his glorious cock unmercifully into me, in and out. My pussy clenches around him almost painfully. All I can manage to do is hold on to his shoulders and enjoy the pace he’s set for us.

  I focus on the sweat cascading down his cheekbone and lean over to lick it. A deep thunder of pleasure detonates from him. Oliver’s knees bend, positioning himself at a deeper angle. He continues relentlessly penetrating me with his long, thick staff. His size and strength evident in the way he handles my body with ease.

  His desire-filled eyes zone in on mine.

  “This is gonna be over quick, baby, the way your tight little pussy’s squeezin’ me. Too good to stop.”

  Hot, molten lava boils inside of me, ready to erupt. A terrible pressure aches to be set free. Our bodies soaked with sweat. I can’t think straight, am barely able to breathe with the heat coursing through my veins, ignited by this man manipulating my body for his satisfaction.

  “I can’t take much more,” I whimper. “I’m burning alive, Ollie.”

  The lines on his face are etched in my memory. Determination stares back at me. A ferocity kindled by the control he has over me. His pace slows. My buttocks on his forearm and his other arm around me hold me near.

  “Look at me, Fallyn. Keep your eyes on me. I wanna see the pleasure in yours when I make you explode all over my dick.”

  My muscles tense at his words. Stroke after stroke, the intensity rises, but my eyes remain focused on his. I couldn’t look away from him if I wanted to. He’s mine for now. I feel his shaft swell inside me, so close. I grow hotter and hotter with anticipation.

  Oliver slowly drags his steel rod almost free of my womb. My nipples harden when he leans in and sucks, leaving a mark. His eyes never waver from mine. Out of control with lust, he roughly pulls me down to meet his rigid, thick cock. His face flush with hunger.

  Once. Twice. The magnitude of heat consumes me. I gasp as my body spasms, erupting in a wild frenzy as my orgasm rips from the depths of me. My muscles contract and squeeze around him.

  “That’s it, baby, milk me dry. Take all of me.”

  Nothing could ever be this good. He is shattering my world and rebuilding it one brick at a time with each caress and spoken word. Nothing would ever compare to Oliver’s touch.

  With a harsh groan, his knee’s buckle and he slides down the wall. Gasping for breath, he gently caresses my trembling body. With the palm of his hand, he presses my cheek to his heart. We stay connected as our bodies float back to earth.

  “How did we end up on the floor?” he asks.

  “Your legs gave out from all the extracurricular activity,” I point out, laughing at the comical expression on his handsome face.

  “Guess I got my workout in for the day.”

  Happiness is painted on his face.

  “We could always go for round two, big boy. That is, if you can get it up,” I playfully remark, tracing the tattoo on his chest. I’m fascinated with all the ink covering his body.

  “Are you questioning my manhood, Vixen?” he asks with a stern look and a raised eyebrow.

  “Never ever would I make that mistake, cowboy.”

  I mimic his posture.

  His brows lift with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

  Oh no. I’ve poked the mighty bear. The expression on my face is laughing at his antics.

  In a flash, he leaps up from the floor with me in his lap and throws me over his muscular shoulder, headed for the door.

  “Put me down, ya big lug! Right this minute, Oliver Bishop!” I say, pounding his firm buttocks with my fist. I’m not even fazing the big oaf, so I attack him by tickling his perfectly sculpted ass. His steps briefly falter when my hands skim the crease near his swaying man-balls. He swats the naked flesh of my booty and continues his long strides across the room.

  I’m giggling like a loon. I don’t remember a time I’ve felt the freedom to let my hair down and just be me. He makes me laugh and fills me with hope of a better tomorrow.

  His hand stills the circular motion under my knee, and he stops in his tracks mid-way to the doorway. The grip of his hold gentles and his chest heaves, lifting my anchored legs with it. He doesn’t move, all the playfulness from moments ago evaporated. His stance is immobile, as still as a statue carved
in stone. The granite form of perfection. I prop my hands on his backside and push.

  “What’s the hold-up, Ollie? No pun intended,” I joke.

  “Fallyn…” he whispers with a reverent voice.

  The potency conveyed in my name isn’t lost on me. I wiggle my hips. I want down. I need to see his face.

  “Yes?”

  He slowly releases me along the front of his body, and I leisurely slide down the length of him. When my feet touch the floor, he hugs me close and kisses the top of my head. His body trembles and he draws in a ragged breath.

  “Hey, Ollie, you okay?” I question with an edge of concern.

  He expels a deep, pent-up sigh, “Yeah, baby, I’m good.”

  I notice his eyes are locked on something in the corner of the room. I follow the direction of his stare, trying to locate what has him so deeply enthralled, when my eyes land on the painting of us.

  “Do you like it?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

  “It’s perfect, Fallyn. Just like you and me. I love it.”

  We stand arm in arm, captured by the poetic beauty of the moment.

  The evolution of colors displays a wealth of affection passed between us at a pivotal junction in both our lives. A private moment caught on canvas binding two destined lovers. Frozen for all time.

  “I named it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Telepathy of Our Hearts.”

  “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

  “It’s signifies a turning point for me. You helped me get through a severe panic attack and became my sort of friend that day. I hadn’t had one of those in years. Thought I had them under control, but obviously, I didn’t.”

  “You helped yourself, baby. I was just there. Nothin’ more.”

  “But, um…you read my heart.”

  Reaching up, I caress his bottom lip with the tip of my finger. He feels so right. As our eyes meet, my heart skips a beat and the air squeezes from my lungs.

  Oh, God! It’s dawns on me.

  I’m in love with this man.

  Heart, body, and soul. How did it happen so quickly?

  He took my world by storm and wouldn’t allow me to stay buried in the past.

  “You helped me more than you’ll ever know, Oliver Bishop. More than you’ll ever know.”

  He picks me up and cradles me in his arms. Then he carries me to his bedroom, lays me on the bed, and makes sweet, passionate love to me for hours.

  22

  Oliver

  The truth may hurt for a little while. Especially when the person you tell could perceive it in a negative way.

  However, the alternative, a lie, can last forever and damage any relationship.

  When you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything. Don’t have to second-guess what it is you’ve said in the past or not.

  Deep down you already know the truth of what you need to do, because the truth really can set you free.

  “We just got word, brother. Roman was spotted in a little town just south of St. Louis. It’s only a matter of time before he shows up here. Or let’s hope the fuck he does.” Keagan’s exhaustion resonates in my ears.

  The big guy is ready to go home to his wife, and no one can blame him. This whole situation sucks balls. Encased in a shit storm and requires closure soon.

  It’s been two weeks since our arrival at homestead, and not a fucking sound or whisper until today.

  Two weeks of chocolate ice cream with a dollop of Fallyn on top. We’ve played house, gotten to know each other. I’ve had Fallyn all to myself, and it’s been epic.

  Although, like everything else in life, all good things come to an end.

  “Affirmative, K. It’ll be soon, man. I can feel it. The fucker’s tryin’ to catch us with our pants down. We’ll be ready,” I confirm through the phone line.

  “Agreed. Everythin’s a go. Traps are set out and a secure line with the FBI has been established, ready and waitin’,” Keagan explains the planned events established for the op.

  Now, we wait.

  Lukas checked in an hour ago, putting my mind to rest. Harper is still safe from the clutches of Roman. He informed me MacGyver’s keeping his distance, following orders, and is miserable. A smug grin filtered across my face, picturing the bow-tied nerd all spooked from what I might do to him. Puckered-up shitbag.

  “Still takin’ Fallyn to the creek. Like we planned. Gotta come clean with her, K. ‘Bout Taylor. Yeah?”

  Keagan laughs.

  “Good luck with that, Ols. These Blackwood women are a handful.”

  “Great advice, baldy,” I chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Anytime, fucktard. But seriously. Gettin’ it all out there is the right thing to do, Ollie.”

  “Thanks, K. Later.”

  I end the call with Keagan. If there’s hell to pay for my involvement with Fallyn, Keagan's not commenting. I’m positive it’s coming when all this is over.

  After the night Fallyn revealed to me the reasons why she ran, my turn to share hasn’t come back up. My secrets were pushed to the back burner for another time.

  Everyone has a chapter they don’t want to read. At the picnic today, I’ll be reading a few of those. The time has come to suck it up and tell Fallyn everything.

  I figure a walk in the woods, down to the creek, will soothe the sting of what I need to say. At least I hope.

  Pacing back and forth in the kitchen, I glance at the picnic basket laid open on the granite countertop. A wave of excitement crashes against my insides, heating up my forehead and chest as my stomach churns and plummets. The weakness in my knees generates the sudden need to sit, but I lean up against the cabinets.

  I’m buzzed out thinking about the heart-to-heart with Fallyn today. Ratcheted up tighter than a drum; one wrong move, and I’ll burst wide open.

  The desperation to come clean about Taylor presses down hard on my lungs, inhibiting my breathing. I need to jerk my head out of my ass and quick. Where’s Keagan when I need him?

  I’ve packed strawberries, grapes, cucumbers, and watermelon in small containers. Even slices of barbecue chicken pizza with fresh jalapeños wrapped up in tin foil line one side of the bin.

  Tapping my fingers against the counter, I turn my mouth up in a smirk. Recalling how hard I worked, making the dough from scratch, grilling the chicken, peppers, and onions. All without a snooping Fallyn discovering my plan.

  Placing the last few items of water, wine, and cheese into the basket, I glance around the kitchen to see if anything else is required for the outdoor meal.

  Reminding myself for the hundredth time today’s going to be a great day. It’s important. She’ll understand.

  Something happened to me when least expected. Fallyn Blackwood charged into my life with a vengeance. She changed my way of thinking. Changed how I view the world.

  I found love again, in Fallyn. Something I no longer believed was possible.

  “I love her,” I whisper. “I love Fallyn.”

  The revelation is liberating and freeing, sending ripples of pleasure across my skin. The anticipation of telling her rocks my soul. But I shove it back into the box, for now. First things first… “Tell Fallyn the truth.”

  “Hey, cowboy. What’d you say? And what smells so divine?”

  Fallyn walks into the kitchen just as I close up the basket. Shutting her off from viewing the contents. Man, that was close.

  My body ignites as my heated gaze strips her from head to foot. A predictable reaction when she’s around. The black V-neck sweater she’s wearing cuddles her body, exposing to me a small sample of her generous cleavage. Hot damn, if she doesn’t look edible.

  “Nothin’. C’mere, you.”

  I clasp her hand as she attempts to pass by, going for the basket. Angling my mouth onto her plush lips, I demand entrance into her silky, wet mouth with my tongue. And she complies.

  “Mmm.”

  Her throaty moan amplifies the ne
ed she arouses, and I toss her ass up on the counter. Fallyn’s jean-clad legs instantly wrap around my waist and my pulsing cock nestles perfectly against her heated core.

  Fallyn’s my drug of choice, supplying my desire.

  A tingling frenzy forms as the blood surges to my dick. The warmth and wetness coming from her pussy seeps through her jeans. Fallyn’s unique scent permeates the air.

  Fuck! Focus, Oliver. Picnic, picnic, picnic. The chant goes off in my mind, over and over, until my body chills, allowing me to focus on the task.

  With Roman closing in, we may not have much time left here. There’s little choice in when to reveal my past. It’s now or never.

  “Were your ears burnin’, Vixen? I was about to come find you. Got a surprise for ya,” I say while scraping my teeth across her neck, and she gifts me with a shiver, causing her legs to clamp down tighter around my middle.

  Picnic. Picnic.

  “What’s in the basket, Mr. Bishop?” Fallyn questions, still lost in her passion-induced haze.

  “That’s the surprise, baby. C’mon,” I respond while untangling our limbs, grabbing her hand and the basket. “You’ll see.”

  My thoughts succumb to the responsibility behind the meaning of the talk that’s coming as we walk through the freshly-cut trail leading down to the creek. A brooding man replaces my normal façade. Zero to sixty in nothing flat.

  In my solitary mood, I keep Fallyn close. My fingers intertwined tightly around hers.

  Fallyn’s aware of my withdrawal by the lack of conversation since we left the cabin. Frustration and guilt rear its ugly head as we advance to within spitting distance of the creek. Can’t be helped. This is the place I called home for twenty-six days six years ago.

  Fallyn continues silently by my side, frequently squeezing my sweaty palm and cupping my hand with both of hers, reminding me of her presence. It’s as if she recognizes my distress and pain.

  The closer we get, the more my heart constricts, sheathed between a pair of clamps, squeezing tightly to stop the beating. Being here relives the painful memories of Taylor and the agonizing past I endured.

  As we near the opening to the creek bank, the resonance from the babbling brook splashing, pitter-pattering, echoes around the gully branch. Amnesty delivered by nature’s unrepressed cycle of life.