And, as a result, he felt himself climaxing as well.
He let out a guttural groan, but he wouldn’t look away from her.
It was almost like a game.
When they had finished, he kept his body on her, for as long as it was possible, just staring at her. A soft smile was currently occupying her lips, and he felt that he wanted to memorize this moment. He loved burying himself inside of her. She always welcomed him, no matter what the cost to her body. But he always made it a point that he pleasure her as well as himself.
He really did care about her, whether he ever said it or not.
And though it was a rarity on his lips, she knew that.
It worked for them.
11
Ollo’s pickup truck reminded Reese a lot about Ollo himself. Both were rugged, tough, and could probably take on anything being thrown at it. Both looked good, despite their rough-around-the-edges appearance. Both were sturdy and reliable. And both seemed to be at their best outside of the city and in the woods.
Ollo pulled into Slot 22 as Reese scanned her new and quite unfamiliar surroundings. She had changed into warmer attire before leaving her house, thank God. She couldn’t make out much, but from what she could see in the truck’s headlights, she noticed that no one else occupied the camping grounds in the adjacent slots. Because no one in their right mind would go camping in the middle of winter, she thought to herself. There was dirt—lots of it—along with scattered bushes and lots of trees. Tall ones with thick trunks, standing at fifty feet tall, at least. But it was too dark for Reese to even make out the brittle leaves that might still remain on the dry branches. However, once she hopped out of the truck and heard the crunch of leaves underneath her booted feet, she realized that the tops of the trees were naked.
“Build a fire, would you?” Ollo said as he walked around the front of the truck. “I’m going to get to work on our tent.”
“Tent?” She bypassed the fact that he basically demanded her to make an element come to life with her bare—now gloved—hands. This seemed to be much more important, at least right now. “As in, singular? As in one? As in we’re sharing one tent?”
“I’m glad to see your mind is as sharp as ever.” She didn’t have to be wide awake to detect the sarcasm dripping from his deep tone. His blue-brown eyes twinkled as he looked at her, and Reese realized he was entirely too close. It didn’t matter how cold she was; she needed her personal space or else she wouldn’t be able to think clearly around Ollo. “I’m sorry, but I can’t build you your own personal suite, darl. And since we are supposed to be lovers, I figure, why not?”
Of course, he would never tell her one tent meant he didn’t have to worry about her sleeping by herself. His body was already in tune with hers, so if she moved, if she got up, if she whimpered, if she cried out, he would know. If he could keep his eyes on her always, he would, but Ollo knew that wasn’t possible. Reese was too independent to allow him to follow her like some puppy dog, but he would take all necessary precautions to ensure that she was safe. He couldn’t lose her again. He couldn’t lose her at all. And if that meant facing her wrath about one tent, then so be it.
Reese rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she said. She wrapped her arms around her frame. Despite the fact that she had two layers underneath an oversized jacket, the bitter night air still somehow nipped at her concealed skin. She was suddenly tired and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, even if Ollo would be right next to her. Actually, not that she would admit it, but the thought of him close to her made her feel reassured, that nothing would happen to her. “How do you expect me to start a fire? I don’t have a lighter on me. You didn’t tell me I needed to have one.”
Ollo pressed his lips together and tilted his head to the side. Slowly, the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smirk; the same smirk Reese constantly wanted to slap off his face. It caused his dimples to pop, and despite the darkness, she could still make them out, even underneath his scruff. He placed his hands on his hips and strands of his dark blond hair fell into his face.
“Are you telling me you don’t know how to build a fire, darl?” he asked. She could tell he wanted to laugh at her and appreciated the fact that he was holding back.
“Why would I know how to build a fire?” she snapped. She winced at the abrasive tone, but she didn’t take it back. It had been a long night, and all she wanted was to sleep, with him next to her.
“Right,” he said, responding to her tone. “Because you’re a princess who doesn’t have to do anything herself.”
“Because I’m not Pythia.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she had to look away. She had been holding them back ever since she found out about her previous life, about the essence that made up some of her soul. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced her grey eyes into Ollo’s. “I don’t know how to hit a target with my bow and arrow. I don’t know how to control or even interpret the things I see that are supposed to be the future. And I definitely don’t know how to make a fire.”
She was expecting Ollo to say something, to interrupt with one of his witty and slightly insulting comments, but he stayed quiet. He just looked at her with those eyes—more blue now than brown—and waited, somehow knowing she wanted to say more.
“You don’t think I know who I am?” she continued. “I do. I’m a princess. I’m a brat. I’m spoiled. I’ve heard it all from everyone. I know how to spiral a corner kick, and I know multiple interpretations for Shakespeare’s sonnets, and I can tell any girl what type of makeup to wear with her complexion, what type of clothes to wear for her body, and what type of haircut to get for her face. Maybe they’re not things that I need to know to survive or anything, but those are the things that I know. These things make up who I am. And I’m not Pythia. I’m not going to be this Oracle you fell in love with, this Oracle who managed to stop a war, this Oracle who was graceful and humble and beautiful and knew how to save everyone. I’m not. So please stop reminding me. I’m never going to match up to her, okay? I’m just me. I’m just Reese.”
Tears eclipsed her face, and she had no idea how or when they started to fall. A callused thumb wiped them away, causing her to blink and look back up at the man—the god.
“No.” A beat. “You are not.” She could barely see him, but noticed his long fingers slide through the belt holes of his pressed slacks. His eyes softened a glitch, and he tilted his head down so he could look at her levelly. She always hated when he did that; on some level, she knew he did it to remind her just how tall he was in comparison to her, and on another, it meant his lips were too close to hers.
Wait a minute.
She furrowed her brow and opened her mouth, prepared to give him an earful. Did he just agree with the fact that she would never match up to some person, some Oracle, she had never met? Who was better than her in every way possible? Wasn’t he supposed to guide her, to support and reassure her that she was perfect for her role in the war, that nobody else could do it, not even Pythia? Who did he think he was—besides the Greek god, Apollo.
Immediately, his arm shot out and his extended finger somehow found her lips. It felt surprisingly warm, though definitely callused and rough. She wondered what they might feel like on her bare skin and instantly banished the thought. Thank God it was too dark to see her flush. God, she hoped her lips weren’t chapped either.
“Reese,” he said, saying her name yet again tonight, causing the goose bumps on her body to stand even straighter. His voice was low, and there was a slight smirk, a slight sparkle in those deep eyes. “You are more than you give yourself credit for. You may not be Pythia, but she will never be you, either. You are so much more than she was.”
He still hadn’t removed his finger from her lips, but she was too focused on his words and the way his mouth moved when he said them. She pursed her brow together, picking her eyes up until they rested in his. She could believe anything he said if he said them while looking in her eyes.
“You are, darl. How could you not think so?”
“Because the few times you actually talk about her, the way your eyes get and what you say …” She felt her shoulders slump forward. “I feel like I’ll never live up to her, Ollo. Honestly. You’re always fighting with me. You point out what I do wrong. This woman is the reason a war ended, and I’m worried about making the varsity soccer team.”
“That’s just it.” His smirk slid into a smile. “You really don’t understand. Darl, Pythia was an admirable, amazing woman. She was my Oracle, and that was it. She had one role in her life and she put everything into it and succeeded. She knew she was destined to be an Oracle from the day she was born, and she trained day and night for her entire life before the war even begun. You were thrust into this role and have such a miniscule amount of time in comparison that the fact that you are with me right now in the forest at one o’clock in the morning means everything. Especially when I know how spoiled you are. Pythia was an Oracle, but that was all she was. You, on the other hand, are a daughter. You are a sister, a friend, a student. You’re a soccer player and a teenager. And you happen to be my Oracle. All of this while you’re trying to find your place in the world. All of this while you’re trying to figure out who you are.” His finger dropped from her lips so it could curl under her chin and tilt it upwards, forcing her eyes to lock back onto his once more. “Do not doubt yourself, Reese Lespoir. You are more than what you believe yourself to be.”
Reese allowed herself a small smile, letting Ollo’s surprisingly comforting words to sink in. He was right. Well, she couldn’t know about Pythia and what she was going through in her lifetime, but Reese was going through a lot. More than an average teenage girl normally went through. Add that to the fact that she had this insurmountable pressure to keep her family alive—somehow defying fate—and it was no wonder she worried about getting grey hairs in her twenties.
“Now, come on,” he said, dropping his hand back down to his side. “Let’s start a fire, warm up, and turn in. We have much to do in such a short amount of time.”
It took Reese fifteen attempts before a small flicker of a flame appeared and began to spread in the amount of space Ollo created specifically for the purpose of the fire. She planned to check her nails and her palms when there was more light in case she needed a manicure from the activity.
Warming up was another thing completely. Ollo rolled old logs a good distance away from the smoke but close enough to feel the heat of the fire. He also wrapped her up in her favorite blanket of his—a soft, navy blue one that smelled just like him—and she felt his hands linger on her shoulders longer than what was necessary. Her eyelids met on their own accord, and instead of talking about what the plan was for tomorrow, or any news of the war, they remained in silence. The only sound was the crackling of fire.
When it was time to turn in, Ollo made sure to lay down a respectable distance away. She missed his arms, the way his chest moved up and down, but the sound of his even breathing, and before she knew it, she was asleep.
Home. Somehow, she was back home.
Everything looked normal, from the white picket fence to the wooden brown furniture that made up the second-story balcony. The chimney had soft, grey smoke clouds emerging from the square-shaped hole; her mom probably had a fire going. She got cold if the temperature was below seventy-four degrees, which was where Reese got her disdain for the cold. Any excuse for a fire, her mother would always say.
Except, the longer that Reese stared at her home, the more she realized something was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.
There was too much smoke.
She could smell it then, the ash, the strong scent of charred something—something strong and burnt. Whatever it was, it was dead now, if it had ever been alive in the first place. She lifted up her foot, prepared to go in, to explore, to ensure that nobody was in there, that in her mother’s haste to get to work, she had completely forgotten about the fire she put on this cold Onyx morning. It had been an adjustment coming here for her, moving from bright and sunny Southern California to season-rich Onyx, but she had done it for her husband and for Reese. That was just the type of person her mother was. Yes, she got Botox and dressed in designer brands and had her moments when she could be particularly picky, but above anything else, her family came first. She was its backbone, and kept the family going.
Forgetting about a fire was not something her mother would normally do, but Reese could understand if she occasionally experienced uncharacteristic forgetfulness only because she knew her mother was still adjusting to Onyx and her new job working for Lucas Burr, District Attorney. Her reputation as the Black Widow in the courtroom back in Beverly Hills followed her here to Onyx, and it wasn’t long before Burr himself scooped her up and made her a member of his team—just after Jack Phillip’s party, in fact, where Reese got to know Andie a bit better. It was one of Reese’s first days being conscious again.
Her mother had been working on something secret, something she couldn’t share with anybody, not even Reese’s father. Reese could tell it wasn’t what her mother had in mind when working for Lucas Burr, and it didn’t seem to be something she actually agreed with, judging by the whispered phone calls she would receive well past nine o’clock at night. But it was something she had been working on, nonetheless, and perhaps the stress of it all had finally gotten to her, and her mind started to forget.
Before she could walk up to the house, the windows exploded and three distinct screams could be heard. At that moment, her body seized up just before she scrambled to pull herself together and all but run into the fire herself to save them, to save her family. If she was supposed to be some badass oracle who could shoot arrows and see the future, then certainly she could save her family’s life. Why be blessed—if one saw it as a blessing - with these abilities and not be able to save the people she cared about most in the world?
But then she saw it. It was not her mother or her father, but her brother’s familiar brown mop of curls in the window. It was his pale face, his blue eyes he got from Mom, and she from Grandpa, his freckles. He was alive! He was fine! And yet, instead of trying to leave the burning inferno that was their house, he just stared out the window, looking at her with those eyes—those eyes that had glared at her so coldly when he had found out she would be taking this trip with Ollo. That mouth that promised never to forgive her for going, that had renounced her as a sister all because he thought that Ollo was her boyfriend, and he didn’t approve on the grounds that he thought she could do better.
“Let us go.”
Somehow, she could hear his low voice as if he were standing right next to her. She knew he had just mouthed the words to her, and yet she could hear them as clear as a car alarm.
“Let us go.”
He said it again.
Reese opened her mouth to respond, prepared to promise him that she would help him if only he would come out, to call 911 this instant, to tell him that she was sorry, that she loved him, that she missed him. She wanted to tell him everything, then, about what she really was. To prove that Ollo was good enough for her, considering he was a god and all. To have him forgive her.
But then he disappeared as though he had never been there before.
He was gone.
They were all gone.
And Reese could do nothing to stop it.
Reese sat bolt up in the tent, inhaling sharply with her mouth, trying to gasp for air. The smoke consumed her the minute she saw her brother vanish, and she found she desperately needed to breathe in the cold air. She desperately needed to assure herself that it was just a dream. Not a vision, just a dream.
She wanted to go home. She wanted to make sure everyone was all right, and her vision of her family dying in a fire had not yet come to pass, not when she wasn’t sure how to prevent it from happening. It didn’t matter that Ollo said all of her visions were set in stone—that was why she was so valuable—she was adamant to keep her family from b
urning to a crisp. But she couldn’t when she wasn’t even there to try and protect them.
“Well, well, well,” a familiar, husky voice drawled from just in front of Reese. Her honey colored eyes narrowed on Ollo’s arm around Reese’s waist and the corner of her lips curled into a smirk. “Fancy seeing you here.”
12
The first thing she saw when she opened her eyelids was green. Jade green with a ring of gold around the black iris. Beautiful. Perfect.
His lips curved into a gentle smile and his fingers—long extensions she hadn’t noticed on her silk white pillow—stretched out so they could brush strawberry blonde locks out of her face. She swallowed, closing her eyes once and hoping she didn’t have eye boogers crusting the lids of her eyes. His fingertips on her skin made her blood rush to greet his touch, and she was certain he was aware of the affect he had on her skin, on her being, thanks to her skin being so susceptible to color.
She felt safe. This moment was perfect. Everything was right in the world in Jack’s bedroom with his eyes focused on her face and his skin upon her skin. She wasn’t nervous or hesitant. She wasn’t worried about how she looked or what he saw. All that mattered was the fact that he was here with her, that they were together.
She wanted it to last. She refused to say goodbye now. Of that, she was certain.
“Good morning,” he said in his usual, low voice. Tears sprang to her eyes at the mere sound of it. God, how she missed it.
“Morning,” she managed to croak out. And then she started laughing because it was just ridiculous. This whole separation had been ridiculous, and she knew it was all her fault. What time they had wasted when they could have been together. They could have spent Christmas and New Year’s together, instead of alone. Instead of feeling the ache of longing clench at her heart with every breath.
Catalyst: Book 2 of The Dark Paradise Trilogy Page 10
