His Last Love

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  More than likely he didn’t want me to see and freak out. “Okay, show me this list.”

  Oliver hands me the folded over square piece of paper and then without another word turns and walks into the bathroom closing the door behind him. Definitely none of this is good. With doom and trepidation, I unfold the sheet. When it’s open I smooth it out against my knees.

  A few rituals my ass. The entire page is filled in a font so small it must be like size six, single spaced, with narrow margins. The only way he could fit more words on this piece of paper is if I use a magnifying glass to read it.

  I quickly scan as much as I can, trying to brace myself for the worst. I’ve seen a lot of stuff the last few weeks, but I have a feeling this may be the worst.

  The fifth item stops me in my tracks. “Oliver! Number five says you have to play three games of skee-ball.” The number three is underlined and bolded like any more or less could cause a catastrophe.

  He peeks his head out of the bathroom. “Yeah,” he says like this is a normal.

  “You have a race today at ten. You don’t have time to go to the hotel and play three games of skee-ball.”

  “That’s why we got up at five.” He ducks his head back inside the bathroom and closes the door, not giving me a chance to argue.

  It is way too early for this shit. After I get home and buy my three Sonic milkshakes, I’m going to sleep for at least a week.

  **

  Whatever news channel the team has on in our lobby replays Oliver’s dash over the finish line. He beat his opponent by more than a full second. The amazing two runs he had in the qualifying event put him in first place going into the finals. It’s an amazing starting point. This is the last Winter Games the parallel slalom will be featured in — spectators prefer the giant slalom, which allows for faster speeds and more excitement. Since the creation of the Golds, events have been switched in and out, depending on interest — they’re here to make money too — and today’s spectators want sports with more drama and excitement.

  If Oliver wants to medal at another Winter Games, he’ll need to qualify in a different event in four years. But right now he’s at an amazing place to take home one of the last gold medals awarded at this Winter Games.

  The parallel slalom is handled much like the giant slalom with a qualifier in the morning and then three different sets of semifinals in the afternoon with each of the players knocking off a competitor in a bracket system. Which means we have to be back here at one when Oliver will go against the athlete who placed sixteenth in the qualifiers, a man named Vic from Italy. I’m thankful it’s not the other American competing in this event. At least not yet. There’s still a chance they’ll be forced to go head to head.

  “Did you see it?” he yells before he’s even through the door of the lobby. I’ve been watching him walk from the top of the hill, a good ten steps ahead of all the other athletes. “It was the best run time of my life.” He’s still yelling when he stops beside me.

  I hug Oliver, squeezing him tightly. I don’t need his excitement. I was already so happy for him. First place qualifier. It doesn’t mean he’ll win one of the three metals available at the end of this event, but it’s a great position to make it. The odds are in his favor.

  “I’m so proud of you.” I know I didn’t do anything to actually help him win, besides play skee-ball with him this morning and find him an ice cream sundae. Apparently I’m not the only person in this place who is tired of the food. Even though Oliver doesn’t owe any of his success to me, I feel I was part of the team. And it’s a great team to be on.

  His unexpected kiss comes fast and rougher than the ones we shared last night. The open display of affection catches me off guard and I startle, stepping backward. “Oliver. We’re in public.”

  The media is everywhere around here. I can only hope to God no one caught a picture. It’s not that I want him to stop. Every time I spend two seconds remembering what happened last night, I kick myself for not taking it further. I wanted him to make the first move, but when will I learn that sometimes a girl has to do it on her own? Next time — when we’re not surrounded by media — I’m going to take matters into my own hands.

  He gestures to the left side of the room. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask as we walk down a long hallway. “You know you’ll have to do an interview in thirty minutes.” Having such a high-qualifying spot means pretty much everyone will want to interview him before the finals begin.

  He stops in front of an unmarked door, twisting the handle. “This is more important.”

  What could be more important than an interview with all the news channels?

  Oliver pushes open the door and the room he steps into is dark. Shelves line the walls, full of different labeled boxes and big gallon jugs that look to be cleaning supplies. “What is this?”

  He steps closer causing me to run into a shelf with my back when there’s nowhere else for me to go. “Supply closet.”

  “And what are we going to do in the supply closet?” And then it hits me and I know exactly what he plans to do the supply closet. “Oliver.”

  He smirks his eyes dark in the barely lit room, yet I swear they twinkle. “We’re not in public anymore, Kenny.”

  My mouth is open but rather than get any kind of objection out, Oliver sets his lips on top quieting my disagreements. Our kiss doesn’t have time to be slow and sweet like last night. It’s fueled by my excitement and adrenaline. Our tongues duel for space and he wins, pushing me tighter against the shelf behind my back. I moan. Oliver’s hand searches for space under my shirt, cupping a breast over my bra.

  “Is this okay?” he asks between kisses.

  I should say no. As a professional I should stop this immediately…but I don’t.

  “Yes.” It’s definitely okay. In fact I want to do more. Kiss him harder. Oliver lowers the top half of my bra, using his thumb to rub against my nipple, and I lose the ability to tell him anything I’m thinking.

  I moan again sticking my knee between his legs, trying to get closer. To have more contact between our bodies. He’s already out of his tightfitting snowsuit and instead wearing a loose pair of athletic pants. I slide my hands past the elastic band to finds his erection waiting for me. The silky smooth skin of his shaft feels soft against my palm as I play with the exposed flesh.

  “Harder,” he commands, moving his attention to my ear. I tighten my grip, running my hand up and down feeling it as he continues to grow harder.

  My body aches to have him closer, and I claw at his shirt, trying to strip it from his body. Oliver pulls back and rips the shirt from his chest throwing it on the ground behind him.

  “Take mine off,” I plead. I’d do it myself but that means having to move my hands from inside his pants, and that is not something I wish to do.

  Ultimately I have to anyway when my shirt gets stuck. When my long sleeves get twisted around my wrist I have to work to pull it off. Oliver lowers his head, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking. I throw my head back and hit it along the edge of the metal shelf. I’m hopeful no one heard the clang in the hallway and comes to investigate.

  He leans back using his tongue to swipe hard against my nipple one last time. When his eyes reach mine I whine, silently pleading him to keep going.

  “Fuck, Kenny, we have to stop.” His breath comes in heavy pants against my neck.

  I almost stomp my foot in irritation. “Why?”

  “I don’t have a condom.”

  My eyes widen. “You don’t have a condom?” Who would start this knowing they didn’t have a condom?

  “There’s not exactly a pocket for one in my snowsuit.”

  Right.

  I’m the assistant who had to give the safe sex talk to all the athletes before they got here. It probably wouldn’t look good if I had a quickie in a supply closet and didn’t at least use a condom. We gave them out in droves. Each athlete had a handful in their welcome gift bag and we
stuck some in every drawer in every room. It’s actually a little creepy having to spend so much time distributing Gold Medal logoed condoms to everyone when you first meet them. Like we’re going to a bachelorette party and not the most watched sporting event of the year.

  If only I had one of those damn gift bags now.

  My eyes slide across the room possibly looking for a spare one somewhere. I don’t find a gift bag full of condoms and fitness trackers, but what I do find is better.

  “Oliver, look.” I point to a box behind his head. One clearly labeled Logo Condoms. Only the Gold Medal events would pass out condoms with their own logo on it. “Check the box and see if it really is.”

  “Do you think they’re safe?” he asks looking at the box but not getting closer. “I kind of thought they were gag condoms.”

  I hit him on the shoulder. “We didn’t provide you with gag condoms.” What is he thinking? The US officials don’t want any more little babies running around as it is. They might be wrapped up ridiculously with the two gold bars but they came from one of the most trusted condom makers in the world.

  With my insistence and another slap on his shoulder, Oliver walks over to the box and tips it sideways to look inside. When he pulls out his hand, three condoms are in it. “I don’t think we need so many,” I say when he sticks two in the pocket of his athletic pants.

  “Best to be prepared.” He stalks — yes stalks to where I stand by the shelf. His eyes are dead set on mine, a small smirk creeping up his face like a lion who knows he’s caught his pray.

  I suddenly have a case of nerves. “Are you sure we should do this?” He has a race in less than two hours. This might not be the time for such extracurricular activities.

  Oliver laughs. “This is better than skee-ball. We’re absolutely doing it.” He tears the top of the condom off and finishes wrapping himself up before he steps into me and my back hits the shelf.

  “I’m totally sure.” He pulls a piece of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. The long high-heeled shoes I’m wearing put me almost at his level and I stare into his eyes as he asks, “As long as you’re sure too.”

  My fingers graze the side of his chin as I pull his head closer, forcing him to kiss me. “I’m sure.”

  Oliver stands in front of me but doesn’t do anything next.

  “Then you have to take off your pants,” he whispers in my ear.

  Oh right. The pants. I hurry to undo my zipper and push my pants down my legs without seeing what I’m doing because my eyes are focused on Oliver as he lazily pumps his shaft up and down. Each time I see his strong hand tight against his hard dick, my insides spasm. I’m normally an “in the bed, in the dark” kind of girl, but I want Oliver. Here and now.

  My pants on the floor, I step out, pushing them to the side. Oliver uses one hand to brace himself against the metal shelving. This is it. My heart beats against my chest in excitement and nervousness. His hand dips in my underwear and he rubs down my pubic bone, over my clit, and between my folds.

  Moisture pulls at my core as Oliver licks his lips, his hungry eyes staring into mine. “You’re so wet I don’t even get the chance to have a taste.”

  Oh God. My insides clench at his words, my legs try to come together, but his hand is in between them. “I’m sorry,” I say unsure whether that’s a proper response. I’ve never had someone say something so simple yet dirty.

  He chuckles. “Next time.”

  The tip of his dick tweaks my clit before he finds his target and, lifting one of my legs up and around his hip, he pushes deep inside.

  “Oh shit, you’re tight.” He lifts my leg higher, wrapping it around his back and setting his hand on my hip. The new position opens me wider, but my sex stretches with his girth.

  He corrects my body, pushing me up until to my hips are closer to his, and slips the rest of the way inside. It’s so tight and he’s so deep I worry it will be uncomfortable when he doesn’t give me a second to adjust to his size. But my worries are unfounded once he sets a slow and steady pace.

  My body moves with his, my head hitting the back of one shelf as I work hard to balance myself on a single foot. It doesn’t take long until he is holding up most of my body weight, with one hand keeping my leg in the air and the other on my back, the shelves of the steel push into my skin. But I don’t care. Oliver’s thrusts pick up, his pubic bone hitting where I need it to. My head falls back and his tongue licks at the exposed area.

  The shelves rattle and a box falls off the second one, forks spreading across the floor.

  “We’ve got to hurry.” Oliver sucks at my neck.

  I push harder against him. “Just like this, faster.”

  He listens, my body’s response picking up. I can feel the orgasm. It’s so close, getting higher and nearer to the surface of my skin each time he pulls out and pushes back. My nipples rub against his bare chest.

  “Oh God, like that,” I yell and bite down on a piece of his skin pulling on his hair at the back of his head when he moves his position.

  The muscles in my leg tighten and I wrap around him closer so he’s not able to pull out as far.

  “Faster,” I plead, and he listens.

  Our bodies move together, bouncing the shelves behind us. The orgasm hits me harder than any before, and I pull on his hair, unconcerned if I’m hurting him.

  “Oliver,” I yell covering my mouth in the crook of his neck. My body stiffens and I still, unable to keep up the pace I had with him as the orgasm invades over my senses. I want nothing more than to sit on the floor or let him hold me.

  He pulls back farther than I’ve allowed him to the last few minutes, his final thrusts slower and more deliberate, and then his body quakes and stutters. His shaft jerks against my inner walls, filling the condom.

  Rather than pull out and cover himself like I expect, Oliver falls to his knees spreading my legs further with his hands.

  “Decided I need that taste now.” He spreads my lower lips and licks from the bottom of my opening all the way at my click, stopping for a second to suck when he finishes.

  Fuck. My head rests on the shelf, my body depleted of all energy.

  Then as of all this is normal and we didn’t just have sex in a supply closet, he kisses the top of my pussy and stands, licking a few remnants from his lips.

  My face tenses and I lower my head in embarrassment. He did not just do what I think he did, did he?

  “You taste amazing.” He kisses me, his dick still outside of his pants. It rubs against my pubic bone and I wish we had more time.

  When Oliver starts to deepen the kiss, I push him away by his shoulders. “You have an interview to do and you have to clean up.”

  He smirks. “Hell no. I’ll do this interview with you all over me.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  I leave our little closet space much less sure of myself than Oliver. Athletes are notorious for flings. I’ve heard the stories. Seasoned PR reps have spent this entire time swapping stories of shit they’ve done themselves or things they caught others doing. A burlesque house sees less action than some of these walls. I smooth out the bottom of my committee issued polo shirt, pretending there’s some kind of lint at the bottom. Thankfully, the hallway is empty of people when I peek my head out the supply room door. Not many have a reason to be in this area.

  I can’t believe I had sex with Oliver…in a supply closet. Here I worked hard over the last few weeks to prove myself a valuable member of this team and stay professional through all the crap they put me through. What will Oliver think of me now after I gave in so easily? I fidget with the bottom of my shirt, making sure all the imaginary lint is cleared off, and don’t realize Oliver is the hallway until he stops my roaming hand, blocking me up against the wall.

  “Don’t go weird on me now. I just won you over,” he whispers in my ear even though we’re alone in the hallway.

  “Weird?” I ask.

  “I can see the wheels turning as you overthink this. Don’t. I’m
going to go win a gold and then you and I will talk about this. And we’ll do that again, in celebration.”

  The idea alone makes my body all tingly in places it shouldn’t be. I must get a grip.

  My slight smile must give my answer away. “See? You like the plan. And, Kenny, I will do all that and more for you, but first I have a race to win.”

  This time I do laugh. “You have to win the gold first, huh?”

  “First I have to do this interview, then win the gold, then fuck you. Let’s get this started.”

  “Let’s get ‘er done.” I sound a little too much like Larry the Cable Guy for my own preferences, but it obviously doesn’t bother Oliver as he leans in and kisses me.

  When he pulls away and walks back to the main hallway, I follow, the click of my heels echoing off the walls. I can’t believe I had sex with a pro athlete in the supply closet at the Winter Games. And I don’t even feel bad about it. He’s sweet and kind and playful. Doesn’t take himself too seriously compared to a lot of other athletes. Given a bit of time, Oliver could be the perfect guy. And even though it goes against everything I’ve been telling myself since my first night here, I want to get to know him better.

  Four weeks of working slightly side by side is not enough time to get to know someone, but it’s also been a high-pressure situation where most people are at their worst. If this is how Oliver performs in a high-stress situation, he must be even more laid back normally. Regardless of what Asbell or anyone else says about a relationship, I want to find out.

  I’ve never been one for love at first sight. I didn’t believe it was possible, but from the way my heart taps out an erratic rhythm in my chest and my ongoing desire to say forget it and go back to one of our rooms, I think Oliver might be a long-term post Winter Games scenario. Rumor is they do happen from time to time. We can make it work.

  Oliver stops walking outside the door labeled Makeup and doesn’t make a single joke about having to dress up like a girl or some other reference to wearing makeup like every other guy has since this circus started even though they’ve been doing this for years. Like maybe if they crack a sexist joke it makes them manlier when the technician applies their foundation. Oliver’s lack of comment only makes me like him more.