by Zoe Norman
Olivia shakes her head, clearing her thoughts, and continues. “Suffice it to say, he had somewhere—someone—else to go to. Enough said, right?”
“Right.” I nod my head and inch my hand higher up her leg.
It suddenly occurs to me that I don't have Olivia's phone number.
“Here,” I say, pulling out my phone and handing it to her. “Put your number into my phone. I need to get ahold of you to set up our coffee date in Seattle. Feel free to send me some naughty pictures of yourself later tonight too.” I grin at her.
Olivia shoots me a look of mock surprise and takes my phone, entering in her first name and phone number. “There,” she says, handing me back my phone. “Now you have me permanently locked in your phone. You're a lucky, lucky man, Owen.”
“I'm starting to think so,” I reply, putting my hand back on her knee.
When I touch her, Olivia suddenly uncrosses her legs and reaches for her seatbelt. “I - I need to use the ladies' room. May I squeeze by you?”
“Of course.” I unlatch my seatbelt and stand in the aisle to let her slip by. As she exits the row, her perfect ass grazes against my crotch.
Okay, in full disclosure, I may have semi-purposefully not given her enough room to scoot by me and maybe I pulled her hip toward me a bit...but I had her where I wanted her and we fit together perfectly. More importantly, she felt the chubby I'm sporting. And know what? I don't care. I wanted her to feel it. Hell, I want her to experience it firsthand. Tonight, if I had my way. Damn. What is she doing to me?
As I watch Olivia saunter into the bathroom, my thoughts drift to all the wonderfully naughty things I'd do to that woman. After a few moments of fidgeting in my seat and absently touching myself through my pants, I'm frustrated.
“Fuck it,” I mumble to myself. I stand up from my seat and walk towards the front of the plane to the bathroom.
Most of my fellow passengers are either engrossed in the movie, working on their iPads, or sleeping. Either way, they're distracted. This may be easier than I thought.
I turn my back to the other passengers, shielding the door from their line of sight. “Olivia…” I whisper-yell into the door. “It's me, Owen. Let me in.” I knock lightly on the door.
Olivia hesitantly unlatches the bathroom door and peeks out. Before she can pull it open all the way, I quickly push my way into the cramped closet-sized bathroom. Her eyes grow wide with concern as she sees me entering.
I quickly latch the door behind me before I spin around and ask, “Feel better?”
“What?” she asks, confused. “Yes”—she shakes her head and furrows her brow—“but what are you—”
“Stop talking,” I say with a groan.
I grab her waist and turn her slightly, pressing her body against the bathroom wall with my own. Trapping her against the wall with my arms planted firmly on either side of her shoulders, I quickly search her eyes for any indication of panic. Seeing none, I tilt my head and brush my lips against hers, coaxing her gently before kissing her hard. I don't know if it's me or the wine she's had, but she doesn't resist me.
A small moan escapes Olivia's mouth, and I slip my tongue inside her parted lips. She slides her hands up my chest and wraps her arms around my neck, her kiss matching my intensity. Our tongues mash hungrily together as I feel my cock harden and lengthen between us. I wrap a hand around her waist and pull her tight against me. Olivia leans back, and I start to kiss along her jaw and down her neck, planting firm, wet kisses along her collarbone. When my hand travels up from her waist and along the curve of her breast, Olivia lets out a faint, “Oh my God,” which only encourages me more.
“I needed to kiss you, Olivia,” I murmur. “I couldn't help myself.” I kiss her mouth again, and she opens to me without hesitation as I continue to taste her.
We both become breathless and pull away from each other. Both of us are looking and searching the other's eyes, but our hands remain rooted.
“More…” is all I say before I start kissing down her neck and then back up again, nibbling on her earlobe and hitting that spot behind her ear that drives every woman nuts.
“I, um...yeah... Mmm that's nice.” Olivia exhales as she squeezes my biceps while I kiss her.
Since she's so much shorter than I am, I move her from the wall of the small bathroom and press her against the sink. I place my hands behind her thighs and easily lift her up to sit on the edge of the counter. Now that she's at a more level height, I deepen our kiss and groan as her tongue strokes mine. Olivia runs her hands through my hair, tugging as she returns my kiss.
"Your lips make me wonder what the rest of you tastes like," I whisper hotly as I kiss down her neck. “And your smell… You smell fucking amazing. You smell ready for me.” My hands push up her skirt and I settle between her open legs, my erection pressing through my slacks. No doubt she can feel my excitement on her soft inner thigh.
“Is it okay if it's just...this right now?” she asks breathlessly. “This is nice.”
“What?” I ask, struggling to get my bearings as I lightly bite the spot between her neck and shoulder. “Oh. Yeah. Sure… Of course,” I say as I press my lips to her forehead with a bit of frustration.
This may be nice, and I don't want to scare her, but I'm definitely going to push her limits, I think to myself. My hands rest on her thighs and I slowly move them up and down her bare skin, inching up her skirt ever so slightly with each pass. I kiss her passionately, lapping at her lips.
“Your lips taste just like I thought they would… Like wine with a hint of cinnamon. So sweet…” My hands slide higher up her thighs.
When my fingers are within inches of her panties, Olivia grabs hold of my wrists, preventing me from lifting her skirt any higher. I close my eyes slowly, not wanting to stop. Just as I'm about to test her limits, there is a loud knock on the door.
“Just a minute,” I call out before resting my forehead against hers.
I need to calm down. I've got a serious case of blue balls and now I'm supposed to stop? Fuck my luck.
“I want you so fucking badly right now," I whisper into her hair.
There's another knock on the door and I groan with frustration.
"All right! Jesus! I said give me a fucking minute!" I reluctantly pull back from Olivia and look into her eyes.
She lifts her head and looks at me while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She looks adorable—a bit scandalized, a bit embarrassed, and a lot turned on. I smile and help Olivia off the sink. I look over her head and into the mirror as I right myself, fixing my hair and shirt. Did I lose a button? Olivia bends forward to adjust her skirt and turns to look in the mirror. She surveys her swollen lips and absently rubs her ring finger over them. I watch her in the mirror and our eyes lock.
"You are absolutely stunning. And best of all, you have no idea, do you?"
Olivia blushes and shakes her head. “Thank you.”
“It's not lip service, beautiful girl. It's the truth.” I stand behind her and unlatch the lock on the bathroom door, pausing before sliding it open and effectively ruining our moment. I bend slightly and whisper into Olivia's ear, “I always finish what I start, Olivia. We will finish this at another time.” I swear I see her shiver as I slide open the door.
We are greeted by the antsy passenger who disturbed us. When he sees Olivia and me exiting the lavatory, his frown turns into an enormous grin. As if being able to read the guy's assumption of us joining the mile high club, Olivia dramatically wipes her lips with the back of her hand and gives him a wink. I can't help but laugh while the man stares at us, mouth agape. Olivia and I find our way back to our seats, and when we sit we look at each other and burst into laughter.
Owen Maxwell, you're seriously screwed.
* * *
After a few more hours of chatting, a few more shared moments of laughing, and few more adult beverages, our flight lands at SeaTac. Olivia and I gathered our stowed luggage and make our way toward the exits.
Olivia turns and looks up at me, tilts her head, and gives me a sad smile. “My friend Charley is picking me up. She's my best friend from Columbia. I haven't seen her in a long time,” she says disappointedly. “Hey, you want us to bring you to your hotel? We could drop you off?” she asks.
I scrunch my nose and shake my head, unable to hide my look of disappointment. I'm a little bummed that this is ending. “No. I have a car service waiting.”
As if on cue, I see a poster with O. MAXWELL emblazoned on it.
“Aaand there he is,” I say sadly, pointing to the short, squatty man holding the sign. “You go with your friend. I'm sure she's just as excited to see you too.” An awkward silence falls between us, and I'm oddly nervous. “Thank you for making an otherwise unbearable flight one of the best flights I've ever had,” I say honestly. “It was great meeting you. I have your number and I'll call you about coffee.” I smile hopefully.
She nods and fiddles with her fingers, a nervous habit of hers I've picked up on. I bend my head down and brush my lips against hers.
“And to finish what we started…” I say before wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close to me. I lean in farther and kiss her. Gently parting her lips, I deepen our kiss. Olivia responds by bringing her hands up my arms and around my neck, her fingers teasingly playing with my hair.
I eventually pull away and press my forehead against hers. “I have to go,” I whisper with ragged breaths.
Olivia nods and looks to the ground. I kiss her one more time on the forehead before I reluctantly straighten up. She looks up and gives me a weak smile. I wink back at her and turn to follow my driver out to the waiting car.
After I hand my duffel to the driver, he places it in the back of the black Escalade. I climb into the back seat and lean my head against the headrest, still reeling from the flight and how much Olivia affected me. I need to call Travis.
CHAPTER FIVE
Owen
“Dude! You made it!” Travis's voice booms on the other end of phone.
“Yeah, man. Just got into my car and I'm headed into the city. Whatcha up to?”
“Marc and I are watching the game down at Pete's Bar. Miracle of miracles, but our Seattle Mariners are currently kicking your precious Yankees' ass!”
“It'll be short-lived…” I hear Marc comment in the background.
“You guys going to be there for a while? I'm not ready to call it a night yet,” I reply.
“Shit yeah! We'll come to you. They have a swanky bar at the W Hotel, but we can hobnob with you for a bit,” Travis yells over the screaming crowd at the bar.
“No. I'll come find you at Pete's. I haven't been there in forever. Has it changed much since the D-Bags made it big?” I ask with renewed energy, suddenly excited at the prospect of grabbing a beer with my best friends, who just happen to be at the old stomping grounds of one of my favorite bands.
“Nope. Hasn't changed a bit. Still the Pete's Bar we know and love. It's just gotten more popular since the guys left,” Travis shouts over the screams from the game. “Well, shit. Jeter just hit a two-run homer. Now we're all tied up.”
“What did I tell you?” I hear Marc say. “Here, hand me that...”
I hear rustling on the other end of the phone, and then a deep, rich voice comes on the line. “Owen. Marc,” he says, identifying himself. I've always appreciated Marc's no-bullshit approach to everything in life. No pleasantries, just straight to the point.
“Listen,” he continues, “get out of your fancy slacks and button-down shirt and throw on some Pete's Bar appropriate attire and get your ass down here. I'm making a play for a couple of women and could use a real wingman again. Travis is a pussy and has lost all sense of fun. We need to discuss revoking his man card. I'll see you soon.” Marc hangs up, and just like that, the conversation is over.
I sigh heavily and shake my head, smiling at my phone. This is just what I need to start off this weekend right—a little quality time with my buddies. Plus, they'll help to distract my mind from thoughts of Olivia.
I sit the rest of the drive into Seattle in dark silence. This whole night has been kind of crazy, and how I'm feeling about a woman I just met is fucking with my head. I've prided myself on being unattached these last few years, but spending time with Olivia makes me long for something more…something different.
Once I get checked into my room at the W Hotel, I plop my bag onto the king-sized bed and survey my surroundings. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the corner-room suite, and it's tastefully decorated in dark woods and earth tones. Black-and-white photographs of Seattle adorn the walls, and a chilled bottle of champagne and two fluted crystal glasses wait for me on the desk, mocking me. I roll my eyes.
Rub it in my face that I have this fancy suite all to myself, why don't you. If I had it my way, I'd be balls deep in Olivia right now, I groan.
I open up my duffel bag, pull out my toiletry kit, and walk into the large, marble bathroom. I start the water in the glass shower and strip out of my clothes. As I step into the shower, the dual showerheads throw hot water over my body, washing my tension down the drain. I brace myself against the tiled shower wall with my hands as I lift my face to the spray. My thoughts flood with memories of Olivia in the airplane bathroom and I instantly regret not telling the asshole who interrupted us to fuck off. I'm dying to know what she sounds like when she comes, what her face looks like when she climaxes, and how my name sounds on her lips when she screams it. My right hand absently starts to stroke my now rigid cock—up, down, over, and around the swollen head. I decide it's best to rub one out before I meet up with the guys and rid myself of a most serious case of blue balls.
Feeling ten times better after my shower, I discard the towel slung low around my waist and dig out a pair of dark jeans, a white T-shirt, and some Converse sneakers from my bag. I check myself out in the mirror one last time and spray on some cologne. Then I throw on a FDNY ball cap before making my way down to the lobby and out to see Travis and Marc.
* * *
“There he is!” Marc yells across the small bar. “Looking good, my friend,” he says as he gives me a hug.
“OWEN!” Travis calls out from the bar. “What are you drinking, man?”
“Whatever microbrew is on tap,” I call back, waving to him and giving Travis a thumbs up. “He's drunk, isn't he?” I ask, turning to Marc to confirm.
“Ooohhh yeah...You need to catch up, O.” Marc says with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Travis brings over a round of drinks and sloppily falls into an unforgiving wooden chair at our table. What Pete's lacks in ambiance they make up for in nostalgia.
“About time you got here,” Travis says as he grabs me around the neck and pulls me close for a side hug. “How've you been, O? How's Mamma Maxwell?”
“She's good. We're good. She sends her best. She's looking forward to coming out with me for the wedding in a few months,” I reply as I reach for my beer.
Travis smiles wide. “Excellent! I love that woman. I can't wait to see her.”
“She loves you too, man. And she's really happy for you. I, personally, don't get it. Why buy the hen when you can get the eggs for free?”
Marc nods his head and gives me a fist bump in agreement. “See? This is why Owen needs to move to Seattle. He's the voice of reason in a crazy, love-filled world,” he says, supporting my stance.
“Pfft,” Travis scoffs. “You'll both figure it out eventually when someone knocks off the red rust around your corroded hearts.” Travis takes a long swig of his beer. “I'm fuckin' gettin' married, man!” he shouts, lifting both arms straight up into the air like he just scored the biggest touchdown of his life.
“You've still got a few months to back out, you know,” I remi
nd him teasingly.
“Nope, not gonna happen. I love Lucy. She is it for me,” Travis spits out emphatically.
I don't get it, but whatever.
“We're thirty-six, guys. I'm ready to settle down, start a family…all that good shit,” Travis explains, his demeanor turning reflective.
Marc starts to choke on his scotch. “A family? You're not even fucking married yet and you're talking about having kids? Jesus.” The expression on Marc's face looks like Travis just kicked a puppy. “My life will be over sooner than I thought…” he murmurs.
“Marc. I'm getting married. I'm not dying,” Travis says, trying to talk his friend off the ledge.
Marc and Travis both went to the University of Washington. Travis majored in finance, Marc in broadcast journalism. Following graduation, Travis stayed in Seattle and landed a kick-ass job with a well-known financial firm. Marc, on the other hand, was recruited by a few major market news networks and ended up taking a position as a reporter for a TV station in Austin. When the opportunity came to be an on-air anchor for a local Seattle station a few years later, Marc jumped at the opportunity to get back to the Pacific Northwest and closer to Travis and his other college friends. I understand how Marc's feeling. Sure, with Travis getting married, he may not be physically dying, but to us, it feels like a part of our friendship is.
Marc rolls his eyes and, still holding his glass of scotch, points between Travis and me. “You heard him, Maxi. When I start to complain that Travis isn't any fun anymore, you remember this conversation,” Marc smirks, looking at me.
“You are already saying that Travis isn't any fun,” I laugh. “Something about revoking his man card was discussed.”
“I did say that. Yes I did,” Marc replies with a chuckle.
“All right, all right. Let's change the subject from how 'lame' I am,” Travis chuckles, using air quotes.
