by Zoe Norman
“So, was that her? The love connection from the airplane?” Travis asks.
“Now, let's not get crazy with the love connection talk, but yes. That was Olivia.”
“Olivia and Owen...Isn't that cute. Kinda like Ken and Barbie.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “Yeah...just like that, Travis.”
“You deserve someone who makes you happy, man. I think you've finally fucked Molly out of your system,” he says, grabbing me by the shoulder, “and as fun as I can imagine that is—” I start to protest, but Travis holds up his hand to stop me. “Don't ruin my fantasy, Owen. Give me this.”
I can't help but laugh.
“Like I was saying, as much fun as fucking around is, you're not happy. Every time I talk to you, you're at the firehouse. You pick up extra shifts to keep busy. If you're not at the firehouse, you're at the gym. Molly was no good for you, O. She had a goddamn doctorate in Bitchology.
“Really, O. You need to focus,” Travis continues, his speech starting to slur. “Find a good woman who can suck your dick like a Hoover,” he says, now counting on his fingers, “who excites you every goddamn day, can make a mean chicken parmesan, is smart and loyal, and who wants you for you and not what you can buy for her—like that bitch, Molly," he murmurs. "Once you find her, marry her.” Travis sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. The satisfied grin plastered on his face looks like he's just solved the world hunger crisis.
“Wow. Okay there, Mr. Casanova. I know you're super in love with Lucy, your rose-colored glasses are on, and you're riding that high. I get that, but you can get off your soap box. I appreciate your concern about my love life, but I think all your beers have given you a bit of a God complex. Besides, you know I'm not the marrying type. Scares the shit out of me.”
“What's so scary about someone wanting to love you for the rest of your life?” Travis asks, suddenly serious and focused. “You'll know it when it's right. You'll feel like running and that you're suffocating,” Travis laughs, “but it's the best thing in the world to be loved and to love someone else in return. Shit. I must be drunk. I sound like a goddamn Hallmark card.”
I sigh heavily and finish off my beer. I don't see that happening again. Ever. I've learned to not fall in love. There's too much to lose.
The night wanes on and I grow increasingly agitated. How I left things with Olivia is really bothering me. Eventually the guys start to say their goodbyes and we finalize plans for tomorrow. I look around the bar and see Marc in a corner booth with Monica. Her hand is sliding up and down his thigh as he whispers into her ear. At least I know he's taken care of.
I walk Travis out to the front of the hotel and settle him into a waiting cab with a bottle of water.
“Thanks for a fun night, Owen,” Travis says slowly. “You're a good friend, brother,” patting me a little too hard on my cheek.
“I love you too, man. I'll see you tomorrow. Keep drinking that water.” I give the cab driver the address of where to take Travis and close the door before pounding the roof of the cab, signaling him to go.
As I take out my phone to text Lucy that Travis is on his way to her place, I see that Olivia responded to my text an hour ago.
I could use the help. My zipper is stuck.
I don't think my grin could be wider as I read her message. Maybe I didn't completely screw things up with her after all. I want to see her again.
Tonight.
Now.
Although it's late, I dial her number. Olivia answers on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“What's your room number?”
"Um, who's this? Are you some crazy stalker guy?" Olivia jokingly inquires on the other end of the line. She enjoys teasing me, and I'm not going to complain.
"It's me, the man of your dreams and resident dress-zipper fixer."
Olivia sighs loudly, as if she's put out. "Fine… Fine. I'm in 1121."
Without saying goodbye, I end the call and jog back towards the bar inside the hotel. I purchase a perfectly chilled bottle of L'Ecole Semillon wine and snag two wine glasses from the bartender.
I quickly find my way up to the 11th floor and gently knock on room 1121. I lean slightly against the doorjamb, because one, I'm a little buzzed and could use the support and two, let's face it, women love that smoldering shit.
“It's your stalker,” I call out, leaning my head against the door.
As luck would have it, a couple steps off the elevator just as I make the declaration that I'm a stalker...into a closed door. Awkward. They eye me suspiciously, and the woman grabs her male companion's arm a little tighter.
I nod my head and give them my most sincere smile. “I'm not really a stalker. Just flirting…”
The skeptical couple says nothing as they pass by on the way to their room. Thankfully I hear Olivia undoing the locks and cracking the door open.
“I brought presents.” I smile, showing her my offering of wine.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Owen?” Olivia asks, smiling wide as she pulls open the door to welcome me in.
“No. I want you to be in your right mind when I help you out of that dress, beautiful,” I reply, straight-faced. I hear her sharp gasp of breath as she closes the door behind me.
Olivia follows me into her suite and asks, "So do you usually pick up women in airplanes, show up in their hotel bars, and then stalk them in their hotel rooms? Or am I just special?"
“You're very rare, that's for sure,” I say, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. I give her my best innocent smile, hoping my charm works on her. Olivia falls back against the wall behind her with a light thud.
"I, um… I have a bottle opener on the table there." She gestures with her hand. "I've already had some wine..."
I stand from the bed and grab the bottle opener from the table. As I quickly unwrap the foil from the bottle and open it, I turn to see Olivia. She's still supporting the wall, her eyes slightly glazed over as she scans my body from head to toe. Her gaze finally settles on my ass.
“See something you like, beautiful? You have a look on your face like you could eat me.”
Olivia starts to blush and bites her bottom lip, slightly embarrassed that she was caught looking. I cannot help but smirk.
“Look all you'd like, Olivia,” I murmur, handing her a glass of wine. “There's much more I plan on showing you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Olivia
Oh God, he caught me staring. Although, I've caught him staring a few times myself. Fuck it.
"I, um, am wondering how good what you brought will taste."
I know what I've said is provocative. It was meant to be, and I smile a bit at how clever I am—drunk clever, that is. I watch as he uncorks the bottle and pours us each a glass. As he hands me mine, his finger brushes my hand. I swear he could have been brushing my clitoris directly and it would have had the same effect. It occurs to me that I'm still leaning against the wall, so I stand and right myself before holding my glass out for a toast.
"To special skills like stalking and zipper repair."
He laughs a throaty, sexy laugh and we clink glasses. I take a sip of the wine. It's soooo good, and I lick my lip to catch a drop that has escaped my mouth. Now he's the one staring at me. His eyes are fixated on my lips. I smile and I look down, suddenly feeling shy. Oh my god. He's hard—really hard—and big. My eyes flicker back up to his as he gives me a very wicked grin. Feeling a little awkward, I take another long sip of my wine. He watches my face, my mouth, even my throat as I swallow. It amazes me how the very simplest of tasks can be so erotic if the situation and the company are right. He fingers the stem of his own wine glass, and it's like being a voyeur of a very sexy, very dirty act. It makes me damp. He puts his glass down on the side table and reaches out for mine.
“How does it taste?” he asks placing my glass beside his own.
“It's good. It has—”
I don't get the rest of my sentence out befor
e he is on me. He grabs the nape of my neck and pulls me in, tilting my head in the process. His lips are so soft, velvety, and moist from the wine. His lips press against mine first in a chaste kiss, and then it becomes stronger as he slips his tongue between my lips, coaxing them open. I respond with a slight moan, which gives him greater access and allows me to start licking back with my own tongue. The kiss is brief and he pulls away, breathing heavily but staying close.
He whispers, “Mmmm...you're right. It's delicious. Tastes even better on you.”
His free hand slips around my waist and pulls me closer so I can feel him against my lower stomach. Involuntary spasms are taking over most of the important parts of my body. He is such a good kisser, and I am in no way interested in stopping what's happening here.
I lift my hand, sliding my fingers up his arm, over his shoulder, and around his neck. We are both slightly wobbly, and as he leans into me, I find myself against the wall again. He pushes forward and kisses me once more. This time, I am prepared, and I open to him immediately. His kiss deepens and he pulls me even closer. His mouth slides across my jaw, down my neck, licking and nipping a cool, wet trail. He starts to kiss the swell of my breasts at the neckline of my dress. I let go of his hair and reach to my side to undo the zipper. Fuck! I forgot that it's stuck. I break our kiss and look down at the offending zipper. I glance back up at him, dismay written on my face.
“It's stuck…” I whine.
Owen seems confused at first. Then he looks to my side where I'm tugging at the errant garment. “I guess you weren't kidding about the zipper,” he muses. “And here I thought it was just a sexy text to get me to come up to your room.” He rests his head against my shoulder as he steadies himself to examine my dress more closely. “May I?” he asks, offering help.
“Please,” I groan, frustrated. God, this is such a mood killer.
He looks back up at me with a salacious grin. “I like it when you say 'please,' Olivia.”
What does he mean by that?
Before I can ask, he grabs ahold of the zipper and makes an attempt to slide it down. It doesn't budge. He tries again. Nothing. He furrows his brow with determination. It's endearing. He looks like a little kid figuring out a complicated Lego sculpture, biting his lip and twisting his face. He turns me to my side and falls to his knees.
“Your dress is stuck in the zipper. This is going to be a problem. How much do you love this dress?”
At the moment, I hate the fucking thing. I give him a half smile and shrug. Have at it, big guy.
“Okay, let me try something else,” he suggests as if fixing zipper malfunctions is his career.
As he inspects closer, I feel his hand slide up the back of my leg and stop just under the hem of my dress. I smile down at him. His touch is always perfect, always amazing. I bite my lip as I think of how that same hand would feel sliding up farther.
He starts to pull at the fabric, alternately tugging the zipper and the material in an effort to work them apart. He groans a bit, even lets out a curse or two here or there. I swear I can see sweat beading on his forehead.
“Ha!”
I glance down at him, eyes wide. “Ha?”
“I did it. I beat the zipper.” He stares up at me as if he has conquered Mt. Everest, and I smile down at him. So cute.
Cool air hits my bare skin on the side where the zipper has been opened. He looks up at me, eyes hooded, asking for permission, it seems, to finish the job. I run my hands through his silky hair, nodding. I push him back a bit so he's sitting back on his heels, encouraging him to watch me. Confidently, I slide the dress over my shoulders and let it drop so that it pools at my feet. I am instantly glad and a little pleased with myself that I wore matching black lace panties and bra—and better yet, matching thigh-high stockings. My fuck-me heels are still on, and while I'm rarely one to toot my own horn, I know I look hot. Toot. Toot.
He sighs loudly and eyes me up and down while I kick my dress to the side. His face is at eye level with my panties, and everything in me wants to grab the back of his head and push his face between my legs. I really am classy in my drunk head. After giving me a head-to-toe appraisal, he locks eyes with me. Tentatively, he reaches a hand out and I give a slight nod of my head, allowing him permission to do whatever it is he wants to do with that hand—anything he wants to do with that hand. He places it on my ankle and runs it up my calf, behind my knee, and up my thigh. While his fingers trace the lace tops of my stockings, I shiver.
“Fucking beautiful,” he whispers as his finger slips just under the band of my stockings. Owen slides his hands around to the backs of my thighs and up to cup my ass. As he pulls me toward him, he grabs the edge of my black panties with his teeth, briefly pulling them away from my body and snapping them back into place. In my drunken state, this cracks me up, and I can't help but giggle. He looks up at me with an inquisitive smile.
"Something amusing you, Olivia?" he asks, arching an eyebrow and smirking.
I feign seriousness. "No, no. Please, continue."
His eyes close and he gets right back to business.
Owen leans forward and pushes his nose into my panties, inhaling deeply. My head falls back before I glance back down at him. He looks drugged, and from here, I can see his arousal growing larger and larger as he runs his nose up and down my panties. He plants a soft, wet kiss along the upper edge of my thong, just where my belly meets the elastic. He stands gracefully—actually terribly gracefully considering that I know he's at least a little drunk.
He towers over me and looks down at me, eyes hooded as he traces just the tips of his fingers up my arm and over my bra strap. I imagine he's going to pull them down, but instead, he slides his hand over my collarbone, down my sternum, and farther down to cup my breast. I fit him as if I were made just for his hand size. He squeezes gently and groans from the back of his throat. I love that sound. Owen bends down, lining his eyes with mine, seeking something. Permission? My hands reach behind me and I unhook my bra, letting the straps slip down my arms. He takes a step back to let it fall to the floor but quickly returns to where he was.
Oh my God. Every nerve in my body is thrumming, humming, screaming, and cheering. He smells so good, and his hands seem to know exactly where to touch me. It's as if he'd studied a road map of my erogenous zones before coming to my room. Owen wants me to say yes to this, to finish what we started in the plane. I want to say yes to this. Fuck it, I AM saying yes to this.
I look him in the eyes and nod my head, a move that has recently become my only mode of communication. Reaching forward, I push his suit jacket off his shoulders and it drops to his feet. His hands lightly squeeze my breasts before one travels back down my side and around to squeeze my ass. My eyes flutter shut for just a moment, and then I get back to the task at hand.
One by one, I start to undo the buttons on his dress shirt. When it is halfway open, I lean forward and place wet kisses down his chest. The light smattering of hair tickles my face. Slowly, my hands slide down the open seams before I untuck his shirt from his pants, pushing it open farther. I plant more kisses cross his broad chest, and when I get to his nipple, I take it between my teeth and nibble lightly, eliciting a deep, throaty moan from him. Mmmm, he likes that.
I continue to lick and nibble his nipples while I undo his belt. I am really, really anxious to see this enormous beast in his pants. I unbutton and unzip his jeans, and after sliding my hands into the back of his trousers, I push them over his ass and hips. He is wearing those tight boxer briefs, and the head of his penis is peeking just over the top band.
A nervous laugh escapes my lips. "Um, it looks like it wants out."
He lets out a sexy, guttural chuckle. “You have no idea,” he groans hoarsely.
I lock my gaze with his as Owen takes my wrist and guides my hand over his significant size. My fingers trace the outline of his penis over his briefs, memorizing the lines, the ridge of the head. He groans and instinctively pushes slightly into my touch. I wr
ap my fingers around him as much as possible through his briefs, the other hand starting to trace his balls. When I gently squeeze, he groans louder.
“Fuck,” he growls through a breath. “Grab my dick just like that, Olivia. I love it.”
As I continue to stroke him, he leans down to nibble my ear and kiss down my neck. He grabs both of my breasts in his large hands, pushing them together. Resting his forehead on mine, he studies what is going on between us. In a bold move, I slip my fingers into the band of his underwear and start to push down.
I hear him suck in a breath and his hands suddenly leave my breasts, grasping my wrists.
“Wait,” he breathes. “Not yet.”
He takes my hands, and holding just my wrists, he wraps them around my back, pinning them behind me. I'm restrained. Oh my—that's hot. He kisses my neck as he starts walking me back toward the bed. When I reach it, my knees hit the mattress, and with a little push from Owen, I gently fall back on the super soft bedding. I can't help but let out a soft laugh as I get a lightheaded feeling from the wine and the sheer silliness of falling back on the bed.
I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him. Owen is standing in front of me, just gazing at me. His eyes are filled with lust. I crook my finger at him, beckoning him closer.
“You want something, Olivia?” Even drunk, he has this whole seduction scene down.
“Yes, I do” I hiss at him, unable to tear my eyes away from his penis, which, at the moment, is trying desperately to free itself from the confines of his briefs.
He crawls up the bed and over me, straddling my thighs. He takes my hands with his before sliding to my wrists, holding them over my head, trapping them easily in one of his hands. This position arches my back and forces my breasts up and towards him. He seems to particularly like my breasts, I think, as he eyes them like they're his last meal. He buries his head in my cleavage, sucking and nibbling along the tops of them, licking and soothing intermittently.
