Page 136 of Endless Terrors
They told the story of our life together. All the way from the beginning, and even before that. It didn’t take long before I became so absorbed in looking at them that I forgot I’d been trying to help Oliver.
Halfway through one of the stacks, I paused.
“I’ve never seen this one before.” My voice was soft.
Oliver went still. After a moment, he crossed the attic and maneuvered into the narrow space where I stood. He studied the painting I’d stopped on, his expression unreadable. “I did that when we were seventeen, I think. Maybe eighteen.”
It was a portrait of me. Hardly noteworthy, since the attic was full of them, but this one was different.
In the painting, I was sitting on the beach, down at the bottom of the cliffs. My legs were tucked beneath me, and I was naked, as Oliver and I so often were when we went swimming. The ridges of my spine stood out against the darkening sky. So did the peaks of my nipples.
I wasn’t facing the horizon. Instead, my face was turned to the side, as if someone had called my name farther upshore. A strong gust of wind had blown my hair back, and it was wild from my time in the sea, all tangles and curls.
The viewer could only see half my expression, but the curve of my mouth hinted at contentment.
It was a beautiful, wistful painting. The feeling it invoked in me was different than how I’d reacted to Nym’s most recent portrait, the drawing of Warrior Fortuna, decked out in full armor and a sword held aloft. This was something … softer. Quieter.
“You always portray the best possible versions of me,” I said quietly, tracing the corner of the canvas with my finger. I could feel Oliver’s eyes on my face.
“No. I just paint what I see,” he replied.
I turned toward Oliver again, only this time, he was just a breath away. My heart hammered, and I felt a pulse of desire between my legs. With a slow, barely perceptible shift, I moved closer. Close enough that, when I lifted my face, our lips almost touched.
I didn’t kiss him, though. My hands rose to Oliver’s waist, then slipped beneath his sweater. My knuckles brushed against his smooth, warm skin. Slowly, I unbuttoned Oliver’s jeans, staring in his eyes as I did it. He didn’t speak. The whisper of a zipper floated between us. He didn’t move. I reached into Oliver’s briefs, wrapped my hand around his cock, and pulled it out.
Now a sound did escape him, and I heard it, deep in his throat. Encouraged, I stroked his length, just once, and Oliver’s eyes closed. Lightning flashed again, casting a pale glow over his expression. If I were a painter, I thought, that was the portrait I’d do of him.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” I murmured, my fingers stilling. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”
He opened his eyes, and his voice was nearly a growl as he answered, “I can’t.”
I stopped holding back, and I didn’t hesitate—in the next breath, I was kissing him. Claiming his tongue, tasting him in the way I’d been wanting to since that night in the tent. I felt his hands move up my sides, and my oversized T-shirt rose with them, caught beneath Oliver’s paint-stained palms.
I wasn’t wearing anything under the shirt, and Oliver’s eyes darkened when he discovered this. I knew, then, that he was done hesitating, too.
He bent, scooped me up, and lowered me to the floor. He tugged the T-shirt over my head, tossing it aside, and I returned the favor. His pants joined the pile. His briefs. Oliver lodged himself between my legs, and a sound escaped my parted lips. He went still, probably thinking my intake of breath was pain. But it was excitement. A lurch of realization that we had no reason, absolutely none, to stop what was happening between us.
When Oliver saw that, he gave me a slow, masculine grin. He bent his head. His tongue traced circles around one of my nipples, then his mouth closed around it and sucked, hard. His hand claimed my other breast, squeezing and kneading it. Exhaling in pleasure, I arched my back and wrapped my legs around Oliver’s waist. I felt his erection press against me. A burst of need went off like a firework almost at the same time another clap of thunder shook the walls.
My sex was throbbing as I pushed Oliver onto his back and swung my leg to his other side, trapping him beneath me. Oliver rested his head against the floor and gazed up at me with bright, hungry eyes. He ran his hands along my thighs as I bent down to reclaim his mouth. Our kiss was deep and rough. I could’ve made out with him for hours, but I was aching with need.
Tonight, Oliver and I would finally do the one thing we never had.
Breaking our kiss, I moved down his body, brushing my lips over Oliver’s chin, his throat, his chest, where I could feel his wild heartbeat. Physical proof of what I already knew: that Oliver loved me. That he’d never stopped loving me, just as I’d never stopped loving him.
The glow in my belly got brighter. I continued going downward, reacquainting myself with every inch of Oliver’s body. He was tan from all those hours outside, building fences to keep us safe. His chest, stomach, and thighs were hard muscle. Interestingly, Oliver had more hair than I remembered. It trailed down his ridged abdomen. I followed it with my mouth, and I finally arrived at his cock.
It was just as perfect as the one from my memories. I arched my back and lowered my face, giving Oliver a view of my ass as I licked the underside of his shaft, and then, using the very tip of my tongue, circled the sensitive head.
Oliver sat up, the muscles in his stomach bunching. Without a word, he took hold of me, turned, and pinned me to the floor. In seconds, I found one of my legs bent and tucked against Oliver’s waist, and I held onto his shoulders with splayed fingers. Oliver’s hips slid between my thighs in a sensual movement. Once again, I felt his erection brush at that most sensitive part of me. I clenched and unclenched, and I made a low, impatient sound. But when I saw the look in Oliver’s eyes, my frantic need softened into warm anticipation.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he breathed.
I moved my pelvis against his, resting my temple tenderly on the edge of his jaw. His wonderful, wild scent filled my senses. “I know. Me, too. Please don’t make me wait any more.”
Oliver positioned himself. As the V in his lower half tensed, readying to plunge, he gazed down at me with wonder, and pure male need. Another hot, near-unbearable surge went straight to my center. I forced myself to remain still.
Then, mercifully, Oliver moved his hips.
