Run. Shower. Food.
And eventually their chat.
That something pricked at her again but Amélie continued to ignore it as she reached for her robe at the same time watching Olly walk naked to the bathroom.
It was an excellent strategy, for watching Olly walk naked to the bathroom put everything else out of her mind.
* * *
Amélie sat in her robe on a stool at her island, cup of coffee held in both hands in front of her, eyes staring unseeing at the countertop, but her mind was not idle.
Olly was off on his run, and without him and his teasing and his good mood and his sweetness as a distraction, she should have turned on music. Stripped the bed and put the sheets and towels they’d used in the laundry to start getting things sorted to shut down the house to prepare for her to load her cats back up and return to the city.
Anything but sitting there letting her mind go to places that were ridiculous.
She thought (or more accurately, hoped) that they were ridiculous because, except for a strange tone in his voice over the phone during their week apart, Olly hadn’t given her any indication whatsoever that the talk they’d be having that day was one with a conclusion she wouldn’t want it to have.
Especially all through last week.
And most especially during their weekend.
It had been far better than she expected and she’d been anticipating wonderful things.
Playing with Olly. Making love with Olly. Getting fucked by Olly. Talking to Olly about her pets, the time she spent at Dr. Hill’s, the nagging concerns she had about the emptiness that had been creeping into her life. Understanding, finally, the niggling thoughts she’d had about his apparent inexperience. Him giving that to her belatedly, but openly, sharing deeper things while doing it, offering her a different kind of trust and vulnerability that she held even more dear than the manipulation of his body.
No man, alpha or no, indeed no woman would give such gifts to someone they simply wanted to bind them and paddle them and make them orgasm.
But there still was that tone in his voice that she’d heard over the phone. There was disquiet in it that wasn’t hidden. It had not been not dripping from every word, but it was there.
This was, however, contradictory to him calling at all, not to mention the frankness he’d always given her (outside his inexperience, which she could understand why he did what he did, even before he’d explained it—she could not condone it, of course, but she understood it), it had been there.
That said, the time they were apart, he’d called and made it clear why he’d called. That being he’d wanted her to “jack his shit.”
He had, of course, called to ask about her parents, dig deeper into what he sensed she wasn’t giving him.
But other than that, outside the club, he only minimally texted, and he did not call, doing this to connect to her or to invite her to do the same. Unless it was to request her to bring him under her command, he didn’t connect except in a marginal way.
She’d asked him for this weekend.
He had not asked her out for a drink or to dinner or to come to his house to watch a game. Even before or after they met at the club, their togetherness was at the club.
Except this weekend, which, again, she had instigated.
Now, understanding his inexperience, it was easy for her mind to trick itself into believing that he didn’t get it. He didn’t get certain boundaries. He didn’t know all he was giving and how it could be read.
He was no fool but it was the plain truth that he might perform with the instincts of a natural sub, one who had a great deal more time in that world. But Olly did not have that.
And Amélie had been in the “game” far too long.
She’d been burned twice.
What was assailing her with doubt and nerves was partially due to that.
Mostly, it was the fact that this time, with Olly, if where they were heading was not where she thought they were heading, she knew it would unravel her.
She couldn’t imagine having another toy.
But more.
She couldn’t imagine wanting to try to build something, with the hopes of that being building a life together, with any other man.
Just the thought of going back to the club without Olly made the back of her jaw tingle unpleasantly against sick sliding up her throat.
She was falling in love with him. Even though she’d never been that deep in that feeling, Amélie knew precisely what it was.
And to have all of Olly and to want more of all that was him and find he did not want the same …
It was unthinkable.
And now Amélie was sitting at her island, fighting back her disposition twisting into a tight bundle of nerves as the time for their chat drew nearer.
She was taking a sip of coffee, attempting to pull up the strength to shake these thoughts off and get herself together before Olly returned, when Olly returned.
Opening the front door, she saw him from her place all the way down the hall.
Cotton, loose-fitting tee. Also loose-fitting shorts that hung low down his thighs. Running shoes and socks.
Dripping in sweat.
He moved down the hall her way, a paradox of lumbering grace, and she watched, lowering her mug as he came right to her.
Careful of his sweat, he still bent to her with a, “Hey, babe,” before he brushed his lips to hers.
He moved away and went right to the fridge to get water.
Amélie watched as he opened it and she watched even more avidly as he tipped his head back and guzzled half the large bottle.
And Amélie was no longer a bundle of nerves.
Something was tightening and a variety of nerve endings were involved but it had nothing to do with anxiety.
She watched Olly stop drinking and continued watching as he dropped his head, lifting the bottom of his shirt, exposing stomach and some chest as he rubbed the sweat away from his face with the damp material.
She allowed him to right this position and guzzle more water before she ordered, “Olivier, come here.”
His head snapped to the right, his gaze slicing to her, and he stood still.
Amélie held her breath.
They’d locked eyes and they continued to do so as she watched with some satisfaction his start to heat.
She dropped her attention to his shorts and had evidence something else was reacting as well.
Amélie looked back to his face.
“I’m not fond of repeating myself,” she warned quietly.
Olivier took another moment before he kept her gaze as he moved her way, setting his bottle of water on the counter as he walked around the island.
When he was where she wanted him, about three feet from her, she commanded, “Stop.”
He stopped.
She took him in.
His shorts exposed his increasing stimulation.
But she didn’t need to look to his growing erection.
His eyes were telling her everything she needed to know.
“Take off your shirt,” she ordered.
His hands went to the hem and he pulled it up, slouching forward, curling his powerful shoulders in to tug it over his head.
“Toss it aside,” she went on.
He did as told.
“Now, remove your socks and shoes.”
He bent to do this without delay and was again standing before her.
She allowed her eyes to roam everywhere and this took time because there was a vast area to cover.
All of it, as ever, divine.
“Mistress,” he whispered.
Her gaze cut back to his face. “Pull your shorts down to your thighs.”
“Amélie,” he growled, his eyes darkening, for some reason suddenly feeling in the mood to resist.
It was not lost on her that this particular order took Olivier back to his beast. For some reason exposing himself to her at her command brought up rebellion.
&
nbsp; Rebellion that was luscious.
Rebellion she knew she could guide him through.
“What did I say about repeating myself?” she asked
Olivier took another moment, this one much longer, forcing Amélie to consider an additional element to their scenario that would require her to leave the area and find a paddle (unless she spanked him with her bare hand, a thought too luscious by half to have in her current state, so she banished it), before, with another growl, this one unintelligible, he pulled his shorts to his thighs.
His cock sprung free, fully hard and hanging low, so beautiful nude to her grooming.
She fought shifting her legs against the sensations gathering between them, drawing away her focus.
God, he never failed to entice her.
Watching his cock, she put her mug down to counter and turned her stool fully his way.
She then flicked one side of her robe open, exposing a leg, but nothing else.
She looked to his face and saw his gaze fastened between her legs.
“One step closer,” she commanded.
No hesitation, he took that step.
“On your knees,” she ordered.
He dropped down, heated gaze locked to the material covering her pussy.
She flicked the other side of her robe open and another growl sheared through the room when she gave him part of what he was wanting.
Time for more.
Amélie darted a hand out, caught Olivier at the back of his head, and his hands automatically shot to her thighs as she opened them for him, pulling his face into her sex.
Her next instruction was husky. “Do not eat.”
“Baby,” he groaned between her legs.
“Not until told, chevalier, understood?”
Another hesitation before, “Yes, Mistress.”
Her eyes fell to his ass, and when they did, she shifted forward on her stool, feeling her pussy hit his mouth. She gripped his hair and rubbed his face in her.
His fingers clenched into the flesh of her thighs so powerfully, they caused a hint of pain.
Enchanting.
“Push your Mistress’s legs open wider,” she demanded.
His hands moved from the tops of her thighs to the insides and he opened her wider, which naturally slid her bottom down the seat of the stool and shoved her deeper into his face.
The growl that rolled out of him into her nearly signaled she was done.
She had to hold out just a little longer.
“Tongue out, Olivier.”
She felt his tongue immediately and used her hand in his hair to position him, tongue right at her opening.
She settled her gaze to his ass again and whispered, “Eat, my beast.”
Pure Olivier, he did as asked and did it magnificently. Pushing her thighs even wider, he buried his face deeper into her pussy, fucking her with his tongue, laving from near to the rim of her anus to her clit, drawing that hard nub in deep.
Amazing.
When she’d had enough, her head having fallen back, she yanked his hair so his was back, too, and then dropped hers forward, vaguely caught his eyes and breathed, “Fuck me, baby.”
Again, no hesitation, Olivier tore open the belt of her robe and before she understood his intent, he’d swept her hips in the curve of his arm and she was off the stool. It seemed she was flying through the air but she was in his hold the whole time he stalked to the couch that had its back to the kitchen. Then she was face-and belly-down on it, her arms forced back as Olivier ripped her opened robe off.
Then her legs were forced wide and she was taking him.
Apparently, she’d pushed him further through his rebellion then she’d been aware.
Delightfully.
She knew this as his grunts of effort exploded through the savage beauty of his thrusts, one hand in the couch beside her, body arched away for leverage and power.
And she knew it when he buried his thumb up her ass.
“Olivier,” she breathed.
“Ride that, Leigh.”
She didn’t have much room to move with him powering her into the couch but she did what she could, unable to stop herself (not that she wished to do that), shifting a knee slightly into the cushion to ride his cock up her cunt and his thumb up her ass.
The thumb disappeared but only for a second before he shoved two wet fingers deep.
Amélie’s head jerked back as a throb instantly gathered and grew between ass and pussy, and she cried out, “Olly.”
“Gonna fuck that sweet ass, Leigh. Gonna take it, baby, and you’re gonna beg me not to stop.”
“Don’t stop now,” she panted, desperate—facedown beneath him taking only what he was giving—to get more things Olly.
“You gonna let me fuck your ass, Leigh?” he grunted, fucking it already with his fingers while his cock drove deep.
Take that big brute up her ass?
“Yes,” she pushed out.
“You gonna beg me?” he clipped.
“Yes, Olly. I’m going to beg you to fuck my ass. Fuck it now with your fingers, baby. Please. God.” Her frame started shaking as the power of that throb grew and grew. “Oh my God.” Her hands clenched into the couch as her body started uncontrollably bucking when that throb exploded. “Olly.”
He drove his fingers deep, pumping into her pussy, encouraging gruffly, “That’s it, Leigh-Leigh. Fuck yeah, baby, take what I’m givin’ you.”
She took it, and gave it, shuddering violently as her mind scrambled and she continued to take Olly’s pummeling.
And she kept giving it to him, pulsing around him with her pussy, her body trembling on the couch, when he orgasmed through his final, brutal thrusts, slipping his fingers out of her ass to grasp her hips to hold her to him as he shot his seed.
Finally, he went still, filling her completely in a way that seemed to her like he was straining, and she imagined him arching into his climax in that glorious way of his, before he relaxed. She felt the warmth of his body drop to hers, held up by a forearm in the couch, his forehead on her shoulder.
“Fuck, baby, fuck, you do it for me.”
She closed her eyes as relief poured through her.
There it was. Just what Amélie needed to release the things that were now fucking with her head.
She felt him kiss her shoulder.
“Don’t ever lose your imagination, sweetheart,” he said, the relief vanished and she tensed. “Every time, every fucking time,” he pressed his hips into hers, his cock pushing deeper, giving unmistakable meaning to what he was saying, “you knock it outta the park.”
And there it was.
Indication that for Olly, it was all about her knocking it out of the park.
With a shocked gasp, she felt him pull out and abruptly she was teetering in front of him beside the couch, both of them on their feet.
Before she could even tip her head back to gauge the look on his face, he had the fingers of both of his hands tangled in her hair at the sides of her head, his lips declaring, “Time for our shower.”
And then with a quiet cry, his hands were gone from her hair, she was naked, up over his shoulder, and a naked Olly was prowling through her house toward her bedroom.
In an odd twist she’d never allowed in any relationship, Amélie found herself powerless.
And what made that odder was she did not dislike this at all.
So she supposed it was time for their shower.
Then it was time to chat.
And that she didn’t like.
* * *
They were in her front courtyard, plate of bacon consumed, three-quarters of the cinnamon rolls gone (and Amélie had had no bacon and only one roll).
She’d been right, her Olly needed a great deal of fuel.
After their shower, they’d both put on jeans and T-shirts. While accomplishing this, for some reason she didn’t understand, Olly looked at her tee the second she’d pulled it on and then had given her a big, satisfied grin that
had the added charming component of being vastly amused.
He didn’t offer a reason as to why he had this reaction.
And Amélie was so deep in her head, she didn’t ask for one.
They’d sorted the food, shuffling around the kitchen together (something Amélie had never had with a man in her life and she liked it immensely). Olly also had situated the chairs outside so that they were side to side while they ate, eyes to the road at the front of the house, the fountain flowing comfortingly behind them.
Amélie was not comforted.
No, Amélie felt that cinnamon roll sitting in her stomach like an anvil, weighing her down.
“How much of this land is yours?” Olly asked and she looked from her preoccupied perusal of a road no car had come down since they took their seats to Olly.
“Fifty-five acres,” she answered.
“Mm,” he mumbled, lifting a cup of coffee he’d told her while they were preparing breakfast he could “take or leave, usually only drink a cup with something sweet.”
This was good to know for she hadn’t caffeinated him as well as not feeding him before she’d played with him the morning before.
If things went as she hoped, in future, she’d make a note to provide him fuel.
But it was nice to know she didn’t have to offer him caffeine.
“Olly,” she called but it was more a blurt.
She wanted to relax. Spend time with him. Have one of their non-taxing, enjoyable conversations that still led to her learning more about him, every morsel she was hungry for. Have the lazy morning she said they were going to have. Push it into a lazy day. Maybe take him riding. Avoid the chat altogether and just continue the beauty they had, ride it wherever it was going.
She most assuredly wanted all that.
But she couldn’t wait a second longer to know where they stood.
He looked to her, face relaxed, in a good place, and God, please God, she hoped it stayed that way.
“Yeah?” he answered her call.
“I’d like to see you,” she began.
A big, white smile spread on his handsome face making him breathtaking.
Yes, please, God, she wanted him to stay just that way for as long as she was breathing.
“I go somewhere?” he teased.
She wasn’t in the mood for teasing, even though she loved it when he did that.