Kaleidoscope Hearts (28 page)

His tongue lashes against me once more and I lose all thought . . . all reason . . . and come undone under his tongue. I finally shut my eyes and moan out his name as my back bows off the bed and an orgasm rocks through me. Oliver’s kisses whisper over me as he makes his way back up my body. I open my eyes and he holds himself above me, arms on either side of me, and for the longest time, just looks at me, his eyes searching mine. My hand moves between us. His body shudders when I close my hand around his cock and grasp it, slowly sliding my hand up and down, up and down, until he’s breathing heavily.

“We should probably get a condom,” he says, his eyes bouncing between mine. I shake my head, bringing my other hand to clasp the back of his neck and pull his face to mine.

“No condom,” I whisper against his lips. He stills, and for a moment, I wonder if he would rather use one. Maybe he regrets not doing so all those years ago.

“Elle,” he says, letting out a breath. I’m sure he’s about to climb off me and reach for a condom, but instead, he wraps an arm around my back and pulls me closer, settling himself between my folds. Slowly, carefully, he pushes in, giving my body time to adjust to his girth. I gasp when I feel him pulsate inside me. He stops to take a breath and chuckles into my neck.

“My beautiful little Elle,” he says against my neck. The smile in his voice makes me smile. “You feel so fucking good around me, you have no idea.” I arch my back, urging him to continue, because I do have an idea. I have a very good idea. He moves again, not stopping this time, instead, giving me long, deep strokes. “You just . . . swallow me up,” he growls, moving faster now, his strokes becoming harder, as if he’s staking his claim inside me.

“Do you ever think about this?” he asks, his voice somewhere between a grunt and a growl as he readjusts our position so that my leg is over his shoulder and he can get even deeper inside of me. I cry out, nodding. “Tell me,” he says. Oliver pulls back to look first at the spot where we’re joined and then to my face, where I’m sure he can see my desire for him.

“I touch myself thinking about you,” I admit quietly, my eyes refusing to waver from his. He groans and stops moving, closing his eyes as if he’s concentrating. “I picture you taking me like this, on top of me,” I continue, pushing onto him. “And sometimes from behind.”

Oliver’s eyes snap open, and I whimper when he slowly slides out of me, then thrusts in hard and fast. My toes curl, and my eyes start rolling back as I grip on to his ass and encourage him to move faster. It’s all I can do to keep myself from crying out at the level of emotion zip-lining through me.

“Please . . .” I’m actually begging. “Please, please, please keep moving faster.”

He grins, slow and wide, and does what I say for all of four strokes.

I screw my eyes shut. “Please, please, please. Just . . . faster . . . harder . . .”

But Oliver has other plans. He leans down, stretching my legs further apart and kisses the calf I have resting on his chest. He rubs his face over the soft skin there, as his lips drag up and down, matching his hips in soft, slow, long, hard strokes.

“I want this to last forever,” he says, biting the inside of my leg. “I want to make a little house inside your pussy,” he says, and if it weren’t for his hand tweaking my nipple and his cock pounding harder against me, I would make a joke. But the sensation of an orgasm begins to steamboat inside me, and I can’t think anymore. He drops my leg and climbs over me again, his chest just over mine, so that his face is the only thing I can see. I don’t know what he wants to find in my eyes, but I feel like he’s boring into my soul, as if rummaging through a lost-and-found. Just when I open my mouth to say something, an orgasm slams through me, and I shriek his name instead. As if on cue, he grunts out my name and his eyes close in exhaustion. Oliver lets out a long breath, and when he opens his eyes again, he’s wearing the goofy, lopsided smile I’ve always loved, and it makes me feel like whatever he was searching for has been found.

We lay in bed, naked, facing each other, his hand lazily drawing over my waist and mine over his chest. I’ve always been a go-with-the-flow kind of girl. I’ve never wondered where a relationship would take me—I never really bothered to care. But lying here beside Oliver makes me think about the future. It makes me
hope
for the future. And even though I told myself that this was just one date, I can’t help the bubble of possibility that pops up in my head.

“What are you thinking about?” I whisper. He pulls my face to his chest, and then kisses the top of my head.

“I’m thinking that this is the best date I’ve ever been on.”

I smile. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“You realize you completely cheated, right? One date means one date, and you planned this out to be two dates.”

He chuckles below me. “I told you I’m not good with rules.”

“Thank God for that,” I say, yawning against him.

I fall asleep in his arms, and even though I’m looking forward to the rest of our date tomorrow, a part of me is terrified of leaving this room and facing reality.

I WAKE UP feeling overly warm, as if a heating blanket set on high was covering me. When I open my eyes, I realize that the blanket is Oliver. Our bodies are intertwined around the other’s in such a way that I’m sure if there was a painting of this moment, the viewer would have a difficult time deciphering whose limbs were whose. My gaze ascends from his chest to his messy hair, enjoying all the parts in-between, and I sigh contently. Oliver’s lids flutter open, and when his sleepy green eyes find mine, I am graced with a breathtaking smile that makes magical creatures ignite deep within my belly.

“Hey,” he whispers in a sexy rasp that ratchets up my desire.

I smile, suddenly feeling a little shy. “Hey.”

He lifts his hand from my waist and threads his fingers through my hair, pushing long bangs out of my face. He leans in slowly and brushes his soft lips against mine. Tender little bites have my eyelids fluttering shut. A moan resonates from me when his tongue scoops mine, twirling around it gently, and forming the beginning of a seductive dance that makes my breath quicken. Oliver breaks the kiss with the same gentle bites he started it with and drags his mouth down my neck, my chest, my abdomen . . .

My hands fly to his hair, clutching fistfuls, when he reaches my clit and begins to suck lightly. He runs his tongue over it sharply, last night’s rendezvous becomes fresh in my mind. My grip tightens and, as my head falls to the side, I gasp simultaneously at the time on the clock, and at the feel of his fingers inside me.

“We’re going to be late,” I say, gasping again when his hands reach up and cup my breasts, tweaking my nipples.

“I’ll make it worth it,” he murmurs against me, sucking harder.

My eyes roll back.

“Oliver,” I say, his name a guttural moan.

“Estelle,” he answers, blowing over the wetness on my nipples as his fingers continue to move inside me.

“Oh God.”

“Mmmm,” he groans as he quickens the lash of his tongue.

My back arches at the wave of heat that courses through me. He makes his way back up my body with open, wet kisses, and positions the head of his cock at my entrance. I open my eyes to find him staring down at me, his eyes hooded with desire. He licks his bottom lip slowly and bites down on it as he begins to push inside me with a measured thrust.

“This is how all of our mornings should start,” he grunts when he’s all the way inside me. My eyes roll back at the way he fills me up. And then he begins to move, and I feel myself fall with every thrust, with every moment his green eyes stay on mine, and with every crease that forms between his eyebrows as he makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Yes, this is how all of our mornings should start, I think to myself. This is how they could have been before, but I don’t think I could have survived them when he left.

“How did he propose?” Oliver asks later, after we’ve shared enough samples of wine to fill two bottles. We’ve been asking each other questions all day. It started as a game—so that the person who didn’t want to answer would have to down a glass—but then we kept on hounding until we answered anyway, so we dropped the game and kept the questions.

I take a large gulp of wine. He doesn’t laugh this time, because this particular question is as uncomfortable for him to hear as it is for me to answer. “It was the day we got the space for the gallery. We were home celebrating with a couple of our friends. Dallas and Micah were there,” I say, pausing. When he nods in recognition of the names, I continue. “So we were home, drinking . . . the guys telling jokes, the girls laughing along . . . and suddenly, he gets down on one knee in front of me and just proposes.” I shrug, recalling the memory and smiling sadly. I remember feeling so excited over it. I didn’t cry of happiness. I wasn’t overwhelmed, but I was so, so happy.

Oliver takes my empty glass and deposits it beside his, picking up our small tray of grapes and cheese as we continue walking along the vineyard. “Was it everything you hoped it would be?” he asks. I glance up to search his face. He doesn’t seem angry or jealous, just curious.

“I had never really thought about it before that night,” I say with a shrug. “Our relationship was kind of . . . I don’t know. I just never really thought we would get engaged or married. We were living together and everything, so you would think it would be the next step, but I never really . . .” I never expected it. I never needed it. I never wanted it until the day he asked, and then suddenly I wanted it all. I don’t say that because I don’t want to go there.

“Are you happy you did? That you got engaged and moved in together?”

This time we stop walking. I tilt my head so I can see him, even as he keeps his eyes out into the distance. Every time I look at him, even now, it feels like my heart is getting tazed. I have to remind myself that this man—the one I’ve always wanted—is really here with me.

“I am,” I say, because it’s true. I loved him and don’t regret a single moment I spent with Wyatt.

Oliver nods and throws a grape into his mouth. When he doesn’t look at me, I reach out for him, tucking my hand under his bicep, needing to touch him and make sure we’re still okay. His gaze cuts to mine, and the side of his mouth turns up in a somewhat regretful smile.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a mood killer. That was just a little harder to take in than I thought it would be.”

I reach up and run a hand through his thick hair. He closes his eyes and leans into my touch, his nostrils flaring slightly as he takes a deep breath.

“Why didn’t you get married? It was a long engagement,” he says, keeping his eyes shut. My hand freezes in his hair. I drop it and step back. He opens his eyes when I do, and we look at each other for what seems like forever, before I answer.

“We never talked about it,” I say, my voice a whisper. I look away from his intent gaze. I have to. The only other person I’ve spoken to about this is Mia, and although she held my hand and kissed my head, I could see the judgment and the sympathy she held in her eyes. I know she was thinking the same thing I was, but we were both afraid to voice it. The thing is, we were happy, Wyatt and I. We argued like any other couple, but we were happy for the most part. Things were comfortable with him, and I never really wanted to question the bigger things, out of fear that it would mean the end of our relationship. I figured that when we really got to those points in our life together, we would face any issues in real time.

“Ever?” Oliver asks, and I can hear the frown in his voice.

I shake my head.

“Tell me something else,” he says, and the way he says it makes me want to tell him everything, because his voice holds understanding and a sadness that can only be formed through true comprehension.

“He didn’t want kids,” I say, still whispering, as if it’s a great big secret I’m keeping from the universe, and I guess I was, for a while. “Or at least he didn’t want kids with me. I can’t really be sure.”

Oliver’s hand finds mine, and I finally turn to meet his gaze. As soon as I do, I regret it, because the look on his face makes me want to cry. “Not wanting kids with you is insane. He probably just didn’t want any. Some people don’t.” When I stay silent, he squeezes my hand. “You’re going to make an incredible mother one day, Elle.” He leans down and kisses my lips softly. It’s not a long, lingering kiss, but it’s enough to warm me all over.