Never a Bride-18/?

[the_bluesuede]

Author: BlueSuede
Title:  Never a Bride
Rating:  NC17
Genre: Romance/Humor
Pairings/Characters: primarily Chloe/Oliver
Summary:  When a newspaper prints a false engagement announcement for Oliver Queen and Chloe Sullivan, and all their friends are thrilled, Chloe and Oliver decide to stage a fake engagement and breakup to prove to their friends how wrong they are for one another.  Because, they will break up, won't they?
Warnings: completely Alternate Universe; also, sexual content and occasional language



banner by
dandiandi22

Hey, everyone. Thanks for all your patience. NaNoWriMo is going great. As for Bride, well, I know I reviewed this a bit when it was originally written, but I don't have time for one last edit before posting, so I just want to apologize for any typos I didn't catch.

First Chapter

Previous (Chapter 17)
Next (Chapter 19)


-18-

In between trips to the kitchen for glasses of water and at one point, an aspirin, Oliver dreamt of sex, sex, and more sex. He couldn't help it that he'd gone to sleep throughly unsatisfied, or that the object of his frustration had her naked body pressed against his. It didn't make matters any better that she looked throughly sexed up because of him, or that he knew he'd had permission and had given it up for a reason he couldn't quite explain.

Chloe dreamt of nothing. Her sleep was so deep, so thorough that it was void of the disturbance of visions. When she woke that Sunday morning, she felt better than she had in years. She remembered drinking tequila and waited for the pulsing headache of a hangover to settle in, but either she hadn't had enough for that, or they had stayed up late enough to burn most of it off.

She froze. Stayed up late. Oh God, they had stayed up late all right. She felt her face color as she remembered every last detail of the previous evening. She felt embarrassed…confused…and really, really hot. Oh God it was good. She wasn't sure if Oliver was just better than any man she'd ever been with, or if she'd forgotten just how good something could feel. Probably a little of both. What the hell, though? she thought desperately. Between their sudden mutual stupidity and his ensuing behavior, she didn't know what to think. Maybe if she just held really still, he would eventually get up and go about his day. On a Sunday. Right.

"I know you're awake, you know," he said without giving any sign of how long he himself had been awake. Which gave him even less excuse for the way he was…Well, for God's sake, for the way he's cuddling with me right now.

They had shifted in the night, Chloe curling up on her side the way she had done so many nights, and Oliver encasing her in his body, lying with her back pressed into his chest and his arm thrown indelicately around her, and, Chloe realized, his noticeable erection pressed against her-

Oh my God, he never-

"Seriously. Give me a sign of higher functioning brainpower. I know you've got a snarky comment in there somewhere."

"Is that a harmonica in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" she grumbled

He chuckled. He hadn't been hard all night; it was just that between the dreams and waking up with her right there…well, he was only human. "Which would you prefer?" he asked suggestively.

"What the hell did we do?" she groaned, dropping all pretense. Her head was aching, and she knew if she tried to stand she would get dizzy.

His chest rumbled behind her when he chuckled again and Chloe found that the sound irritated her. Sourly, she tried to pull away from him and he released her reluctantly.

She stood up-pausing a moment when her head spun as predicted-and found the nearest clothing-his shirt-quickly putting it on and buttoning it up haphazardly. "Oliver," she said breathily, trying to control her gaze as he sat up in bed a little, letting the sheet fall to his waist. "I am…so sorry. I was drunk."

"So was I."

"No, I know. I mean…" her eyes flickered below his waist, embarrassed.

Ah. That was what she meant. "Listen, don't feel bad."

"What were you trying to do?" she demanded, hugging herself and feeling incredibly vulnerable, something she hated. She wanted coffee. And aspirin.

"Relax. I-"

"Was this all because I told you how long it had been? Because I didn't want pity sex, Oliver, I-"

"WOAH!" Oliver pushed himself up a little more and held his hands up to stop her, looking at her like she was crazy. "Hold up, Chloe. Let's just slow down here."

She stared at him nervously, biting her lip, waiting for him to explain in a way that wouldn't leave her feeling humiliated.

Relieved that she was giving him a chance to continue, Oliver lowered his hands a little. "Look, there was no pity involved, I just…" he thought carefully. He wasn't sure how to phrase it. "I know what you've been through, and I really didn't want to feel like I was taking advantage of you." He figured she'd prefer that, that she could understand if he somehow made it sound like he was thinking of himself. He could see the wheels of acceptance turning behind her eyes, so he plowed ahead. He'd had plenty of time to think this part out last night when she had fallen asleep in his arms. "Now listen, I know what you're thinking, that it was a mistake and really stupid and-"

"And we were drunk? Yeah, that about covers it."

He gave her a look and she stopped to let him finish. "But I think you should consider what we said on the plane."

"And what was that?"

Oliver wanted to get up and walk over to her and seduce her back into his arms and do this the easy way. He'd never had to work so hard to get a woman into bed with him, let alone back into bed with him. But he couldn't do this the easy way with her because their friendship had to come first. He needed her to be comfortable and come to the decision on her terms. And for Chloe Sullivan that meant with logic and rationality. "We said we were taking care of each other. As friends."

He knew instantly that he had said the right thing. He saw her shoulders visibly relax and her expression become more calm. "Okay," she said, not voicing the point that clearly she was the only one who got taken care of the night before.

"So there was no harm, no foul, right?" he pressed.

"I…guess so…" she looked at him suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But all he said was, "Great." And he started getting up, standing there in all his boxer-brief glory for her to see. She swallowed anxiously, thinking what a shame it was that he hadn't taken advantage of her. "I don't know about you," he said with a cocky smirk, "but I could use a shower."

"Really? That's it?" It must be nice to be a man.

"Well, the question, Chloe, is whether you're dooming me to a cold shower," he was walking toward her-no, not walking, prowling. Okay. Maybe just a little bit of persuasion to get her to come to the right decision. "Or if you're thinking of joining me," he reached her and tugged on the shirt-his shirt, which looked a little too good on her-to pull her closer. He looked down at her lips and silently asked her to meet him halfway.

Chloe hesitated, her heart pounding. Where was the harm, right? He'd already proven that he wasn't just trying to screw her for the hell of it. And after all, they both had needs, right? "Just…just as friends, right?" she breathed, eyes on his lips, which were perilously close.

"Just two friends," Oliver whispered, stepping just that little bit closer, "taking very good care of each other."

"But…" she faltered. "There was…we had a rule. No sex."

"With other people," he reminded. "That was mainly about not fooling around with other people. Nothing wrong with two consenting adults getting a little pleasure from each other."

Had she ever stood a chance? She rose up on her toes to kiss him and his arm curled around her waist to steady her. She felt bad, she told herself, that Oliver hadn't had a chance to reach his own release the night before. She owed it to him. It was what a friend would do.

Even she knew she was lying about how badly she wanted it. Hell, Oliver could probably tell she was lying to herself in her own head to justify this. And even with all of that, she still couldn't bring herself to care. Instead she cupped his face in her hands and let him deepen the kiss. When he knew he'd won her over he lifted her in his arms and started carrying her back to the bed.

She looked surprised to find herself there. "What about the shower?" she asked, propped up on her elbows and watching him while he started undoing her crooked buttons.

"We can shower later," he said, his hands sliding beneath the shirt to massage her breasts, which were still sore from the night before. She moaned and let her head tip back a little, slumping her shoulders as she tried not to fall back altogether. He spread her legs once again and for the second time Chloe felt him grinding his cock against her, only there was even less between them now, and she was so much more aware of how wonderful it felt. Couldn't he just give her what she needed already? "Chloe," he whispered in her ear.

"Unh?" she managed.

"You're still wet." He ground against her again and she stifled a whimper. How did he make her want this so badly? Had she been this desperate all along or was he really that good?

"And you're still hard," she pointed out, biting his ear.

He chuckled hoarsely. "You don't have to remind me." His thumb flicked across her clit and she groaned. Oliver struggled to concentrate. One step at a time. He gazed down at her, eyes raking over her whole body from head to toe. She looked nothing less than edible in his shirt. It was at the same time better and worse than that little silk robe of hers. He stroked her folds with his fingers, feeling how slick she was and ignoring the desperate urgency in his groin. "Chloe?" he said her name again, voice tense, now slipping one long finger inside of her.

Her breathing hitched. "What?" she managed.

He dropped his forehead to hers, steadying his own breathing as he continued to work his finger in and out of her tight channel, working her body into a frenzy. "I would love," he said slowly, through almost gritted teeth, "to shove my cock inside of you right now and fuck you senseless," He added a second finger, stretching her, and she winced, sucking in a ragged breath at his words. "But I'm not going to. It's going to hurt you no matter what I do, but I'm going to take this slow for you, I promise. I want you to enjoy this."

He was making it difficult to think, but the words slowly sank in, and Chloe realized what he was saying. It hadn't even occurred to her that he would be concerned about that, that by now she was so tight that it would probably hurt almost as badly as the night she lost her virginity. "Oliver," she said, one hand sliding around his back and the other slipping into his hair to bury itself there, "I'm a big girl."

It was what he needed to hear, but he didn't admit it. "Oh, I know," he smirked and he picked up the pace of his hand, pleased when her head dropped back at last, but her hands kept clutching him. He buried his face in her neck and bit into it, trying to slake a little of his own lust as he continued to pump his fingers into her slick pussy. He paused for a moment with them buried fully inside of her before flicking them up and down, creating vibrations that caused her grip to tighten and her back to arch.

"Oliver!" she groaned. Her voice was huskier than it had been the night before, and she was so much more engaged. By the time he got her in bed last night he had thoroughly abused her on the plane and car-ride home, gotten her worked up and frustrated and totally exhausted. He started moving his hand in a circle, stretching her opening, trying to prepare her and thinking at the same time how incredibly good it was going to feel when he finally buried himself in her for real, how much he couldn't wait for that moment.

He wondered if she'd thought about this, too. He was to the point of being ashamed of the number of times he'd thought about her naked, thought about fucking her, and even thought about making love to her. He'd expected it to get better when he went away for a week but instead he'd been plagued with thoughts of her, sleeping in his bed without him.

"Condom?" he managed to ask.

"I'm clean," she breathed.

That wasn't what he meant. "Me too?" he said questioningly.

"Sorry," she caught on. "I'm on the pill…precaution," she managed. "Oliver please," she had actually reached the point of begging. But as much as he couldn't wait, he was enjoying this slow torture. He used his other hand to start rubbing circles on her swollen clit and her hips bucked wildly.

"Tell me something," he said. She whimpered and he took that as encouragement. "Have you pictured this?"

She looked at him through hooded eyes.

"Have you thought about what it would be like to have me inside you? I've thought about it more than once," he admitted, his eyes dark with lust as his hands continued their work. She could barely focus on his question so he stopped and she made a whining noise. "Tell me," he insisted.

After a moment, she simply nodded. "Yes."

Oliver could feel a surge of triumph rush through him and his cock twitched in satisfied pleasure. So he wasn't the only one who'd been affected these past months. "When?" he asked, beginning to work on her clit again as he began pumping his fingers in and out of her harder than ever.

Chloe was rocking her hips up to meet his hands desperately. She moaned and shut her eyes tightly.

"When?" he repeated.

"The night of the surprise engagement party!" Chloe gasped out, feeling herself get closer and closer to climax. Her whole body was tensing with need.

"Was that the first time?"

"Yes! No!-I'm not-" she gasped, turning desperate as he continued rubbing circles over her clit, increasing the pressure only slightly in reward. "It's the first time I remember thinking about it!" her voice began to crescendo as her body hummed. "Oliver, Jesus! I'm begging you, PLEASE!"

He added a third finger at the last second, stretching her so much it now genuinely hurt, but at the same time, he added more pressure to her clit, sending her cascading over the edge. He continued to rub it with increasing pressure, enjoying the growing intensity of her cries of pleasure as she slowly came down to earth. He could hardly stand it anymore he was so ready to be inside her.

As it turned out, Chloe's feelings were similar. She reached down to rub his cock through his underwear and he hissed, catching her wrist. "I've held out this long, Chloe, don't expect me to last much longer."

"I don't want you to," she said flatly, her breathing still heavy. She stroked him with her other hand defiantly.

Growling, he pinned her hands above her head and hovered over her, not letting her have any other contact. "What did you imagine, Chloe?"

"What?" she asked sharply.

"The night of the party. What did you picture? Tell me."

Chloe bit her lip nervously, but her need to be touched won out. "I…I was picturing you and me, in your bed-" he rewarded her by releasing her hands "-and thinking about how muscular you are-" he pulled his shorts off and tossed them on the floor. Her breathing hitched but he didn't continue until she did.

"And?" he prompted her shamelessly.

"And…I wondered what it would feel like."

He was perched at her entrance, the tip of his cock teasing her. "Did you want it?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Do you want it now?"

"God yes."

He pressed himself into her, barely an inch and she cried out, throwing her head back. He gritted his teeth, holding back. "What else?"

She bucked her hips up for more of him, but he held her down with his hands.

"What else? You said there were other times." he forced the words out.

"I-" she struggled to form words. "I-don't know."

"Yes you do."

"When we started sharing a bed!" she threw out desperately. "I wanted to grab the headboard and straddle you! Ugh!" she ended with a loud cry as he sank a little further into her.

"I would have let you," he ground out and she moaned.

"I'll bet," she forced a short laugh. "What about you?" she asked. "I know you've thought about it. You're mind is always in the gutter."

Oliver couldn't help it, his strained laugh mirrored hers. When had he thought about it first? He'd thought she was attractive from the moment he met her, but when had he let the first real fantasy slip? Tequila shots at Katherine and Victor's wedding? No. It had been sooner than that. "When we met," he said, finally burying himself all the way inside of her and sliding his hand around her neck to cradle her head when she cried out loudly in discomfort. "The garter," he panted, forcing himself to stay still. "You were blushing," it surprised him as he said it, realizing it was the truth. "And you were so angry with me and I didn't know why."

She was…laughing. "Hey!" he protested. He would have been annoyed if there weren't pinpricks of tears in the corners of her eyes. He felt her hips surge forward and he knew it was safe to pull out and push into her again.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "It's just so you. Wanting what you think you can't have. Just-unh-completing my mental picture of you."

He ran his other hand over her thigh and angled her hips up to thrust again. "You think you've got me all figured out, huh?"

"Oh no," automatically her head shook a little. "I'm just starting to get you." She wrapped one leg around his waist and he groaned.

"Damn, woman."

"Not…made of glass, Oliver," she reminded him.

He dropped his head and released a short breath. "If you say so." And he started to thrust in earnest. He buried his face in her neck and breathed in the smell of her soft skin, dragging his lips along her throat. He ran his hands along her arms and found her hands, lacing their fingers together. He could tell she wasn't entirely comfortable but she was enjoying it, and that was all that mattered to him. He was so close. He'd been holding out so long he was amazed he'd made it this far. "Chloe?"

She moaned.

"This isn't going to last much longer."

"I don't care."

"You haven't come yet."

She gave a disbelieving laugh. Hadn't…? After last night? Was he serious? She wrapped her other leg around him and squeezed his hands. "I don't give a damn."

The change in angle from having both her legs wrapped around him was more than he could take. His body convulsed and he groaned her name. "Dear God, Chloe." It felt so good to be with someone, to be with her…inside her. He hadn't realized how badly he needed her. This, he corrected himself. Not her specifically. I needed sex. Not her.

He kissed her neck and released her hands, running his own down her arms and along her body. "How do you feel?" he asked.

How did she feel? Her whole body was humming with content. It felt so good to be with someone. She and Jimmy had practically been children when they were together, really. Young and innocent, sex had been good but safe, almost too safe. With Davis it had been so far the opposite it was almost frightening. This…this whole night had been like nothing she'd ever experienced. "I feel a profound new sympathy for all those women in the tabloids who talk about you," she joked.

Oliver laughed at the stroking of his ego. He pinched her thighs lightly and she bucked her hips in response. He realized he still hadn't pulled out of her and did so slowly. She breathed a sigh of relief, running a hand over his back while they both tried to catch their breath. "So what do I have to do to convince you not to make this a one time thing?" he asked, propping himself on his forearms and looking down at her. She looked genuinely surprised, confirming his suspicions that she was planning to write this off as a moment of passion and dismiss it as such at the nearest available opportunity.

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean that this would make our current situation a lot more fun for the next few months. Not that I'm complaining," he added, already foreseeing a surge of guilt behind her eyes. "I'll stick around either way. But let's face it, we both work high pressure jobs and don't get much in the way of stress relief."

She looked uncertain. "What, like friends with benefits?" she asked warily.

"If you want to put it that way, sure. But the way I see it, we're already in a relationship for everyone else's sake. We should at least get something out of it for ourselves. And not to sound harsh, but I think it would be really good for you."

She arched an eyebrow at him.

He chose his words carefully. "I just mean…well, first, obviously, everybody has needs. Myself included. But for you…you've put off being with someone for so long that it sort of…built into this big scary thing. Why not transition back into your love life with someone you know it won't end badly with? We're going to end this as friends, we already talked about that. We'll find a reason to split up amicably when the time comes. And you can plow ahead into your dating life feeling confident and unintimidated." He dismissed the thought of her with another faceless man in her bed, not liking the idea entirely. But that was a long way in the future. No need to worry about it. And he would keep an eye on her to make sure anyone who got that close was good enough for her.

"You're really serious, aren't you?"

"As the grave," he teased.

"I…wanna think about it."

He searched her face and decided that that was the best he was going to get. And he was more than satisfied with not getting a straight up "no."

"So what are we both doing today?" she asked.

"It's Sunday."

She laughed as he rolled over to her side. "That's never stopped either of us before."

He shrugged. "I'm free, honestly. I'm gonna check in with my dad about how Marian is, but otherwise I was planning to take the day recovering from last night."

She grinned. 'Recover' was definitely the right word for what she needed to do right now.

"You?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing. Somehow your mother and my mother and Edward all staged some sort of intervention without me even present. Edward's started insisting I don't work on Sundays and as little as possible on Saturdays. 'So I have time to plan the wedding,' according to all of them."

Oliver laughed. "I can't imagine those three in a room together."

"The effects would be devastating."

He chuckled before giving her a sidelong look. She looked good. Flushed with color, hair tousled, her body limp with satisfaction, but she was also staring at the ceiling and he could tell she was making conversation because she felt embarrassed. "You're worried things are going to get really awkward around here, aren't you?"

She closed her eyes. "Well, aren't they?"

He rolled over on his side and propped himself on an elbow, studying her. "They really don't have to."

She groaned and yanked the sheet up over her face to hide. It might have been incredible, but she still had a headache, and nothing in her life had prepared her to deal with this situation. Oliver couldn't help chuckling at the seamless transition she had made from wildly sexy to adorably innocent in the last five minutes. How did men resist her? Even he had given into a little crush. Was every man in the city walking around carrying a secret torch for Chloe Sullivan? It didn't seem unlikely.

He couldn't get her to come out from under the sheet, so with a sigh he dove underneath it to look at her. "Seriously. It's no big deal. It's just sex."

Chloe snorted. "Sex makes everything complicated. What came over us last night?"

"And this morning," he reminded, irritatingly smug.

She glared. "This morning you seduced me. This was entirely your fault."

He couldn't argue too much with that, he thought with a sly grin, so he focused on her previous concern. "Last night…well, we already said it. We're two friends who work extremely high pressure jobs. We live together and we're both attracted to each other and there's no other outlet for sexual energy. This was really bound to happen one way or another when you think about it."

She rolled her eyes. Well when he put it that way. "Because apparently I have no self-control when I drink tequila. But don't you think it's better if we just sweep this under the rug?"

At that, he couldn't help it. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her on top of him so that she straddled his waist. She let out a delightec laugh. "Chloe, I think that there is no reason why two adults can't release a little tension now and again." He ran his hands over her thighs, massaging them. "It's healthy. I'm not saying we should be lovers, just…every now and then a little fun doesn't hurt."

"Why do I get the feeling this would be a much less persuasive argument if we weren't naked?" she groaned.

He smirked. "Because everything's better naked?'

She laughed and swatted his arm, trying to slide off of him, though he wouldn't allow it. He kept her planted right where she was, thoroughly enjoying the view.

She crossed her arms under the pretext of being cold, hiding her breasts from view, and he felt frustrated at the loss. "I don't know, it just seems like a bad idea to me."

"Can you honestly say you don't want to do this again?"

She opened her mouth to say yes, but before she could force the word out she thought of Oliver slowly pressing into her, making her appreciate his length one inch at a time and swallowed tightly, her face growing hot.

His lip twitched in victory. "And can you honestly tell me you didn't have fun?'

Fun? Was that even the right word for four succeeding orgasms one after another as he refused to stop torturing her clitoris with his tongue? Again she swallowed, trying not to let herself get aroused again, just remembering what he'd done to her last night.

She hadn't answered but Oliver sighed, and pushed her off of him, climbing out of the bed. "All right, I can see that you're not going to give in on this," he placated. "But if you change your mind," he shrugged.

She watched him go in total consternation.

It took less than a week. Either she was incredibly pathetic or he was doing a much better job of manipulating her than she realized. She found herself in a state of almost constant arousal at work, barely able to focus on anything other than the memory of Oliver burying his face in her between her legs, or of him slowly sheathing himself inside of her.

He hadn't made any mention of the subject of their sleeping together since that morning, completely keeping his distance without letting on that anything had changed, to the point that she almost wondered if she had made the whole thing up in a fit of twisted lust. Maybe she was delusional. If it weren't for the way she sometimes caught him staring at her like he knew exactly what was underneath her sweater dresses and blazers, she would have nearly been convinced that she really had contrived the whole thing. All of which only succeeded in making her more crazy. She was frustrated at work and couldn't help finding Vivian and Louise excessively aggravating. She had to write an editorial for an upcoming issue and whereas before she'd been able to convince herself that she just didn't feel like it at the moment or had something more pressing to do, she now had to admit to herself that she had writer's block. She couldn't think of one blasted word worth writing about and she was about to blow a fuse if Edward asked her about it one more time.

Oliver, though not letting on one way or the other if he was as sexually frustrated as she suddenly was, was not faring much better with his job. A crisis in Dubai was demanding most of his time, and he'd actually had to fly out there for a couple of nights, as if he didn't have enough on his plate in Star City. When he finally got home late Sunday night, around 1:00 in the morning, he was exhausted and emotionally spent. He was also completely shocked to find Chloe sitting up on his couch, wearing one of his button-down shirts, watching what appeared to be a marathon of The Twilight Zone, and eating coffee-flavored ice cream out of the carton. Her laptop, he noticed, was sitting on the coffee table with a blank word document pulled up, the screen glowing on her face. It faded and turned to black and she immediately reached out to hit the spacebar so that the screen lit up again, all without ever taking her eyes off the television screen.

"Chloe?" he asked tentatively, not sure what to make of this and thinking she might not have heard him come in.

"Hey," she deadpanned, and he realized she had heard, she just hadn't bothered to acknowledge.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's…not what it looks like."

She spared him a glare and he backed off instinctively. "Whatever." He sat down next to her and took the spoon from her hand-she whined in protest-and took a bite of the ice cream, licking it clean before handing it back to her. Chloe followed the progress of his tongue on the spoon out of the corner of her eye. "So what are you writing?"

"Editorial."

"Ah."

"How was Dubai?"

"A nightmare."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really. Is this the episode with the man on the wing of the airplane?"

She nodded.

"Classic."

She nodded again, eyes still fixed on the screen. "Sure you're okay? You've been tense."

He snorted. Pot meet kettle.

She tore her eyes away from the show to appraise him. He looked positively worn out. There is no reason why two adults can't release a little tension now and again, his words echoed in her mind and she shook them away, shifting uncomfortably. A mistake, as her thigh ended up brushing against his. She moved it away quickly, but he took the spoon from her again, closing the distance. It seemed weird to move away now. So she left her leg pressed against his, uncomfortably aware of the contact and no longer able to focus on the show or her writing.

The episode wore on and Oliver made himself more comfortable, loosening his tie and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He unbuttoned his collar and leaned back into the couch, his hand running an unconscious pattern over Chloe's knee. It was making her crazy but she felt like it would be weird to pull away or swat his hand. She shifted awkwardly, pressing her thighs together to relieve some of the tension. Finally, to make it stop, she reached out and stilled his hand with hers, a gentle movement, she thought. And it would have solved the problem if he hadn't taken that as an invitation to play with her fingers. Did he know what he was doing? He rubbed his thumb over her palm, then traced the lines with his finger. He spread her fingers apart, slowly running the tips of his over them in a feather light touch. She couldn't help remembering how he had laced their hands together as he'd thrust into her. Her breathing got rougher. He noticed that she had smudged coffee ice cream on the side of her hand from dipping it into the container and before either of them could stop him, he lifted it up to his mouth and licked it. He sucked on the side of her hand before dragging her pinky finger into his mouth and sucking on it, licking it clean.

"Oliver," she gasped, the attention too much for her.

"Sorry," he murmured, rubbing her pinky finger apologetically. He wasn't even remotely sorry, but she didn't need to know that. He'd been holding back all week, not wanting to pressure her, but it had been a long couple of days and he was too exhausted to care. If he couldn't have sex, he could at least have the comfort of a little human contact.

Her computer screen faded and she automatically leaned forward to pull it back up. When she leaned back she found that he had thrown his arm around the back of the couch. She gave him a sidelong glance but he was focused on the show. The episode was ending and going into the credits, but there was already another one queued up.

"How's the writing going?"

"Nobel prize winning stuff there," her voice dripped sarcasm.

"Sounds great. Can't wait to read it."

"I'm sure."

His hand rose from the sofa to start playing lightly with her hair and she found that her head started to tingle, a warm sensation spreading all the way down her body right to her toes. A tiny, almost inaudible little moan escaped her lips. She prayed he didn't notice.

He did. He had to use all of his concentration not to smile. He loved how easy it was to get a reaction out of her. He dropped his hand down and ran the back of his fingers over her neck and he could tell she had suppressed a shudder. Was she remembering where else his hands had been only recently?

"Can I ask you something?" she said, her tone the same and her eyes still on the TV, giving him no clue to what was coming.

"Sure," he replied casually, not anticipating anything major.

She sucked on the spoon for a second. "When you said you wanted me the moment you were putting that garter on my leg…what were you imagining?"

She asked it the same way she would have asked if he had checked tomorrow's weather forecast. His hand froze and he stared at her, but she gave no sign that she had just said something that caused a significant amount of blood to flow to his groin. He cleared a sudden frog in his throat.

She took another bite of ice cream, evidently waiting for his response.

Why not? "First I wanted to know what would happen if I'd been brazen enough to brush my hands over your panties beneath that skirt of yours. No one would ever have known, but I could just picture your indignation, how bright red your face would be." He watched her as he spoke, but she just continued licking ice cream off of the spoon, and he followed the languid movements of her tongue. "I liked the idea that you'd be angry, but angrier when I didn't come back for more." She gave a short laugh, and he knew she must be listening. "You'd find some excuse later that night to start shouting at me, and I'd shut you up by kissing you. I'd wrap your legs around my waist and take you right there against the wall." The spoon seemed to have gotten stuck in her mouth and he could see that her breathing had quickened, her eyes darkening a little. He plunged ahead recklessly. "Sound like something you would enjoy?" he teased darkly.

She made a noncommittal noise that sounded suspiciously like a moan. She removed the spoon from her mouth and stuck it back in the ice cream, setting both down on the coffee table beside her laptop, the screen of which she had finally allowed to go blank. "It's been a sucky week," she said, evidently changing the subject, much to his disappointment.

"It has," he agreed. She shifted against the couch and he took charge. She was being stupid. "Here," he said, leaning down to scoop up her legs and throw them over his thigh.

"Mmph," was the only protest he got.

"What's wrong at work?" he asked, massaging the calf of her bare leg to ease her mind, trying not to think about how much he'd like to work his hands higher up.

She moaned, dropping her head back to the armrest of the couch. "Writer's block," she confessed for the first time out loud. "Can't get this stupid editorial written. And the recent fashion spread my new photographer did for me was appallingly sexist so now I don't have a page 14 through 18. And everybody's pressuring me to get a wedding gown. Which is annoying."

His warm hands slowly massaged their way down to her ankle and she hummed lightly in response, the sensation a wonderful relief. She didn't care if it was a slippery slope.

"What about you?" she asked. "How's Dubai?"

"It's…still tense. But it's getting a little better. It's all one big political mess. So and so was embezzling and arrested and now there's a free-for-all to see who gets his job. And they don't like my father and I stepping in out of nowhere because they don't think we have a right to interfere."

"It's your company."

He released a short laugh. "Yeah. That's not the way they see it. We're from the other end of the world. The way they see it we're a figurehead. It's all just a huge mess." He switched legs, brushing the crook of her knee, and her breath hitched, something he didn't fail to notice.

"Hmm." She seemed to have lost her train of thought. He continued massaging her calf for a few minutes before she spoke again. "Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"What you said before?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Which time?"

"Earlier. This week, I mean. About stress relief?"

He paused. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? "…yeah?"

"I'm thinking I could maybe get on board with that after all."

He wasn't sure how to respond. But he was having a difficult time concentrating on the best way to handle the situation. Was he hearing her right?

"Like, right now. Would be great," she added. She opened one eye to gauge his reaction. "Assuming you're still interested? We were both kind of-"

Oliver would never know how she'd planned to finish that sentence. He was too busy kissing her and carrying her off the couch to the bedroom.