Snowflakes in Seattle

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

WYATT

W e ended up at a decent steakhouse downtown. Everything else was booked, as I knew it would be with only hours to go until auld lang syne.

Hopefully we’d be too busy to notice the change of year.

Olive would leave me tomorrow morning, and I was already missing her. I needed my fill of her warmth. Her everything.

I requested a booth.

I’d have to physically cut off my arm if I was going to keep my hands off her in that dress. Fuck me, that dress. Slinky and only covering the parts meant for my eyes, the thing had clearly been stitched with threads of sin. The open back, the dip in the front, all too much for only one sense to appreciate.

I slid in beside her and let touch take over. Not accidentally, the tablecloth covered my crimes.

We ordered drinks—sparkling wine for her, beer for me—and chatted about the couples around us. Truthfully, only half my brain was in it. Most of my mind was on the hand clutching her thigh.

Getting caught, she had said.

Olive had let me bring my darkest fantasy to life. Tying her up, marking her skin, fucking her the way I wanted, for my pleasure, had been a gift not many would bestow. I wanted to give her the same gift. Her next adventure.

I waited until we’d finished our first drinks and ordered another round. My free hand brushed through her hair, across her shoulders. I didn’t just want to fuck this woman. I wanted to love this woman, please this woman, make her feel how special she was, and not just to me.

I definitely still wanted to fuck her.

My palm slid higher on her thigh. I let my fingers creep higher still, brushing against her panties.

She sucked in a breath. “Wyatt?” she asked, eyes on the other patrons. “What are you doing?”

The server arrived then, but I didn’t retreat. Instead, I pushed my index finger higher, connecting with her clit. The gasp that escaped her went straight to my cock.

“Here you go,” the guy said cheerfully, setting down our drinks. “Are you ready to order?”

“We need a few minutes,” I answered smoothly.

Olive’s legs fell open wider as he left, but I didn’t make a move.

“ Mise en place ,” I said, answering her question. “That dress, the booth, this crowd. If this is the time and the place, I’m ready to give you the fantasy you wanted. If this is just dinner with my—with you—before you leave, that’s fine, too.”

She didn’t reply. My hand twitched on her thigh.

Her eyes swung to mine. “I adore you for wanting me to have the experience I asked for.” She pushed closer, driving my finger deeper into her warm center as her lips landed on my cheek. “But this is not the place. Too many geriatrics. Even more geriatric than you.”

The words— the words—almost left my mouth. Words I never thought I’d get to say to a woman, certainly not this woman, who, less than a week ago, had been nothing more than a memory.

Closing my eyes, I removed my hand from between her legs and dropped a kiss on her lips.

“Take me home,” she murmured, mischief in her eyes.

As if my heart could be any more hers.

We ordered food to go. Though I’d been forward at the restaurant and felt the time rushing by like a gale-force wind, I slowed my roll when we got back to the house. I didn’t want to leave Olive with the impression that I wanted only sex. What I wanted, I didn’t know. We hadn’t discussed anything beyond the ride to the airport tomorrow.

We ate at my little dining table, Olive rubbing my jeans-clad leg with her bare foot like we were straight out of the movies. I loved it. I loved her.

Christ, I loved her. Somehow, I’d fallen for her in eight damn days. That had to be some kind of sappy world record, but one I was happy to hold.

We ate slowly, lost in conversation. I scrounged up a bottle of wine that I was sure Anita had left behind for just such an occasion. We talked about work. I asked Olive to tell me about her best friend, and I told her about Holly and Tate, my closest friends. We did not mention her impending departure, though I felt the unsaid words in the air between us.

Finally, I could refrain from touching her no longer.

Olive leaned into the hand I placed on her jaw.

“I’m gonna miss you, old man,” she murmured.

“Dream girl, I don’t know how you got here or how you were able to stay. It was like magic. And I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

She offered me a sweet smile that warmed my heart. Leaning back, she picked up and tipped her wine glass toward me. “Well, here’s to Christmas magic.”

“Christmas magic,” I repeated, clinking my glass against hers.

I chose to take my sip straight from her lips. My tongue sought Olive’s as we crashed into each other across the table. She was on my lap in seconds, dress hiked up to her waist and tits pressed into my chest. I steeped myself in her flavor as her hands tunneled into my hair.

Wildness crept around the edges of my consciousness. This was our last night together. I loved this woman, and I would leave nothing undone.

Hands on her waist, I guided her soaked panties over my growing hardness.

“Feel my cock, baby? Feel what you do to me?”

Olive, my beautiful, bold girl, gave it right back. “Feel how wet you make me?”

I slipped two fingers past her panties and into her slickness while tipping her head back.

“Yes,” I answered, mouth on the column of her throat, where hints of the marks I’d given her on our snow day still lingered. “You’re about to get wetter.” I kissed my way up to her ear, giving the lobe a sharp bite. “Take your dress off.”

She shivered. “I thought you wanted to do that.”

I shook my head. “Now I want to see you do it. Dress off, heels on.”

Plans were forming, pulled from dark places.

Olive obeyed, standing up to shimmy out of her slinky purple dress, which pooled on the floor around her sexy-as-hell stilettos.

Lace thong. No bra. Wet. Willing. Wonderful. Every goddamn dream, just like I’d said.

I was having a hard time breathing, despite my bravado.

Still sitting, I clamped my hands around her wrists and brought her closer. She hissed as a nipple disappeared into my mouth. I held her tight, not letting her move, forcing her reactions out in words and sounds.

Very soon, Olive was begging.

I moved lazily between her breasts, exploring with my teeth and tongue, ignoring her pleas. I let go without a warning and smacked her ass, hard.

“Table. Now.”

She brought her head up, blinking at me as if she were waking from a dream. I smirked.

Dutifully, she perched on the edge of the table, legs wide and hands on her knees. I dropped to mine, grasping her hips and pulling her to the edge. “Good girl,” I purred into her core, swiping through with my tongue.

Her hands were back in my hair, thighs closing around my head. I was in heaven, and I needed her to join me. I teased with my tongue and fingers, taking detours to her perfect tits. This time, she’d go all the way to the edge. Then I’d push her over.

I feasted. Lingered. Lavished her body with the attention she deserved until she was swollen and slick beyond belief. I waited until her cries climbed in pitch, then I shot to my feet. Lacing my fingers through hers, I led her behind the couch.

“Hands here,” I said, guiding them to the back of the couch.

Olive threw a look at the walls of windows. I hadn’t shut the blinds. “What about Gregg?” she asked.

I kissed between her shoulder blades, my hands still on top of hers. “He should be so lucky.”

So should I, come to that. Olive was more dream than reality.

“How do you feel about the possibility of one geriatric catching us?” I asked.

“You mean two,” she parried, “and I’m fine with it.”

“I already caught you,” I murmured, kissing my way down her spine to a chorus of shivers. “And now I’m fucking you.”

“Then fuck me,” she ordered.

She ground her ass against the bulge in my jeans to punctuate her ask. But this was my gift to her and I was in control.

“When I’m good and ready.”

Her impatient growl made me laugh, but I wasn’t laughing long. I’d seen a glimpse of her reflection in the window opposite. Back arched, tits pushed out, lips parted. I slapped a hand to her ass and watched as her eyes closed in surprise. Pain. Pleasure. Gathering her sheet of hair in my hand, I smacked the other cheek, relishing the sharp sound. My dick was ready to explode. I’d unintentionally edged us both while playing with her.

I’m sure Olive would say it served me right.

I began undressing with one hand, the other firmly wrapped in her hair. “Windows are open. Your body is on display. I’m about to fuck you with everything I’ve got. Gregg might see us. He might have guests for the fireworks show at the Needle. Want to close the blinds?”

My clothes, the outfit she’d so viscerally reacted to, ended up in a pile on the floor. Bobbing freely, my cock instantly sought the warmth of her body, settling between her cheeks.

“I don’t,” she panted. “You know what I want.”

Grinning, I tightened my fist in her hair. “Me,” I whispered against the shell of her ear. I steadied a hand on her hip and shoved inside.

Gasping out a breath, I adjusted to the sudden tightness squeezing my cock. Curses fell from her mouth, just like in my fantasies. Curses fell from my mouth, too. Olive felt so fucking good. So fucking right.

I let her hair loose and fell in love with the way it tumbled down her back like falling water. Moments like this were what art and poetry were made for. Small moments that meant everything. But I wasn’t a word guy or an art guy. I was made for action.

Hooking my arm through both of hers, I drew her closer against me. Her back arched as she moaned. I began jacking my hips, using my grip on her arms as leverage, unable to tear my eyes away from the reflection in the window.

“Look at you,” I grunted, nearly delirious from pleasure. “Look at your beautiful body. Look at the way you move. Look how much I love fucking you.”

The sound of her ass against my hips pounded like a drum in my head. Her sexy panting and bouncing tits killed me quickly, conquests of my brain that ensured I’d never be able to think of anything else. And the way she moaned my name…

“Mine, dream girl. And I’m yours. All yours.”

Her whimpers were unintelligible. I sped up, releasing her arms so I could reach her clit. I flicked quickly, pace steady, memorizing the rapture on her face reflected in glass. Olive gripped the back of the couch, matching my thrusts with her own.

“You gonna come, baby?”

“Harder, Wyatt,” she keened.

I let loose with a growl, fingers flying over her clit, rutting into her from behind.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Yessssss.”

The word echoed as my body, my mind, my universe, fragmented into shards of glass and light. Olive’s pulsing pussy milked my cock, drawing out my pleasure, draining me. My hips wouldn’t stop, like at a cellular level my body knew this was it with her.

“Olive,” I groaned. “My Olive.”

I was floating, nowhere near the Earth. Nothing but light.

“My old man,” she breathed, reaching back to place a hand on my hip.

My forehead connected with her shoulder as my arms went around her. God, I loved her. Every part of me loved her. And I couldn’t keep her.

But that dark thought didn’t even pierce through the bright light. That’s how high she had taken me.

Tomorrow would hurt. But tonight, I still had Olive.