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“We don’t have to,” Laurel says, but she doesn’t move from her position on her bed, her knees anchoring Oliver into place on her bed as she straddles him.
Ollie shakes his head. “I want to,” he tells her, and he reaches behind her once more to the strap of her bra. “May I?”
Laurel laughs, then; she’s forgotten how polite Oliver was in bed, even if it was three years ago.
“You may,” she says teasingly, and Ollie just smiles beneath her as he undoes the clasp of her bra and lets it fall off. Immediately he reaches up, kisses her neck, and with more finesse than Laurel expects, he rolls over so he’s on top of her, now. He parts her legs so he can sprawl between them, then presses a kiss on her breast. Laurel shivers, and he does it again, kissing her nipple this time, and at the touch of his tongue it instantly hardens, making her moan.
“That okay?” he asks, raising his head, and Laurel laughs again.
“More than okay, Ollie,” she tells him.
He looks pleased. “Good.”
He does it again, on her other breast now, letting his tongue swirl around her nipple.
“Mmmm.” Laurel arches her back appreciatively, and when Ollie pulls away to drop a kiss on her navel she can feel his lips upturn into a smile. She smiles too, but then, unexpectedly, his finger slips inside her panties, just kissing her entrance, and Laurel gasps at his touch. “Right there, Ollie… do that again.”
Oliver obliges, his finger just barely touching her centre, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, he pulls down her panties, looking up at her in askance when they’re around her knees. Laurel just nods breathlessly, and he pulls them down the rest of the way, carefully off each ankle.
He looks up at her once more, and Laurel says again, “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he tells her patiently, and as if to prove his point he ducks his head and kisses the inside of her thigh, arm hooking around her knee. She can smell her own arousal now, hot and wet and waiting for Ollie to lap it up, but he seems to be taking his time, going tortuously slowly along her thigh. His tongue darts out, licking away the wetness dripping from her centre, and when at last his tongue is inside her Laurel can’t help but cry out, pleasure rippling through her, the ache between her legs at last beginning to be satiated.
She searches for something to hold onto, finds Ollie’s hand, holding her other thigh steady, and she laces her fingers with his, just as he hums against her clitoris and makes her whimper. She braces herself against Oliver’s mouth, but the pleasure is razor-sharp now, and quickly she says, “Too - too much.”
Instantly Oliver pulls back a bit, going slower, letting the sensations between her legs unfurl at their own rate, and it takes a few moments but before long Laurel’s gotten used to the feeling of his mouth where she’s most sensitive. She gives a quiet “mmm” of assent, and Ollie takes his cue, humming against her centre once more, before lapping up every inch of her essence with his tongue. Her clitoris is throbbing now, and she knows she’s close, from the way her fingers tighten around Ollie’s, and she throws her head back, letting out a keening moan, and his name is hot on her lips when at last she reaches her climax.
Oliver reaches up, kisses her lips, and it takes her a moment to get used to her own taste, but then she kisses him back, clumsily, still giddy from her orgasm. Still, even with her hands shaking, she still tries to pull down his pants. Oliver helps her, yanking them down along with his boxers. His erection springs free, and Laurel wraps her hand around him, causing him to groan.
“Condoms?” she says, and she laughs for a moment when he has to reach behind him for his pants so he can get one out of his pocket. She waits, patiently, as he opens the packet, puts it on, and it’s then that he lifts his hand to Laurel’s cheek, stroking it.
“Hey,” he says softly, “we don’t have to.”
“I want to,” she says, echoing him. “I want you .”
“I’m just -”
“- thinking about our first time?”
“Yeah,” Ollie admits.
“This is different,” Laurel tells him.
“How?”
“We’re older, for starters,” Laurel says. “Plus, you didn’t go down on me our first time, so -”
Oliver laughs at that. “True.”
“When we were younger it was a mistake,” she says. “This isn’t.”
Oliver kisses her, then, so softly and tenderly that Laurel feels gooseflesh erupt on the back of her neck. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” she says firmly. She waits, and Oliver nods, and moments later Ollie’s looking into her eyes as he slowly enters her. She sighs in satisfaction, and she moves with him, rocking her hips against Oliver, making him groan.
“God, Laurel...” And when he says her name there’s something musical about it, and in his groan when she kisses him, her hands on his back, nails digging into his skin. It doesn't take long for him to come several moments later, his face buried in her neck, and she expects to feel disappointed, but she doesn’t. There’s just something about the way Oliver’s hair has darkened with sweat, the way his chest heaves with emotion, and the open-mouthed kiss he presses on her lips as he rolls off her, that somehow makes it all okay.
“Wow,” she whispers, and she means it. She puts her hand on his bare chest, so she can feel his rapid heartbeat under her palm, and then she rests her head against him, so she's nestled into his chest. Laurel feels him kiss the top of her head, just as they whisper at the same time, “I love you.”
Laurel looks up. Incredulous delight is on his face, and words seem to fail him as he gazes at her like she's the prettiest girl in the whole damn world.
Finally Laurel lifts her face to his and kisses him, and when she rests her forehead against his he whispers, “You and me against the world, Laurel.”
“Yeah,” she whispers back. She likes the sound of that. “You and me. Always and forever.”