The Start of Something Ch. 01

It's Friday night, and I'm sitting at the bar, having dinner alone. At least there's a cute bartender to flirt with. He's just my type, too, tall strong, and buff. And, with a constellation of tattoos running up and down his muscular arms.

He notices me looking at him and winks. "Can I get you anything else, doll?" he asks, with a wide, sexy smile.

I smile back. "I'm good, thanks."

Still in my reverie, I notice someone taking the seat next to mine. My face falls as soon as I realize who it is.

Oliver. My cocky, arrogant coworker who seems to enjoy contradicting and antagonizing me. More than once, I've imagined punching his stupid, handsome face. He's the last person I wanted to see tonight. Just my goddamn luck.

He flashes a slow, confident smile, and I can't help but notice how gorgeous he is. He probably knows it too, the bastard. They always do.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks. "My buddy is over there desperately flirting with a cute girl and it's just too painful to watch," he laughs. He has a sexy laugh, I have to reluctantly admit.

"If you want," I say coolly, bracing myself for the inevitable backhanded compliment. He always seems to enjoy playing with me, keeping me dizzy and off-balance, the fucker.

Before I have to endure his irritating banter, I freeze. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Jack—and his wife—and my heart drops. I grab Oliver's arm, panicking. "My ex is here. I have to go," I gasp.

Until tonight, I'd managed to forget about Jack, the charming man who told me he was separated, on the verge of divorce, but was actually just cheating on his wife. That charming man was a liar and skilled manipulator, and I never saw it coming. I'll always hate him for that. And I hate myself for letting it happen in the first place.

He never deserved my love, that's for sure. But, looking at him now, I remember the man I thought he was, and despite myself, I miss that version of Jack. I squeeze my eyes shut, a desperate attempt to stop myself from crying.

Oliver softly murmurs, "Let me walk you out," and I can only nod as I choke back tears. He guides me to the door, placing his hand on the small of my back. I suddenly realize how safe and protected I feel with him.

Wow.

"I get it," he says quietly, and somehow, I know he does.

He looks down, frowning when he sees my hands are still shaking, and says, "Let me drive you home."

Once again, I'm only able to nod in reply. He gently puts his hand on my arm and guides me to his car.

As he drives me home, we're quiet for a few minutes. Then, I softly say, "Thank you. It was really hard to see him."

After a long, quiet pause, I add, "He was having dinner with his wife. He'd said they were separated, but it turned out he was just cheating on her the entire time. That was the first time I've ever seen her, and it was just..." I say, swallowing back tears.

Finally, I gather my composure. I don't want to cry in front of Oliver. I'm accepting his ride home, but nothing more.

I sigh and look out the window. "I know, such a cliché, right? I never thought I'd end up as somebody's goddamn mistress. But I did. I let him manipulate me, and I feel so stupid for it."

"It's a cliché because it's common," he says softly. "That doesn't make it hurt any less."

"And you're not stupid," he adds. "From the sound of it, he was just a really good liar. You didn't deserve what he did to you. Any of it."

Then, he pauses for a moment. "I'm glad I was here to drive you home, at least," he says quietly.

There it is again. The unexpected empathy and kindness.

"That's a lot to be reminded of," he says, squeezing my hand gently. "But you're ok now. This is just the echo of what he did to you."

I nod, slightly stunned by his insight. Perhaps there's more to Oliver than I thought.

So then, when we pull up to my apartment, I ask hesitantly, "Hey, do you want to come up for a drink? I could use the company."

I'm tense, I realize. I'm tense and nervous with Oliver, and it's all because I just want to keep spending time with him. I wonder what he's thinking. Am I too eager? Too pathetic to have friends who will come cheer me up?

He smiles and says simply, "I'd love to."

I fucking love his smile, I realize with a start. It's the first time he's really smiled tonight, and I don't want to stop looking at him. I smile back, a small, shy smile. When his smile widens, I feel... warm.

. . . . .

And now, he's here, and I actually want him here, and I don't know what to do or what to say. He's calm and relaxed as he asks for a gin and tonic, and I'm taking desperate breaths and willing myself to calm the fuck down. As I press the glass to his hand, our fingers briefly touch, and he flashes a slow, lazy smile. '

"Thank you," he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

I'm still a nervous mess when I sit next to him on the couch, so I grab my pipe. When I light it and inhale the strong, fragrant smell of cannabis, my breathing finally starts to return to normal. Well, sort of.

"Can I have a hit of that?" he asks in a low voice, his eyes intently watching my lips pressed against the smooth glass.

I hand him the pipe and light it for him, which suddenly feels like such an intimate gesture. As he grins and exhales the smoke, the air is suddenly electric. I am now acutely aware of how close we're sitting... and my nipples harden. My heart is racing, my breath is slow and ragged, and my skin is warm and flushed.

"Thanks," he says, returning the pipe, and this time his fingers linger on mine. I look down, blushing furiously.

"Hey," he says after a moment, lightly touching my arm. "You deserve so much better than that jackass. You're smart, talented, successful." He pauses, "and, beautiful, though you don't need a man to tell you that." He smiles at me then, kindly, gently.

And now, at his unexpected kindness, I'm nearly in tears. I swallow hard and look away, because I know if I look at him, I'll be a complete mess.

My breath catches, and he softly murmurs, "Are you ok? I didn't mean to upset you."

I look up at him and shake my head, and somehow, miraculously, manage not to cry. Somehow, things feel... better... when I'm with him.

He puts his arm around me, and, after a moment, I rest my head against his shoulder. He exhales softly and holds me more tightly, more protectively.

I hate that I'm so upset, and that Oliver is the one comforting me, but he's so kind and so gentle that my resistance finally softens.

"I'm so sorry he hurt you," he says in a low, husky voice, and I just want to melt in his arms. There's an unmistakable heat in his voice and gaze, and I shiver.

He doesn't stop there, of course, the beautiful bastard. He strokes my hair gently and murmurs comforting words in my ear. "It's ok. Let me help. Let me make it ok."

I feel so... safe with him. I want to stay in his warm embrace, his arms wrapped around me, holding me tight, our lips locked in a passionate kiss, our bodies crashing against each other. The sweet nothings he'd whisper in my ear, the dirty, filthy things he'd tell me to do, and his praise and worship of my pussy, my mouth, my lips, my tongue. I want it all. I want it all from him.

Finally, I pull away, not sure I want to be having such an intimate moment with Oliver. I'm keenly aware of the warmth and weight of his arm, still draped loosely around me, and now he's looking at me with dark, low-lidded eyes.

"Are you feeling better?" he murmurs softly, and I give him a small smile.

"Yes, thank you," I say, unsure of what to do next.

Finally, I decide to pat his thigh, a nice, platonic gesture, I think, and I nearly gasp when I feel how just hard his muscle is. When he was comforting me, I must have been too distracted to notice just how muscular he is, and now, I can't stop staring at the veins on his large, powerful bicep. Fuck, he's... hot.

"Damn, dude," I say, my voice more breathless than I intended. "You're solid muscle."

He looks down at me, and gives me a slow, wide smile. "Thank you."

The way he's looking at me makes my thighs clench, and now I can't resist touching more of him. I slowly, tentatively put my hand on his chest and sigh when I feel how hard and well-defined his pecs are. Damn, he must live at the gym.

"Wow," I breathe, entranced.

And then, I suddenly catch myself and pull away, embarrassed. "Sorry," I laugh. "I didn't mean to get so handsy."

He grabs my hand and meets my gaze, a hard, intense look still in his eyes. He smiles again.

"You're fine. And you don't have to stop." Then, he raises his eyebrows meaningfully—or, at least, I think he does. My eyes widen.

I laugh again, this time a low, throaty laugh. I'm shocked at how much I want him.

"Really?" I say, slowly, softly.

"Uh huh. Keep going," he says, his voice low and thick with desire. I blink rapidly, as now I'm definitely sure of his meaning.

I bite my lower lip and slowly move my hand up to his bicep and squeeze it, marveling at his beautiful, chiseled body. I trace the veins on his upper arm, then look up at him.

"Is this ok?" I ask softly with a sigh, my lips parted.

"Uh huh," he replies hoarsely, his voice low and his eyes dark.

I move my hand to his shoulder, touching even more hard muscle.

"And this?" I murmur breathlessly.

"Oh yeah," he replies in a low, languid tone.

I rest my hand on his shoulder and hold his gaze, my breath slow and ragged. I'm nervous, keenly aware of how his close his lips are to mine and how warm his arm feels wrapped around me. God, I just want him to throw me down and fuck me right here. I'm shocked at how intense my desire is; it's as if I'm consumed with thoughts of Oliver and how much I want him.

"I'm going to run out of muscles to touch," I say with a low laugh.

His lip twitch and he gives me a heated stare. "I'm sure you can figure it out," he murmurs, and my thighs clench again.

God, I want to clench my thighs around him, as he's fucking me hard, fucking me relentlessly. I'm sure he's amazing at it, too. I'm sure he'd make me cum over and over again, as he pounded into me, slowly and gently at first, and then hard and fast. Rough. Intense. Passionate. Feral.

I smile and run my tongue along my upper lip, and he lets out a low groan, his eyes locked on my lips. I softly gasp as I trace my finger lightly down his chest, down to his abdomen. His look of desire is so intense, so heated, that I want to stop teasing him and put my hand on his goddamn cock already—but I need to slow down, need to make him crazy for me. I need some small power over him, because as soon as he puts that delicious cock inside me and thrusts... I may never want him to stop.

"Damn," I mutter, transfixed by his beautiful body. I force myself not to look at his crotch and manage to keep my eyes on his.

"Is this ok?" I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," he says, his breath slow and deliberate, and I suddenly realize it's because he's trying to control himself around me. Because, right now, he looks as if he simply wants to pounce on me, strip me naked, and fuck me—hard—right here on this damn couch.

He's giving me a hard, dark stare, and his lips are slightly parted. I'm definitely melting now, into a puddle of drool and desire and horniness. And thoughts of kissing those lips. Thoughts of kissing Oliver's lips.

"Keep going," he says roughly.

"Should I move my hand... lower?" I ask, still breathing hard, my heart beating even faster than before. Am I really going to do this?

He leans forward and whispers in my ear, his voice low and thick. "Yes. Touch me, Lexi...."

I shiver, and slowly move my hand down to his crotch, never taking my eyes off his. And then finally, I slowly run my finger over his rock-hard cock, and then grab it, and he gasps and lets out a low groan, biting his lip and giving me that same hard stare.

And then suddenly, he wraps his arms around me, desperate for my lips, desperate for my kiss. He kisses me forcefully, pulling me onto his lap, facing him. I gasp when I feel his hard body against mine, and I push against him, grind against him, wishing that hard cock was inside me, thrusting into me, fucking me, making me clench and twitch and cum all over him.

I want to strip him and fuck him right here. I want to feel that amazing cock fill me, slam against me, and then, finally, cum inside of me, as he's holding me tight and gasping and growling against me. I want to make him cum hard for me, over and over again. Until he has nothing more to give. Until his head is filled with thoughts of me, of my face, my smile, my mouth, and my cunt.

. . . . .

We're standing in my bedroom now, having discarded most of our clothes on the living room floor. His cock is now visibly straining against his boxers, and I can't help but lean forward to touch and stroke it. I need to find out just how amazing that cock is.

He stops me, smiles, and says, "Not just yet, honey. I just want to look at you for a minute. You're so curvy and beautiful."

His lips are parted as his eyes lazily survey my body, and my nipples harden into stiff nubs under his wanton stare. He pulls me to him and slowly unbuttons, unzips, and pulls down my jeans, running his warm fingers over my smooth, pale thighs. I shiver.

"Fuck, that's sexy underwear," he murmurs as I step out of my jeans. "Turn around," he commands, and I do so, slowly. He groans when he sees ass in my lacy, purple panties. Then, lightly, reverently, he runs his fingers over them.

"Bend over," he orders, and when I do, he merely growls in response. He roughly grabs my pussy, his fingers dancing on my drenched lips.

"Fuck, you're... soaked," he gasps.

Then he puts his hands on my hips, pushes me against the wall, and grinds his hard cock against my ass as he holds me tightly against him. And now I'm gasping and panting and drooling, and I don't care one little bit.

Still holding me, he places his hand on my throat and presses his lips to my ear. "God, I've wanted this. I've wanted you," he says, and my pussy clenches. "I've thought about you, more than once..." he says, his voice still thick with desire, and I can't help but let out a low groan.

He kisses down the side of my neck, his tongue lightly teasing me. Then, suddenly, he turns me around and kisses me deeply, roughly, his tongue pushing against mine. He unclasps my bra, and then his hand is gripping my hip and the other is on my bare breast, lightly stroking my hard nipple. Fuuuuuck. He really knows what he's doing, the fucker.

He murmurs, "Lexi... It was torture being in a meeting with you. I wanted to fuck you right there on the conference room table... You gave a hard-on in a roomful of people, you little slut."

I gasp. He laughs and looks at me. "If I avoided looking at you... well, that's why," he adds with a playful grin.

I lean forward and kiss him, my tongue probing his mouth gently. He responds forcefully and ferociously, taking my breath away at the intensity of his kiss, at the intensity of his desire for me.

He growls and pushes me down on the bed, and I'm really fucking panting now. I'm panting at this boy, and he's loving every fucking minute of it. He stands over me, gazing at me admiringly, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. It's almost too much to take in. That's how good he looks. That's how delicious and delightful and absolutely decadent he looks.

Then, he pulls down his boxers, and I let out a loud gasp when I see his cock spring out. It's big and thick and hard... and pointed straight at me. He lightly strokes my lower lip with his thumb and whispers, "God, I love these gorgeous lips."

Dear god. Kill me now. Just fucking kill me now.

And, with that, his mouth is on mine and he's lying on top of me, almost crushing me with the weight of his body. He shifts and I feel the warmth of his cock against my thin, lacy panties, and I gasp in shock. He's groaning as he pushes against me, holding me tightly under his large frame. He looks like a hulk of a man, a hulk of a man who could hold me down, pull my legs apart, force his hard, thick cock inside me and fuck me savagely—whether I wanted it or not. I groan, a low, primal groan.

He kisses me deeply, slowly at first, then with more and more intensity. He buries his fingers in my hair, and pulls my long, wavy strands. I moan into his mouth, and he laughs and pulls harder. He nibbles my lower lip and plunges his tongue deeply into my mouth, groaning in pleasure when I match the intensity of his kiss. I suck on his tongue, and he gasps, thrilled that I want this just as much as he does.

He kisses down my neck, then rests his lips at the top of my cleavage. He palms my breast and strokes my nipple gently, making my thighs and pussy clench.

"So soft," he murmurs, kissing the top of my breast lightly. "You're more gorgeous than I ever imagined."

He pauses. "And believe me, Lexi. I've imagined you a lot."

I laugh, delighted by the intensity of his desire. "I hope I was good," I grin.

"You have no fucking idea," he mutters slowly, and sucks on one nipple as he strokes the other lightly with the palm of his hand. At his soft, teasing touches, I start to writhe and grasp and claw at the sheets. And now, he's swirling his tongue around my nipple and biting gently, while pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger, and I'm nearly overwhelmed with pleasure.

He has magic fucking fingers. That's the only explanation for this, for how he's affecting me right now. I can only imagine what actually fucking him will feel like. I shudder against him.

And Oliver wants me, too. His hard cock is pulsing against my thigh, as he pushes rhythmically against me. He's breathing hard, his eyes are low-lidded, and there's a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

Then, he slowly traces his finger down my body, not stopping until he reaches the top of my panties. "You won't be needing these..." he growls, and pulls them off quickly and efficiently.

And now I'm laying here naked and he's all rough and manly and growly, and the anticipation is making me lose my fucking mind.

He slowly strokes my pussy lips with his middle finger, gently teasing them apart, and groans when he feels just how wet and ready I am for him. I can feel the heat emanating from his naked body as he teases and touches and explores my wet cunt, and I want him to just take me already, Oliver.

He lightly strokes my clit with his thumb, and slowly, gently pushes two fingers inside me. He pumps his fingers in and out of me, making me moan and tremble with each delicious stroke. All I can think about are the pulses of pleasure traveling from his fingers to my pussy, as he pumps more and more vigorously.

Then, suddenly, his tongue is on my clit, his fingers still rhythmically fucking me.

"Oh fuck... yes... Oliver," I scream, almost too overwhelmed by the delightful pleasure I'm feeling deep inside me.

Fuck, these really are magic fingers. Magic fucking tongue, too.

He growls and groans as he licks me, and I gasp when I feel the vibration of his lips against my clit. He laughs when I buck against him, captivated by my reaction to his expert licking and stroking.

"Hold still, darling," he laughs, but of course I'm unable to control the furious movements of my hips and thighs.

He says in a low, urgent voice, "Talk to me honey. Tell me how to make you cum."

When I don't answer him, he slows down and growls, "You have to cum, darling, before I can fuck your brains out...."

I finally manage to form words. "On my stomach... with a vibrator on my clit. And... your fingers in my pussy."