A bird in the oven, p.7
A Bird in the Oven, page 7
I gape at him. “We aren’t thirty yet. Would you like to draw up those plans? Your mother would be thrilled.”
“That,” he whispers, his eyes darting between mine. “Is a very big reward, which should warrant the requisite amount of hard work to achieve. I am afraid two months would not be long enough to convince you. My mother’s wishes should not be a factor in your consideration of choosing me as your life partner.”
“It wouldn’t take much convincing,” I mutter. “How is a baby not also a very big reward which requires hard work?”
His brow furrows as he thinks about how to answer. “Making a baby will not necessarily feel like work. For me. More so for you. Many people conceive children with no thought at all. Raising a child would be a lifetime commitment. Allowing me to have a meaningful role in our child’s life would be something else for me to earn. Though I would have nine months to prove my worth in that regard.”
“You’re worthy, Oliver. You have nothing to prove to me,” I insist.
“It is the only way I know,” he says, closing his eyes then resting his head against mine. “I have never attempted such life-altering feats before. Please do not minimize their magnitude by asking me to act thoughtlessly and selfishly.”
I wrap my arms around him and whisper against his chest, “We don’t have to do this, Oliver. You’re the best friend in the world to commit yourself to giving me something you know I want so badly, but it has to be what you want, too. Please don’t saddle me with the guilt of burdening you with responsibilities you’re not ready for. I can’t bear that.”
He pulls away, then lifts my chin with his hand. His gaze is steady. “I am ready, Liv. I never believed I would be given this chance. Thank you for giving it to me.”
How can I possibly say no to that? We’ll deal with the consequences later.
10
Oliver
There is always a certain undercurrent of potential distractions and anxieties that threaten my focus at any given time. I’ve learned how to harness them and use them to my advantage. The annoyance of a ticking clock on the wall at my office becomes the steady pace at which I write code when I might otherwise rush too quickly and make careless errors. The honking of other car horns during rush hour prevents me from spacing out and writing more code in my mind when I should be concentrating on the road in front of me. An annoying tag at the back of my shirt that feels like knives repeatedly stabbing my neck keeps me engaged in a conversation that I might otherwise try to avoid. Even language is not as painful as some of those awful tags.
Forgoing my own pleasure until the woman reached orgasm was not difficult to achieve because the woman standing naked in my bedroom was never Olivia.
To be clear, Olivia is standing naked in my bedroom.
I have been poring over every miniscule detail of her nude body for twelve minutes and thirty-five seconds. Far beyond what is socially acceptable. Worse yet, I have not uttered a single word. How can I? Words have no meaning. The most contrived compliment in the world could never do justice to her full, pear-shaped breasts, the pale pink nipples that are hardened into stiff peaks—she is visibly aroused by the sight of my naked body, too—or the way her torso resembles an hourglass with a narrow waist and hips that flare out again and promise that she is a very fertile woman, indeed.
Her obvious fecundity will make my job easier. And infinitely harder. Much like my erection. This could be the first problem to address.
I am feeling greedy, gluttonous, covetous, ravenous, insatiable…selfish.
I want nothing more than to dive at her, bury myself so far into her that I will never be able to escape, and empty every part of me into every part of her so that we will be bound as one long after death.
That is not how any of this works.
“Ollie,” she whispers.
My name on her tongue almost breaks me. This is not any woman. This is my Liv.
“Lie on the bed,” I bark a little too harshly. If I do not get some control over myself, this will be a wasted practice run. There are certain conditions which must be met that I am in grave danger of overruling in favor of my own animalistic desires.
She glances at the mattress that is carefully laid out with helpful tools to increase our chances. “Where?”
I point to the wedge-shaped pillow aligned with the center of the bed. “This is to increase the angle of your hips relative to the mattress to allow for deeper penetration. You need to adjust yourself so that it can do its job.”
“Okay.” She licks her lips. Her eyes are wide. Her movements are hesitant and a little shaky.
I am ruining this before it even gets started. I take a deep breath, but it is no good. I cannot find center. Not with Olivia’s naked ass in my face. I have never attempted anal penetration because there is actually a surprising amount of long-term preparation necessary before that sex act, but I am desperate to shove my throbbing cock into any hole of Liv’s that she puts in my field of vision. I do not care if it is her mouth, her pussy, or her asshole. My muscles vibrate with the intense concentration required to prevent myself from fucking her until I am satisfied.
I do not believe I will ever be satisfied enough even if I could fuck all three of her holes at the same time.
I latch onto the strange mental image of possessing three penises to fill all of her holes simultaneously. It is physically impossible, of course, but in theory, I would need to grow a second penis slightly above the original and a third on my chin. It is a grotesque picture. The sheer absurdity of my thoughts also works perfectly to cool my lust a little.
Until I glance at Olivia spread out on my bed, the pillow doing its job perfectly to tip her hips up and display the delicate, pale pink lips of her pussy to my hungry eyes.
I have wanted to invade that holy ground for half of my life. I am right back to the edge of control. Just the possibility of finally getting what I have always wanted has turned me into a mad man.
She picks up a purple vibrator and presses the button several times, cycling through the different speeds and functions. “How many sex toys did you buy? How much did all of this cost? Why do we need these?”
Her questions are extremely helpful in my pursuit of refocusing on the goal. “Many women do not climax from penetration alone, but studies have shown the female orgasm causes uterine contractions that pull the sperm up closer to the egg for fertilization. Since I have no knowledge of what type of clitoral stimulation you prefer, I purchased several options. We will need to experiment to determine which speed, rhythm, shape, and texture work best for you.”
I dislike immensely that I have no knowledge of her clitoral stimulation preferences.
She shrugs against the mattress. “Okay. I can test to see what I like best.”
My newfound control incinerates in a blazing inferno of lust as I watch Olivia press the purple vibrator straight to the sweet spot between her legs, which she widens to form an open, asymmetrical diamond with her knees bent and the heels of her feet nearly touching. Her eyes close, and a moan drifts from her lips, punching me squarely in the chest.
“Give me that,” I bite out, snatching the vibrator from her clutch.
Her eyes pop open. “I thought you wanted me to try them all out?”
“No. Your body needs to associate me with your source of pleasure.”
She does not look convinced that I can provide her with any pleasure at all. I am also not convinced. I am five point three seconds from inserting myself into her in a violent way that will not ensure her pleasure in the slightest.
“Why buy all these vibrators if you’re going to do all the work? You could just use your fingers instead of an expensive toy.”
“Because I must also focus on the task of depositing my sperm as closely to your cervix as possible. The pillow will aid in depth of penetration to ensure closeness to your cervix. I must secondly concentrate on timing my orgasm with the moment that yours occurs. Conception chances rise greatly when man and woman climax together.”
She stares at my erection that is overpowering any possible sense of reason. The vascular system has too much blood pooled in the collapsed vessels. The grossly swollen tissue stretches my skin to the brink of bursting. Relief is mandatory. Soon.
“I don’t think we need to worry about depth of penetration with the length of your rod. I’m honestly a little concerned about it slamming right through my cervix.”
“That is why we will try several different positions,” I grind out. My stupidly visual brain imagines all of those positions for me with startling clarity.
She nods and folds her arms behind her head like another pillow that is not designed for anything other than to further tempt me to shove my dick down her throat until she swallows like she did so amazingly well last night. “Yes. I read missionary, doggy style, and reverse cowgirl are the best positions. Did you find others?”
“I do not understand why that position is consistently listed. Reverse cowgirl defies logic. The entire point is to use gravity to aid the directional movement of the sperm. Anything with you on top is out of the question.” As is anal and oral for much more obvious reasons. That doesn’t mean I am not still imagining them. “Other suitable positions include modified missionary with your legs over my shoulders, a rather dangerous seeming position titled the wheelbarrow, scissoring, and coital alignment technique.”
She hums. The sound vibrates in my engorged flesh. “You mentioned coital alignment. I researched it. That seems too complex.”
“It is really not. It focuses more on clitoral stimulation than deep penetration, which would actually spare you the agony of my penis slamming right through your cervix.”
She raises her eyebrows. Her nipples are flat. Her naked body is completely relaxed on my bed in the middle of a cornucopia of sex toys. She is no longer aroused at all. “While I appreciate the idea behind clitoral stimulation to aid in the possibility of climaxing simultaneously, isn’t one of the main goals deep penetration to deposit sperm as close to the cervix as possible? It doesn’t sound like coital alignment technique will accomplish that.”
“You also indicated you are not in favor of deep penetration for fear the length of my rod will impale you in painful ways.” This is much better. Verbal sparring is a soothing tenet of our relationship. With my mind keeping up to the challenge she presents me, I do not have time to think about ravaging her body well past the point of conception.
“You warned me that you’re going to make me sore.” She shrugs again. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
“I also said I have no wish to cause you pain.”
“Okay.” She sits up and places the toys on the nightstand one by one until the mattress is clear again. Then she slides the wedge pillow to the side before crawling under the blankets.
“What are you doing?” Panic competes with my rampant arousal.
She adjusts her head on her pillow then closes her eyes. “I’m going to sleep, Ollie. I refuse to force you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”
“What does that mean?” Comprehension skills are declining with the rapid acceleration of my anxiety. She is not being clear enough.
“It means that in spite of your obvious arousal at the sight of my naked body, you do not seem to want to engage in sexual intercourse with me nearly as much as you want to discuss the idea of it. That’s okay. The events of this week have progressed very rapidly. We went from best friends to a fake pregnancy to a discussion about you impregnating me for real to a first date. And a blow job,” she mutters before clearing her throat. “It’s a lot to take in and adjust to. There are obviously still more discussions to be had and parameters to define. We don’t need to rush the planning stage. I never want you to fake anything for me the way you did for the other women you were with. Good night.”
All of my careful planning and learning and hard work disappears. The only thing left in its wake is the choking stink of failure.
In less than a second, I rip the blankets off and pull Liv’s body to me. In two seconds, I am on top of her, wedging my hips between her thighs. In an eternity, I am shoving my cock into her tight channel and throwing my head back at the sheer ecstasy I have been deprived of for so long. Time blurs and awareness boils down to the sensation of my dick being enveloped by her wet heat until I hit a solid barrier. All I know is the feeling of thrusting into her with full force as I grip her hips and sink my fingers into her flesh. Meaningless sounds and words roll over my taut muscles with no single source to attribute them to. I come hard enough to cause myself excruciating pain as my cock spasms and rams against a wall it cannot break through no matter how hard I push.
I collapse on top of her, muscles twitching in agony, an electrical storm in my brain searing all my nerve endings into millions of points of blinding sensation. The feel of something pulling at me barely registers. A sharp sting on the skin of my ass, the pressure of a grinding motion creating friction at my hips.
“Oh, God,” a guttural sound that is abrasive to my pounding ears.
“Ollie,” a whispered word that only one person ever uses reorients everything in a dizzying rush.
Liv is beneath me, her legs locked around my waist, her hand gripping my ass like she could possibly pull me any closer. She is rocking her body against the undoubtedly crushing weight of mine on top of her. My dick aches and burns, heightening the squeezing and pulsing sensation all around the hypersensitive skin.
“Liv,” I breathe against her neck then suck on the salty tang of her skin. My mouth moves against her body, drinking up anything and everything within reach. I land on her lips and pull her tongue into my mouth, certain it will be the last thing I ever taste.
She tears her mouth away from mine and cries out a sound of exquisite anguish. Her nails break my skin. The marks will be there for at least a week.
It hurts so fucking bad, but I roll my hips to match my rhythm with hers, drawing out her pleasure until she is a writhing, sweaty mess of whimpers beneath me.
“Ollie,” she cries, tearing running down her face.
My lungs are still working too hard for speech to be coherent, and my brain is only barely functioning. “Don’t...let…me…again…”
She chuckles a little and even the slight reverberations against my chest are torture. “It’s okay. I read that even if a woman orgasms up to forty-five minutes after the man deposits his sperm, it’s still effective at boosting chances of conception.”
“No,” I pant against her neck. “Hurt…you.”
“It’s okay,” she murmurs against my ear, her lips tickling me like a thousand shards of glass. “I’m okay.” She tunnels her fingers through my hair and glides her hand along my back.
Up. Down. Up. Down.
The steadiness and predictability of the sensation focus my senses.
“Not okay. Do not let me again. Slap me out of it.”
“Do you mean snap you out of it?” she whispers.
“No. Slap. Face. You are not any woman. You are Liv.”
“What does that mean?” She kisses my cheek so tenderly, it creates my own tears. “Ollie? What does that mean?”
“Your…name.” Breathing is returning to normal. Brain activity not so much.
“I still don’t know what that means.” She rubs her lips against my cheek.
It is too much.
“Without you, I exist.” Deep breath. In. Out. Release. “With you, I live.”
11
Olivia
The sensation of lips dragging across my bare back rouses me. I smile into the pillow and repress the urge to squeal. Instead, I wriggle my legs beneath the blankets and immediately wince.
“I’m sorry, Liv,” he sighs against my skin, his hand the slightest caress around my shoulder and down my arm. His solid body warms my back. “I can do better. I will do better. I promise. I know how to be gentle.”
A low, throaty chuckle rasps through my dry lips. “Don’t apologize. Last night was amazing.”
“You are obviously in pain.” He kisses the side of my neck, surprising me with the dart of his tongue against my skin.
“You gave me fair warning,” I whisper, rolling my head back to give him all the access he desires. “I told you I could handle it. Remember?”
“I do not remember much of what was said. Only the sensations,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my skin as he speaks. “I am also sore, which is a very serious problem. There is no possibility to test stronger morning sperm counts and different positions now. I have also completely negated the need to test how many sessions a day either of us can withstand. The obvious answer is one. That will limit our chances of conception.”
I’m just happy he isn’t calling it off at the first sign of defeat. Oliver doesn’t deal well with failure. At anything.
I pull his arm around me, tugging him closer. “That’s not necessarily true. You said you know how to be gentle. We simply need to begin with gentle intercourse then gradually progress to the rougher stuff.”
He huffs out a frustrated sigh of hot breath against my neck. His hand latches onto my breast, and he squeezes firmly. Judging by the stiff rod poking into my ass, he’s not completely out of commission.
Suddenly, he pulls away and sits up on his side of the bed.
I roll over to find him scrubbing his face with his hands a little too harshly.
“I think I know what the problem is. I require you to remain clothed at all times.”
My grin threatens to split my face in two, much like he nearly did to my Southern hemisphere last night. At least—with his hands still hiding him from sight—he doesn’t have to witness my silent gloating.
