Waiting For Sunday

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{eleven}

Dinner was eventful, Oliver had picked me up as promised and while we’d been waiting for another bottle of wine, he’d whispered across the table for me to remove my panties.

Kinky.

I smiled, blushing a little, but he’d done it because I’d been wearing a dress. As I scrunched them up into a ball and passed them subtly to him under the table, he couldn’t help but lick his bottom lip before placing them in the pocket of his jacket.

The drive back to his apartment was heated and very much lustful. His fingers trailed up and down my naked thigh, only travelling so far before retreating again, and it drove me wild.

The second we’d crashed through his apartment door however, there was no stopping us. Carrying me into his bedroom, he counted every orgasm he gave me, and if I remember rightly, I’d lost count somewhere around 6.

That man and his tongue, his fingers and his hands.

I’d walked into work the next morning, the biggest smile on my face, convinced I still smelt of sex and if Amalia hadn’t noticed then walking slightly bow-legged should have been more than enough, giving it away but she was still none the wiser. I laughed softly when Oliver came in at lunch and I almost had to throw bolster cushions at him to shoo him away.

He was obsessed.

I practically shoved him out the door of the studio, his lips peppering me with kisses until I could close the door behind him. A goofy grin on his face, knocking into someone and apologising but then almost tripping over the curb as he made his way back into work.

I laughed a little harder, shaking my head, my eyes dancing with humour. Of course, he couldn’t stay away, the second he sat down at his desk, he sent me an email. A very kinky email, one that had given me an ache between my legs and a flush in my cheeks.

Who knew Oliver Ross could be this kinky?

By the time classes had finished for the day, all I could think about was a bath and an early night. Oliver had backed off but not through choice, he'd had to stay behind for a meeting, one which ran late into the evening, and much to his dismay, one he couldn’t even make an excuse to get away from. It was imperative, apparently, that he attend.

By the next morning, he had woken me with a text, another dirty one, one that made my cheeks blush again as I laid in bed.

He was insatiable and I loved it. By the time I got home that night, he told me he’d come over, not for sex, not if I was still a little sore which I was, so we’d spent the night watching a movie, sharing a bath and then laying in my bed while I read up on some of the latest practices in yoga, and Oliver laying beside me, his chest bare, soft golden hair curling in my fingers as I played with it, and peeking at him often when he pulled out his glasses and began reading up on some new manuscript offers and how many reads they were accumulating either from publishing in hardcopy or via the Internet and publishing platforms. I couldn't stop staring purely because he looked even sexier with the glasses on.

Again, although briefly, I worried I was starting to fall for him, but I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.

The vow Sunday, remember the vow.

He’d read an exert from a thriller and I was hooked, begging him to continue reading it to me, but by the time he put it down, half-read, it was just midnight. With a gentle kiss, and a cheeky grope, we laid down, my back against his chest, his arms securely wrapped around me. It wasn’t the first “sleepover” we’d had but it had been the first at my house.

I’d made breakfast in the morning, pancakes with blueberries and bacon. He devoured it within a few bites, and then showered and changed, leaving a little earlier than me, kissing me long and deep, tasting like syrup. With a quick slap of my ass, he said he’d see me at lunch if I wanted him to and then with a cheeky smile, he disappeared.

I stood, picking up the used plates and cutlery and placed them in the dishwasher before running up the stairs to get showered myself and then drove into the town arriving half an hour before my first class.

“Morning— late night?” Amalia smirked as I pushed open the door.

“Could say that,” I smiled, biting my lip to suppress the grin that threatened to break free across my face.

“What’s that?” She inquired, her index finger circling her own mouth, “What’s with the smile? Oh my god, you got laid, you did it, you finally got the di—,”

“Stop it!” I giddily exclaimed and she smiled so wide, dimples indenting in her cheeks.

“You so did,” she giggled, “Come on, who, where, when?”

“Mali, I’m not telling you,” I giggled again.

“Oh come on, my best friend finally gets some and you’re not even going to tell me,” she grumbles.

“Why would you even want to know,”

“Hey— just because I prefer the fairer sex doesn’t mean I can’t be supportive and hear all the disgusting details,” she giggles and pulls one of the spare chairs towards me.

“Mali, I’m not telling you,”

“Please,” she pleaded childishly.

“No,” I laughed but simmered when the bell above the door opened. However, when I laid my eyes on the visitor, my laughter stopped.

“J-Jake?”

“Hi Sunny,” he smiled softly, his blonde hair falling into his eyes. A small gale had begun to blow outside and had blown his hair from its style. The door closed behind him, and with a gentle gaze, he walked towards me, my heart skipping a beat.

“I thought I’d come say hi and offer to take you out for lunch,”

“L-lunch?” I stammer again.

“Yeah you know, when one person asks another out for lunch the usual response is to either decline or accept the offer,”

“But I— I don’t know if I can,”

“And why not?”

“Because I have a class,”

“No you don’t, not today,” Amalia interrupted, peeling a banana she'd pulled from her bag, causing me to momentarily spin towards her in my chair and scowl.

“It’s ok, you can say no Sunny, I won’t be offended,”

“It’s not that, it’s just—,” I try to say but my eyes look across the street towards the publishing house and the thought of Oliver flashed behind my eyes.

“Oh go on, it’s not like you’ll have anything better to do, it’s only for an hour,” she nudges me with a wink.

“She’d love too,” Amalia answers for me as she takes a bite of the freshly peeled banana.

“You ok with that Sunny?” He asks, hesitation and uncertainty washing over his face.

“I mean— sure,” I guiltily reply.

“Great I’ll be back at say 12.30?”

“Ok,” I smile, almost speechless.

Why did I feel guilty? It wasn't as if Oliver and I were exclusive, and I didn't want something serious anyway. We were having fun, that was all, fun and enjoying each others company.

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