Waiting For Sunday

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{twenty-nine}

“You— you what?”

“I love you,” he whispers, his eyes flickering between my own, hoping, searching for me to say something— anything to tell him that I feel the same and I do. I do love him.

I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with him.

“I know I said it before, but it wasn’t like this, not like now, I mean it Sunday—,” he continues slowly rolling his hips up and back and forth as he pushes himself inside me. My eyes flutter closed as I twist my face, my lips pressing against the palm of his hand, feeling so utterly mesmerised and overwhelmed and— besotted.

“I love— you,” I whisper as his lips crash against mine again, moaning as his hips continue to roll against mine. As his tongue pushes past my mouth, he rolls us back over, capturing my moans in his mouth as he thrusts slowly but deeply inside me.

“You mean— everything— to me,” he groans, his voice smooth but loving, his hands caressing against every inch of my skin, “I love you Sunday— more than you’ll— ever know,” he whispers, his lips peppering mine, trailing down to my shoulder and biting lightly. I moan again at the feel of his teeth sinking into my skin as his hips continue their slow but rhythmic roll.

Pulling one of my legs up and wrapping around his hips, Oliver quickens and deepens his thrusts, sending a shiver up my spine, my muscles tightening around him as he bites at my neck, groaning as he wraps his arms around my shoulders, holding me as close to him as he can.

With each deep and almost forceful thrust of his hips against my own, I feel my orgasm getting closer and with one final thrust, we both come together, the heat and the pleasurable pulses overwhelming us both.

With heaving chests, the sound of nothing but our own panting breaths, Oliver peppers my face with affection and love, bringing a smile to my face and warmth to my chest.

“Thank you,”

“What for?”

“For choosing me,”

“Oliver,” I pant a laugh, feeling his arms pull me close to him again.

“I mean it Sun, you will never know how much it killed me when we broke up, I don’t want to spend another minute apart from you,”

“We’re good aren’t we?” I ask as he let’s go of me, rolling onto his back, as I roll onto his chest, my arms folding underneath me, my chin resting against my forearms.

“We’re good, we’re better than good,” he says, although something doesn’t sound right, something in his voice makes me feel uneasy.

“Hey—,” I ask, pulling his chin towards me, his beautiful green eyes looking towards me, flickering between my own.

“Oliver?”

“It’s just, I don’t know— I can’t explain it, I missed you, more than you ever knew and when you chose me, I didn’t think I’d be this happy, not after— her, and when you came here, telling me that Jake wasn’t who you’d chosen, I got scared,”

“Scared about what?”

“That I’d do or say something stupid, and that if I told you I loved you, that it would scare you away,”

“Well it didn’t, I’m still here aren’t I?” I say, my fingers softly caressing his chest, running my fingertips through the golden hair on his chest. Peppering my lips against him I look up willing him to believe me.

“Is that what that little show was about earlier?”

“No,” he chuckles softly, “That was just silly, some fun but I’m sorry if it felt rushed. I think the mixture of the alcohol I’d had before you got here and then the champagne after just— well it got to my head, and I thought I needed to please you,”

“But you did,” I wink at him, rolling back over to my side of the bed, staring at the ceiling above me, his arm still stretched around my shoulders, my fingers lacing with his.

“Sun—?”

“Mhmm?”

“Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

“I did Oliver,”

“Good—,”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to move in with me,”

Silence—, just briefly fills the room, my eyes widening as I lay there in the dark, his fingers tensing a little in mine.

“Sorry,”— “Yes,” we both say simultaneously.

“What?”

“I said yes,” I smile in the dim light of the evening sky.

A light suddenly brightens the room, my eyes quickly adjusting as I narrow my lids, before looking to him.

“You mean that?”

“I do,” I smile towards him, rolling onto my stomach again, my hand resting and threading into my hair. His face is straight, deadpan and amazed all rolled into one.

“What?”

“If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes?”

“One thing at a time,” I laugh as I bury my face into the white cotton pillow beside me. I feel Oliver’s hand snake around my waist and pull me into his chest, peppering kisses again for what feels like the millionth time tonight and breathing in deep.

“So that’s not a no?”

“No Oliver it isn’t a no, just a not now,”

“Good, because— if and when I do propose it won’t be in bed, well—, not this bed,” he chuckles gently behind me, kissing my bare skin again.


I wake the next morning, a smile creeping on my face as I turn to face Oliver but he isn’t there. With a frown, I push myself up onto my elbows, my eyes searching the room wondering just where he is and then the smell of coffee fills my nose and I know he’s up and awake and in the kitchen. Pulling myself from the bed, I slip on the shirt he’d worn yesterday minus any underwear and use the small hairband I’d had my hair pulled up with and wrap it lazily into a messy bun.

Walking towards the kitchen, the smell of bacon fills my nose and my stomach grumbles. As I turn the corner, I smile again when I see the bronzed adonis that is my boyfriend, shirtless in nothing an apron and I lean against the doorframe watching as he flits between counters, the rose from yesterday I’m sure, is cut and placed into a glass.

“Shit!” He exclaims as he turns, almost dropping the plate he’d picked up to put breakfast on, “Warn me next time,” he smiles.

“What’s with the apron?”

“I didn’t want anything getting splattered with hot oil,” he smirks, cocking an eyebrow.

“That’s why clothes were invented,” I smirk back, unfolding my arms, my fingertips resting against my lips.

“Meh— clothes are so overrated,” he coos as he walks towards me, placing the plate back on the counter but leaving on the apron. Wrapping his arms around me, his hands travel down to my ass and his eyebrows raise when he feels the supple and naked flesh underneath.

“Good morning,” he teases, wriggling his eyebrows, dimples sinking deep into his cheek.

“Good morning,” I smile back, pecking his lips with my own.

“Go sit down, I made breakfast for us,”

“I see that,” I say, making my way to the dining table.

Minutes later, Oliver returns placing both plates in front of me, and sitting the rose in the middle of the table.

“So—,” I begin as I take a bite of the toast he’d sat on the side of my plate, “You gonna make me breakfast every morning?”

“Depends,”

“On what?”

“If you still want to move on with me?”

I look towards him, placing my fork on my plate and rest my chin in my palm.

“Oliver Ross— do you want me to move in?”

Reaching across the small table, he takes my hand in his, kissing the knuckles and smiling, “Of course I do,”

“Then I’m moving in,” I tell him as he kisses my knuckles again.

“Good—, now eat,” he smiles back, his green eyes creasing a little at the outer corners as he removes the apron and drops it on the floor. Standing up, he walks towards me, and my eyes widen when I see him hardening.

“Oliver, what are you doing?”

“There’s something else I want to eat,” he grins, scooping me up in his arms. I giggle but I make sure I grab my toast as he strides back towards the bedroom, pushing it open and kicks his bedroom door shut behind us as he takes a bite of my toast.

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