Lie With Me (Stonewall Investigations Miami 2)

Oliver separated from me. He looked out the large window.

“If I listed out every homophobic asshole I interacted with throughout my life, then you’d never figure out who attacked me and Derrick that night. I… I don’t know. I don’t like talking about it, I guess. I don’t like living in that negative space. In even being reminded that it exists.”

I put an arm across Oliver’s shoulder and pulled him back into my side. I kissed the top of his head, feeling his soft hair against my lips. “If I ever see anyone even giving you an ounce of attitude, I swear I’ll send them spinning as much as the London Eye.”

That got a chuckle out of Oliver. I swallowed the sound up, letting it fill me.

“He was a bad one, though. I do remember that. I just, I guess I thought it had to be someone that was a constant presence in my life. That Mario guy popped in for a few months when he was working on our building and then disappeared. The attack didn’t happen for another year.”

“Time works differently with everyone. You might have moved past the bullshit he put you through, but Mario could have been marinating in it. Working himself up to do something.”

“Well… shit. I didn’t really think about it like that.”

“Don’t worry. Thinking about it like that is my job. I’ve already got someone working on figuring out where Mario is. And then I’ll need him to answer a few of my questions.”

Oliver pursed his lips. I could tell talking about this was painful for him, especially after tonight’s events.

“Thank you for staying with me tonight,” Oliver said. His voice was low, soft.

“I wish I could stay with you every night.”

It was an honest answer. Oliver nuzzled into me a little more, rubbing his head on me. “Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I will,” I countered, smiling.

Oliver looked up at me and planted a sweet kiss, his hand coming up behind my neck and holding as his lips took control.

“If you give me more of that, then I definitely will.”

He smirked, the embers in his pupils lighting up, one hand still on my neck, his other hand rested on my stomach.

“Sorry for freaking out earlier.”

“Are you kidding me? What we went through deserves a freak-out. Do you want to talk some more about it?”

Oliver shook his head. “Not tonight.” He kissed me again. This one felt a little more desperate, a little more hungry. We stumbled back onto the bed.

“I just want to forget it all tonight. I don’t want to think about any of it.”

Another kiss. The temperature in the room was rising at a blistering pace. We were lying in bed, the soft white hotel blanket underneath us, both of us still in our clothes from today. My jeans were beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable. I needed to shed them off.

Before I could, Oliver’s lips were back on me, this time on my neck. It was the one spot that drove me completely wild. “Oh, Olly, my neck is dangerous.”

“Is it?” Oliver asked, mischievously sucking on my neck.

“You’re unraveling me, Olly.” I let my head sink back into the pillow as Oliver’s tongue flicked across my sensitive flesh. His warm breath on my neck was sending me straight to outer space.

“Good.” Oliver’s hand slipped under my shirt. “I think we both need to unravel a little bit,” he said.

His fingers trailed down toward my already stiffening cock.

Funny how fear can give way to arousal in only seconds flat.

“Depends on what you’re willing to give me,” Oliver said, batting those thick eyelashes of his. Like a moth to a flame, I pushed in, claiming his lips with mine. His hand, a thumb hooked on the waistband of my jeans, started to massage me, rubbing the bulge that throbbed with need.

I wanted him.

I wanted him so badly it made my insides feel like they were on fire.

“Fuck,” I hissed, feeling Oliver’s hardness pushing against me as he rocked his hips forward. We fell backward onto the bed. The mattress bounced with us as we kissed and rubbed and rolled. He straddled me, kissing me, sucking on my lower lip and sending shocks through my spine. My hands glided over every inch of him, sliding under his shirt and over his soft skin, his pebbled nipples, his strong heartbeat. I left my hand on his chest for a moment, feeling the thump against my palm.

And then we rolled on the bed. I pinned him underneath me, pressing my weight onto him, grinding my rock-hard bulge against his. Any harder and I was sure our clothes would catch fire.

“Take this off,” I said, pulling his shirt up. I took mine off and tossed it, mesmerized at the sight underneath me: Oliver’s body stretched taut on the bed, a light blond trail of hair leading down his belly button. His skin dotted with beauty marks, a trail I wanted to treasure with my lips, to trace with my tongue.