Press Release

12: Press Against

Pulling in front of the building, I watch as she exits the car, greeting the valet. Quickly I pull in behind, impatient to get out of the car before she ascends in her private elevator, leaving me to navigate Frank or whoever the concierge is tonight.

The damn valet is taking forever to notice me, though, and she's already heading inside. "Olivia!" I call, and my voice cracks a bit. I bite my lip, scared that I've sounded like a distraught 14-year-old. She stops at the door, her hand ready to open the large glass entryway into the building. Looking back at me, she cocks her head to the side.

I wait, as does the valet. He stands patiently behind me, unsure whether he should take my keys or move her car to make room for me to exit. Holding my breath, I watch her as she stands there: her skinny jeans tight against her legs; that floppy super-sized sweater draping her breasts so beautifully, the sleeves reaching over the edge of her hands. Her fingers grasp at the sleeves, tugging on them to make mittens. The world stops turning while I hesitate as she makes up her mind. I can't tell what she's thinking as she looks at me, and I waffle between whether she will invite me up or send me on my way. Watching the hand on the door to see if she pulls it further open, I feel deflated when I see the movement, but then she nods just once at me, and I throw my keys to the young man standing there before I jog across the drive to join her at the door. Reaching over her head, I grasp the door so that she can enter.

"I have a guest, Frank," she says, barely even glancing at the doorman. I nod to him, trying to appear non-threatening because I now recognise that I want to be able to visit her more often. So I might need the support of these security guys.

"Guess I can call off the search party," he replies, and she chuckles lightly.

I follow behind her to the elevator, her flat slippers slapping on the floor, and I cannot tell if she's happy to have me here or not. I guess she wouldn't have given me the signal if she weren't okay with me coming upstairs. But her demeanor feels completely the opposite. It's like she's warning me off. Waves of discouragement and restraint emanate from her as she forcefully twists the key in the lift.

Backing her into the corner of the lift, I capture her lower lip between my teeth, biting gently before I release it and suck it into my mouth, soothing the spot with my tongue.

"For someone who agreed I could come up, you don't seem too happy about it," I growl, stepping into her so that she can feel my semi-hardened state.

Without a word, she communicates how much she does want me to come up, grabbing my cock through my jeans, tracing her nail along my length, and my length has shifted and become completely rigid now. Fuck me. She thrusts her tongue into my mouth, wrapping her hand behind my neck, ruffling my hair.

And once more, I'm over the edge.

I live for you. I long for you. Olivia.

When the lift doors open, I back out, pulling her with me, our mouths entwined still. Forever. Fuck me. I kick off my loafers as I start to unbutton her pants there in the foyer. Stepping out of her shoes, she begins fumbling at the hem of my t-shirt, trying to grasp the end to pull it over my head. Finally, we both realize that we need to stop kissing in order to move to the next level. Ripping our lips from each other, I let her finish removing my shirt, which she leaves on the floor in the living room. And she allows me to slide her jeans over her hips and down her legs until she is able to step out of them. I have to take a moment when I realize that she's not wearing any underwear. Fuck. Swallowing hard, I trace her hip bones as I ease the jeans down and allow the sweater to hide her entrance to heaven.

But then our lips are connected again, and I eagerly slide my tongue into her mouth, burying my hands in her ponytail, twisting the strands around my index fingers, sliding my hands through the gathered hair to feel its soft texture.