Fifteen
Bishop
Those kisses on the road a few minutes earlier aren’t helping the fact that I wanted to do this the right way. I wanted to take this slow. Show her how much I want to take care of her, how sorry I am that our lives got so fucked up.
Those two kisses have made that impossible.
“Warnin’ you now, Vivienne, this is gonna be fast. It’s gonna be hard, and it might even be a little rough. That okay with you?” Her breathing picks up as I talk, but the look in her eyes tells me that it’s all right with her. “Not how I wanted to do this. Not this first time, but I don’t think I can control myself around you any fuckin’ longer.”
“Don’t,” she says.
“Don’t what?” I ask as I feel my spine stiffen. She’s scared again. I should have kept myself in check.
“Don’t hold back. Don’t control yourself. I want you. I’ve been waiting just as long as you have.” The words come out quiet and shaky, but I know it’s what she wants.
“Then let’s get outta this damn car and get inside.”
I open the door and lead her to the front of the house, holding back from putting my mouth on hers. If I do, we’ll end up fucking right on the front porch swing. Not a bad idea, but I’ll save it for another time when we have the dark to shield us.
“Davis,” she calls out when she swings the front door open. “He’s not here,” she declares after a few quiet seconds.
“Thank Christ.” My lips are on hers instantly, my hand cradling her head to protect it as I push her against the kitchen wall. The pent-up frustration, grief, longing that both of us have experienced come pouring out into this kiss. Hands are everywhere, pulling, clawing, trying to get to bare flesh. My mouth can’t stay focused, moving from one delicious spot on her body to the next, tasting and biting as I rip away at her clothes. She’s loving every second of it, panting and working just as hard to get to my skin.
“Don’t make me wait any longer, Bishop,” she practically cries against my neck when I make my way back up her body, desperate to get my lips on hers, dying for another taste of her mouth.
“Ollie,” I growl against her lips. “When we’re like this, I’m Ollie or Oliver. Never Bishop.”
She grabs my face and kisses me hard, letting it melt into something sweet. “Don’t make me wait any longer, Ollie.”
“Yes ma’am,” I tease her, smacking her ass and spinning her around, pushing against her back and splaying her out along the closest kitchen counter. She gasps as I kiss along her spine; I don’t think this is what she had in mind, but I haven’t been able to get this out of my head… Viv sprawled out naked, pressed against the countertop while I pound into her from behind. It all started when she made me those damn beignets the morning after we went out for drinks.
I lean in close and kiss the little spot just under her ear. “Hang on, Princess.” Her scream echoes through the kitchen as I grab her waist and pump in and out of her, my pace relentless. Damn, I never thought, never dreamed, that my Vivi would feel this good. I close my eyes and let the sensation take over, let her moans and cries of my name be the only thoughts in my mind. She’s starting to clench around me, shouting my name, asking for more, so I grip her waist harder and give my girl what she’s begging for. I can go harder and faster if that’s what Vivi wants.
It hits us both like a damn train, and we can barely stand as our orgasms start to build. It takes every ounce of strength I possess, but I wait for her before I’ll let myself finish. She’s calling my name, clawing at my thighs, going wild for me as she rides hers out. I grit my teeth and let Vivi finish bucking against me and then I come, hard and powerful, never feeling quite like I do in that moment.
My demons are quiet, thanks to Vivienne Westbrook.
But I never had any doubt that she held that power.
Calling on the last bit of strength in my body, I pick her up and manage to get us into the living room and on the couch. We fall onto the sofa and I cover us with one of Mrs. Tallulah’s old afghans. I’d much rather be in her bed, but she about killed me seconds ago in the kitchen. I need to recoup before I can get her in there and go for round two.
I have so much to say to her right now, but I’m not ready. I think she knows, I think she feels the same, but I need to kiss her. I need to feel close to her. We just went at it hard and rough; I want some slow, deep, lazy kisses from my Viv. The kind of kisses that we used to share in the loft of the barn. Rainy Saturday kisses when we didn’t have anywhere to go or anything to do.
The kind of kisses we should have been sharing for the past sixteen years.
Her mouth is soft and sweet. We take our time letting everything we need to say come out in those kisses. When they get more desperate, when Vivi climbs on top of me, moving her mouth off mine and down my chest, I lay back on that old couch and let her take what she needs. Take what she wants from me. We need to heal. Words won’t do it, but we can use our bodies to erase the past. Make the pain disappear. Get rid of the what ifs.
I let my girl work me with her mouth, watch her get hotter and hotter as she grinds down on my leg, dying for her own release. As much as I’d like to see where she’ll let this go, I need her on me. I need to be inside her.
“Climb up here, Viv, and take what you need.”
She looks up at me with her wide brown eyes, puffy lips, and long brown hair, and I’ve never seen her look wilder. More beautiful. And she’s all mine. The thought hits me like a ton of bricks, reaching the very depths of my soul, hurting and healing at the same time. It’s a beautiful ache. Fuck me, but nothing has ever felt better. Not even having Viv the first time a few minutes ago, and not even having her now, riding me, calling my name, clawing at my chest, begging for me to make her come.
I push myself up, getting deeper inside of her, match her stroke for stoke until we’re both out of control. It’s a beautiful chaos, a symphony of moans, pants, and cries coming from both of us, and I would sell my soul to have it every day for the rest of my life.
I’ll do everything I can to make that happen.
_____
“Mornin’ you walked outta that lawyer’s office, Viv, never imagined you be so wild for me.”
“The morning I walked out of that office, I never imagined we’d have sex in every room of Lulu’s house.”
I laugh, the sound triggering one from her before she snuggles deeper into my side. The sun has long set, and we haven’t stopped going at it since we got home this morning. We’re both worn out, in the best way.
“You happy?”
“Yes.” Her reply is instant, and she doesn’t dance around the question like she did on the phone with me while she was in New York. “What about you, Bishop?”
“Ollie,” I remind her, following it up with a kiss.
“Well?” she asks a little breathless when I finally pull away. Fuck me, but I’ll never grow tired of her mouth.
“Gettin’ there.”
She looks disappointed, and I hate that she feels that way. “What’s it gonna take for you to get there?” she whispers.
I flip her on her back, take her face in my hands, and make sure her full focus is on me. “I need this fucker off the streets of my town.”
“Are the cops any closer?”
I know she’s been gone, but they haven’t done shit in her absence. I can’t do anything until they do their part and get me some suspects to question. This is getting old. How many women have to die before they figure out who’s doing this? “No. I don’t imagine it’ll be too much longer before the FBI takes over.”
“Is that all that’s keeping you from being happy? I miss my old Ollie. The one who always had a smile on his face.” She gets her own little smile as she rubs an old scar on my chin. “The one that didn’t scare people with just one look.”
“You’ll get him back when I give you my last name and my baby growin’ inside you.”
“What?” she gasps.
“Need me to say it again?”
She nods, and the tears are falling again. “How can you be so sure? We just got back together after all these years.”
“Let me make somethin’ perfectly clear, Viv. Not a day - not one fuckin’ day - went by while we were apart that I didn’t dream about this. Some days hurt. Some days almost killed me, but I always thought about you. About us. You think that I’m gonna let you go now that I’ve got my hands on you, you’re wrong.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t have to say anything, you just have to stay with me. Not sayin’ things’ll be perfect. We still have a lot of shit to sort through, but we’ll do it together. You with me?”
Time stands still while I wait for her to answer. “I’m with you.” She gives me a gentle kiss that’s interrupted by a yawn. She’s worn out, as she should be.
“Go ahead and fall asleep, Princess,” I tell her, tucking her into my side. “I’ll let myself out and be here in the morning to take you to Annie’s.”
She shoots up. “What?”
“I’ll let myself out after you fall asleep.”
“You’re not staying?”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
I don’t want to answer, but if this is going where I need it to go, she needs to know. “Nights are bad for me. Don’t trust myself when I’m sleepin’.”
She sits up, attitude lit. “And how do you think we’ll get to the ‘me havin’ your last name and your baby in my belly’ part of this relationship if you won’t sleep with me?”
I tuck her hair behind her ear, hoping the soft touch will help her lose the attitude. It doesn’t.
“Oliver Bishop, I will end this if you go home.”
“I might hurt you, baby.” It’s the best truth I can give her. It kills me to say the words.
She stays quiet for a while, looking me over. Finally, she moves her hand to the scar running down my temple and rubs it lightly. “Does it have anything to do with this?”
I nod.
She nods, too, thinking she understands what I went through. She has no idea. Nobody could understand unless they had to go through that Hell on Earth. “I never wanted to hear anything about you. I wouldn’t even let Lulu mention you or your family,” she says, all the sass gone from moments earlier. “But one night, when I was missing you more than I ever had, she mentioned you were back.” She smiles. “Lulu would always try to slip in news of you, even though she knew I didn’t want to hear it. Anyway, I had been drinking, so rather than cut her off or fuss at her, I let her talk. I let her tell me a story about a boy who came back from war, broken, scarred, and not at all like the boy who left. I had to close my eyes and pretend she was talking about someone else. It hurt too much to know she was talking about you. My Ollie. We were both in tears when she was done. She didn’t know what happened to you over there, but she knew you were different. She wanted to help heal you. She mentioned your demons.”
“Those demons come to me at night,” I whisper.
“Maybe I can help.”
“I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you.”
“Please, Ollie. Try. For me.”
Damnit, I shouldn’t give in to her, but pulling myself from her bed to go to my own doesn’t seem very appealing. “We can try. You hear or feel anything from me, get out of bed and go in the living room. Don’t talk to me, don’t touch me. Just go.”
Her eyes are wide and she’s shaking. “You’re scaring me.”
“Better than hurtin’ you.”
“I know you, Ollie. You won’t hurt me.”
I’m tired of talking about it, I’m sick that we even have to have the conversation. Instead of giving her false reassurances that everything’ll be all right, I pull her tight to my side, kiss her goodnight, close my eyes, and will the demons to stay away.