The Fun Kind of Trouble
Dusk was beginning to fall, a bird was singing in a nearby tree, and two lovers sat on a porch swing enjoying the evening and each other's company.
"I thought about kissing you right then, you know," Shane said, twirling the stem of her wine glass in her fingers. It was her second so she was feeling a little bolder than usual. "When I came home to find you building this for me, in the middle of what I remember to be a very, very cold night."
"Why didn't you?" Oliver asked, relaxing against the back of the swing as it moved gently beneath them. He was genuinely curious, wondering how that moment could have changed where they had ultimately ended up.
"It wasn't the right time," she replied after a moment of consideration, setting her glass down on the ground. As she straightened, she smiled softly and kept going, leaning into him and pressing her lips against his.
Now, the right time to kiss him was whenever she damn well pleased.
"Shane." He moaned her name as he leaned into the kiss, the hand that wasn't holding onto his Yoo-Hoo sliding into her blonde hair and cradling her face.
Her hand disappeared between them, freeing Oliver's immaculately tucked in shirt from the waistband of his pants. She had talked him into removing his tie before they had sat down to dinner, but it had been a hard-won battle. Something about his straitlaced, polished appearance always made her want to muss him up. Beneath his protestations, Shane knew Oliver enjoyed it, too.
"Shane!"
He choked on her name this time, partly in surprise, partly in warning.
"Yes, Mr O'Toole?" she asked against his lips. Her tone was innocent… but her eyes (and hand) were pure trouble. And he suddenly understood, possibly for the first time in his life, why 'trouble' could be fun.
Somehow she loosened the button of his pants, her fingers sliding down the zipper with surprising dexterity considering they were sitting on a moving object, and she was already halfway through her second glass of wine.
He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the wooden bench, and tried to recite all of the states' zip codes backwards.
Alas, no.
He was utterly unable to muster the concentration necessary for that task.
His eyes flew open again as Shane's questing fingers traced the shape of his not-so-soft-anymore cock through the silky cotton of his boxer briefs.
We can't, he thought, somewhat desperately but also somewhat hazily, only the words died on his lips before he could form them when she stroked a single finger across that one spot.
"Hmm?" she asked again, wide-eyed and innocent except for the smirk tugging at her lips.
Oliver belatedly realised she'd asked him a question, or at least something he should be responding to using words, but she chose that moment to close her hand around his now burgeoning hard-on and his hips gave an answering buck.
Oh.
Ohhh.
It took another moment for his brain to wrap itself around the concept that his Ms McInerney, the love of his whole life… was giving him a hand job on the front porch of her house. And it wasn't even full dark yet.
Even more miraculously, he wasn't going to stop her.
He didn't have to, anyway, because she took her hand away and instantly his cock missed her touch, even though he hadn't yet felt her palm against his skin tonight.
Then again, the night was still young.
Trying to hide his disappointment at what seemed to be the abrupt end of a very promising start, Oliver was surprised again when Shane took his glass from his hand (how had he managed to hold onto it and not spill a drop while she'd been…yes, never mind). She took a sip and licked the chocolatey concoction from her lips in a way that made Oliver's poor neglected cock take a renewed interest in the proceedings.
"I hope this thing can take our weight," Shane whispered, her breath warm against his neck, which resulted in making him shiver. Her knees were either side of his body now, her beautiful, curvaceous derrière in his lap. His hands moved to her waist and he kissed her again, tasting chocolate fudge and red wine on her lips and her tongue.
It was the most intoxicating thing he'd ever tasted.
"I'll rebuild it for you, if it breaks," he assured her tenderly as he drew back, and she realised he was talking about more than just the porch swing. She loved him then, more than anything.
"I love you, Oliver O'Toole," she murmured, testing the weight of swing as she rocked a little against his body, feeling the ridge of his cock rub her deliciously.
"I love you, too," he replied, forcing his big brain to do the thinking. "So much so that I'm going to ask you to move before one of your neighbours calls the police."
"Okay, excellent point," she acquiesced, climbing off his lap and re-taking her seat next to him. "Should we take this inside?" she offered, meaning it and yet hoping his answer was 'no'. There was something positively addictive about the thought of loving him in the open, out in front of the world.
"I don't believe that will be necessary, not just yet," Oliver replied, his eyes warm with love and lust. He took her hand, squeezed it gently in his, and then guided it under the untucked folds of his shirt.
"Oliver!"
She gasped at his boldness, curving her fingers around his now fully hard cock in an involuntary response to this completely unexpected turn of events. He still found ways to surprise her, and she hoped he never stopped.
If anyone happened to walk by, or chose that moment to peer out of their window, they'd just see two lovers, sharing a quiet drink on their front porch, and making the most of a lovely late summer evening.
Anyone who knew Oliver, however, would know he wouldn't be seen dead with his shirt untucked, so they'd be automatically suspicious.
Luckily, none of Shane's neighbours really knew her, let alone Oliver O'Toole.
Oliver's head hit the back of the bench with a thunk when Shane's hand snaked under the elastic waistband of his underwear and made a show of trying to find him. He couldn't help but rock into her touch when he felt her hand close fully around him and tried to look anywhere except at where her wrist disappeared underneath the tails of his shirt, her hand moving in a steady, delicious motion. Already she knew just how to touch him to tease, to excite, and to bring him right to the brink of insanity.
When she rubbed her thumb over the tip, smearing his release with the soft pad, it took all of his quite considerable self-control to not just fall apart in her hands. She seemed to sense this and eased back, content to just trail her fingertips over him, stroking down the veins of his throbbing cock and then over his balls in motions that were as frustratingly ticklish as they were maddeningly arousing.
She built him up again, slowly, so agonisingly, so wonderfully, slowly, until he couldn't stand her exquisite torment any longer and was forced to cover her hand with his to still her ministrations.
"Ms McInerney," he croaked, his voice rough with suppressed desire and longing. "I cannot wait any longer to have you."
She smiled at him, relinquishing her hold on his cock and pushed herself up from the porch swing on unsteady legs. Her hand was already on the front doorknob when she looked back, expecting Oliver to be behind her, as close as her silhouette in the half light, but he was, diligent as ever, picking up their discarded glasses and the sandals Shane had abandoned underneath the swing.
He really was something, she thought. She'd just stroked him to the edge of an orgasm, and here he was clearing up her yard before he took her – and if she was lucky, it would be against the front door.
There was no way they were making it upstairs.
Not for the first round, anyway.
"Oliver, put those down," she commanded as soon as he was across the threshold and she'd hastily closed the door.
He looked a little baffled, which Shane realised was adorable, but she was too riled up to give it too much consideration in the present moment.
He set the glasses down on the little hall table, placing Shane's sandals next to it. The patience and reverence in which he carried out the banal task almost had Shane believing he was doing it to stoke her arousal the same way she had just done for him.
Joke's on you, she thought, because her desire was already a fever pitch, and it was taking every inch of restraint she possessed not to throw herself at him.
Then he blinked at her, looking so damned inquisitive, and said restraint snapped.
Locking her gaze onto his, she refused to relinquish it as she reached under her skirt, sliding her panties down her legs and kicking them off onto the floor at Oliver's feet.
The invitation couldn't have been any clearer.
"Ms McInerney," he said, the lowered timbre of his voice kicking her arousal up another notch. "It looks like you dropped something."
He picked up her discarded underwear, noting the dampness of the fabric, his nostrils flaring as he picked up her scent. When he lunged, Shane let out a squeal she couldn't suppress and reached for Oliver as he backed her against the wall, her shoulders colliding with the door to the closet she used to store her winter coats and rainboots.
His hands were everywhere, pushing up her skirt, shoving at her shirt for access to her breasts, fingertips sliding between her soaked folds.
"Oliver, please," she begged, squirming against his beautiful, maddening touch.
It was one thing to tease Oliver O'Toole; it was entirely another to be on the receiving end.
Then the sound of something tearing echoed through the room and Shane looked down in disbelief — and an incredible surge of arousal — at the pieces of fabric that had been her blouse. Oliver's face flickered with a look of boyish sheepishness, but it was replaced by a hungry, hot stare as his eyes feasted on the tops of her heaving breasts, trying to spill out from the lacy confines of her bra.
"So beautiful," he groaned, tugging her bra down so he could suck the peaks of her nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them.
Shane tangled her hands in his hair, pulling on the longer locks at the back that she had always wanted to comb her fingers through, long before she'd admitted she had non-platonic, co-worker-only feelings for him.
"Oh! Oliver," she cried when his teeth caught her nipple, his tongue already soothing the sting.
She thought she'd blacked out when he dropped to his knees, lifted her skirt again, and had licked a hot stripe through her centre with his tongue. It was all she could do to stand up; her legs were so close to going out from underneath her that it really was a small miracle she stayed upright.
Still stroking Oliver's hair, she looked up and caught sight of her — their — reflection in the hallway mirror and almost choked at the shockingly erotic sight.
How could she have forgotten about that?
Should the sight of her flushed face, her lips swollen from kissing Oliver, her nearly-bared breasts, eyes wide with arousal while her lover ate her out make her feel ashamed? Shane certainly hoped not, because it didn't.
"Ollliver!" she cried, her hips stuttering when he sucked the hard bud of her clit into his mouth, watching in the mirror as her own eyes glazed over with bliss, and heard his answering dark chuckle from beneath the folds of her skirt.
When she was so close she could taste it, she pulled more roughly on Oliver's hair, demanding that he do something, and he extricated his head from between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly rose to his feet. Not even when he licked the taste of her from his lips.
Wordlessly, she pointed to the mirror, and Oliver looked bewildered for a few seconds before his expression darkened to lust again as he nodded his understanding.
Shane crossed the hallway, shucking her skirt as she went and reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. She placed her hands either side of the mirror, her back arched, and waited.
Oliver took a moment to breathe, and to ensure he didn't swallow his tongue.
She was so beautiful, so sensuous,
She was so . . . she was so his.
All his.
He fought with his shirt, his pants, and his boxers, and walked to Shane, his cock bobbing hard and heavy between his legs.
Shane sighed when Oliver put his hands on her hips, sliding them upwards over her soft skin to palm her breasts, rubbing over her nipples. Being able to see her own reflection and the way her expressions changed added a whole new dynamic for Shane, and she already couldn't wait to see him take her, and to watch when he took her over the edge.
"Please, Oliver," she demanded, pushing out her ass in invitation and groaning in pure pleasure when he rubbed the head of his cock through her folds, spreading her wetness, and nudging against her clit.
She watched the way her eyes rolled with ecstasy when he rubbed the head over her clit again and again, building that fire back up so quickly, she couldn't breathe for a second. It felt wonderful, but after all the teasing and all the foreplay, she just wanted him inside of her.
Right now.
When he pressed the head of his cock between her legs again, she pushed back, taking more of him inside of her, and she heard him grunt against her neck when he felt how wet and tight she was, watching with pure, feminine satisfaction as his pupils darkened.
He took her with a slow, sure thrust, filling her with his length, and not stopping to watch their reflected pleasure until he was buried to the hilt inside her.
This was hot.
Unexpected, but hot.
The Oliver O'Toole of not so long ago could not have imagined romancing another woman, let alone one who could bring out a side of himself he had repressed so long ago, he'd forgotten about it.
Because he not only loved her – and she loved him – but he also trusted her, he could be his whole, authentic self with her. And he was enjoying every second of it.
With Shane's hands braced against the wall, and his wrapped around her waist, Oliver had enough leverage to thrust hard, fast, and deeply into her, working them both closer and closer to their peaks, while they watched their reflections in the mirror. Oliver had just enough brain cells available to wish that it was a full-length mirror, but this…this was more than good enough.
"Oliver, I'm gonna…" Shane moaned, bringing her hips down to meet his thrusts.
He reached between their bodies, rubbing his fingers over her slick flesh. It wasn't an easy task to try to keep them upright, to keep up the momentum on her clit, and to keep his eyes on their reflection.
But Oliver wanted to watch just as badly as Shane did.
"Come for me, my love," he whispered into her ear, increasing the pressure on her clit as she obeyed him and succumbed, her walls convulsing around him and drawing him with her, his groan echoing through the room as he rocked gently into her, giving her everything he had and feeling a no-longer-unexpected surge of male pride when she moaned loudly at the sensations.
"Oliver, oh yes!" she cried, forcing her eyes to stay open as she watched her the ecstasy wash over both of their faces.
It was insanely hot, but she also felt it bring them even closer, their emotional bond strengthening still further.
God, she loved him.
And they were definitely doing this again.
Soon.
"Wow," Shane rasped, when breathing was something she was confident she could do again. She looked around at their discarded clothes littering the hallway, and her walls gave an unexpected flutter around Oliver's cock, pulling a soft moan from him.
He smiled as he gently pulled out of her, his hand stroking over her bottom in a loving and reverent gesture.
"That is certainly a word for it, Ms McInerney," he replied, still breathless himself and more than a little dishevelled.
It was a good look on him. Shane already wanted to see it more often.
Like, once a day.
At least.
"I need a drink," was all she said, strolling naked into the kitchen and pouring cold water from a pitcher in the fridge, smiling with internal triumph when Oliver, dazed and still reeling from his powerful climax, nearly tripped over her when she stopped, he was that close behind her. She offered the glass to him and prepared another for herself when he took it, his hand shaking a little.
Oliver sipped gratefully, though he was a little less comfortable with his own nudity in Shane's kitchen; still, something told him he should start becoming acclimated to the idea.
And the possibilities were certainly . . . intriguing.
"When you're ready, I'll be upstairs," she told him, putting her empty glass in the dishwasher (and nearly causing Oliver to have an aneurysm when she bent over).
She leaned into his side to deliver her next words, her breast warm and soft against his arm as she whispered in his ear, "The spare bedroom has a full-length mirror."
Oh, it did?
Well.
He should know by now that some wishes really do come true.
