“You don’t have to choose!” I insist even though my lungs are burning. “You can be a father to our child and still live the life you want! If you expect me to stay single for the rest of my life, then I’m okay with that!”
It’s nothing I wasn’t already prepared to go without in favor of something different to live for.
“I have been selfish with you,” Ollie mutters, still calm in the face of my rising panic. “I will not continue to take from you.”
“Ollie, no…” I was so stupid to risk our friendship for something I stupidly thought he wanted, too. If I could go back in time, I’d throw away the evidence laden laptop that started all this. I’d even be nice to Isabella and let her know on the down-low about Ollie’s cat allergy and suggest they adopt a dog instead.
“Liv, yes…” He smiles softly then drags a single finger from my navel all the way to my seam. His gentle touch parts my folds as he slowly and carefully explores a new area as he requested permission to do before he broke my heart. “I had very explicit intentions to make you mine, but I have not been so adept at following through. I will prove to you that I can be worthy of your faithfulness and your body. Please, let me try again. It would make me very happy to please you without receiving anything in return. It makes me unhappy to remember you have already done the same for me, but I have not yet had the opportunity to lavish you with attention.”
“Wait.” I hiccup from the force of inhaling precious air too quickly. “What?”
He glances up at me, notices my tear-streaked cheeks, then frowns deeply. “I am still being unclear. What did you not understand?”
“All of it,” I blurt, dizziness overtaking me at the idea he’s still trying to even the orgasm score. I struggle to sit upright.
He flattens his palm against my chest to make me lie back again and shakes his head. “It is no secret that words are not my strongest skill set.”
“That’s not true,” I argue. I’m certain some of the words he just uttered to me were very explicit. It’s not his fault I don’t like hearing them.
“You are being very interruptive today,” he admonishes. “We must learn better communication skills, but for now, please allow my actions to speak louder than my words. Will you do that? Will you let me touch you?”
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest, effectively trapping his hand against my thrashing heart. “I’m sore. You’re sore. Without your super sperm in play, we aren’t making a baby. We aren’t even practicing.”
He pulls his hand free then wraps it around my neck, hauling me upright to his waiting mouth. He kisses me slowly, leisurely, exploring my mouth with his tongue in the same way his hands explored my body.
I pant against his lips when he releases me. “Ollie,” I whimper. “You don’t even like kissing.”
He pulls back, his eyes darting between mine. “I like you. I want to please you. Why are you so adamant that I be selfish where you are concerned? Love is selfless, Liv. Am I not allowed to love you? Is it your expectation that I impregnate you but feel nothing?”
My hiccups return with a vengeance. Ollie rubs my back.
“You want to love me?”
He cups my cheek with his hand. “I do love you.”
“You love me,” I repeat, dumbfounded.
“I love you.” His eyes crinkle. “There is no possible way I am saying it wrong. I understand very well what love is.”
I blink. Blink some more. He isn’t saying anything wrong, but his actions for much of the duration of our friendship don’t line up with my meaning of the words he’s speaking. How different can definitions of love possibly be? “You love me.”
Ollie stares at my lips, clear worry blossoming on his face. “I have never questioned your comprehension skills in the past, but I have serious doubts currently. You are clearly having a much more difficult morning than I am.” He kisses my nose then lowers me back until my head rests against the edge of the tub again. “No more words, I think. It is time for me to show you the way I feel—the full extent of what I want to give you—so there is no room for error.”
His fingertip circles my clit in the slowest, most torturous motion with barely any pressure at all.
Oh. Okay, cool. That’s where our wires are getting crossed. This is still about sex. He loves me because he’s currently engaging in sex acts with me. That actually makes me feel slightly better about all the women he’s been with. He must have loved each of them for a time. Then I get sad again because he also must have believed their ability to orgasm with him meant they loved him, too. It was already unfair that none of his relationships lasted longer than a month. It’s no wonder he was so heartbroken when they inevitably left him. He was attached to them more than I realized.
I’m so sore. There’s very little chance he’ll wring an orgasm out of me, but I relax and close my eyes. If this is the only way I can show him I love him, then I’ll try.
Because he’s right—words aren’t doing us any good today.
He never tries to enter me with his fingers, never presses too hard. His movements are slow and precise, wide circles that gain in speed but not pressure as he brings his fingertip closer and closer.
Damn him. He’s good. For not having any insider knowledge of my preferred clitoral stimulation, he’s clearly done his research about this, too. I’m sure he thought that helped his chances to win the love of all the women who left. Still, he’s not going to get me there. I’m too emotionally and physically exhausted.
I startle when his mouth warms the chilled skin at my breast. He makes a soothing noise in the back of his throat and continues to stimulate a completely overstimulated part of my body.
I tunnel my fingers in his hair. Tears choke my voice. “I’m sorry, Ollie. I just can’t. I’m too sore.”
I feel like such an utter failure today.
He sighs against my breast then pulls away. His expression holds no clue as to the emotions he might be feeling. “Do not apologize. It is my fault that you are sore to begin with. Perhaps this will simply be an off day. It is okay to have those, provided they are isolated incidents.” He pulls me up again then situates us in the far corner of the tub, pulling my back to rest against his chest. He wraps his arms around me and dips his hand in the water before trailing more warmth over me. His lips press against my temple. “We may not be happy together today, but we can rest and recover together. How much longer should we remain in the bath to experience the full pain-relieving effects?”
“We can get out now if you want.” The water is cooling as fast as my body temperature. Even another five minutes of enjoying him wrapped around me will become uncomfortable for the both of us.
He whispers against my hair. “We can continue recovering in bed together. It will be warmer and softer and cleaner there.”
I huff out a laugh. There’s so much soap in this water, I might not need to shower for a week. “You don’t enjoy lying in bed all day.”
“I enjoy being with you.” He kisses me again. “You have voiced your concerns about my ability to handle unfamiliar situations, but humans are highly adaptable creatures. I will learn to compromise with our schedules if you will give me the chance. We have forty-five days until Thanksgiving and our requisite announcement of a true pregnancy. I can make the necessary adjustments in that amount of time.”