It's just the tip of his finger running down her spine, but it's also so much more because she hasn't allowed him to touch her all week, and this simple gesture reminds her just how much she misses it, just how desperate she is for it.
Seven days ago he'd gone and directly disobeyed her, turning off his comm during a mission and getting himself hurt as a result. The injury wasn't horrible, but it wasn't a scratch either. It left him with three broken ribs and a gash along his side that required stitches. The no touching policy had been put into place when he tried to make out with her the following morning only to end up howling in pain when he rolled onto his side and put pressure on it.
From that moment on, he wasn't allowed to touch her, but she was most definitely allowed to touch him: to change his bandages, to help him to his feet, to steady him in case his gait wavered. She could see it's effects on him, the way his eyes darkened when her fingertips would slide over his bare skin along surfaces that had nothing to do with his injury, the way his cock would twitch beneath his pants whenever her fingers dipped below the hem of his pants, making sure she'd taped the injury properly. She was torturing him, teaching him to be more careful by withholding what he craved most.
The week has passed and now, as she works at her computer, his finger tracing up the exposed back of her dress sends shivers down her spine as goosebumps follow his touch. She knows it's his form of revenge, touching her the way she'd touched him. She craves it just as much as he does. That week had been torture for her as well, but considering he's still healing from his injuries, she doesn't want to risk hurting him anymore.
So she ignores the way his fingers run back down her spine, to the small of her back, playing there for just a little while longer. It tickles, but the heat that rises in her belly reminds her that his touch is meant to elicit more than just a giggle. "Oliver…" The warning in her voice goes unheeded. Instead, his fingers run back up her spine until they reach the base of her neck where they spread out, cradling the back of her head.
He's behind her now, his back pressed against her chair, his free hand falling to her stomach as the other remains latched onto her neck, tilting her head to the side so his lips press a kiss just behind her ear. She sighs, her eyes fluttering shut as her fingers still at the keyboard. It's been seven days since he's kissed her like that. Seven days too long, she realizes.
Her body lights up when the hand on her stomach trails up over her abdomen until it cups one of her breasts, giving it a gentle squeeze as his teeth sink into her neck causing bruises that are quickly laved with his tongue, soothing away the sting. She moans, arching her back, and her chest fills his palm. She desperately wants to feel its warmth beneath the soft cotton and grabs his wrist to guide it up and beneath the neckline of her dress.
He does as she silently asks, his hand dipping beneath the frilly lace of her bra as well, filling his fingers with warm, supple flesh. She moans again, this time throwing her head back and forcing his mouth to follow. He's kissing a line from her ear, down her throat, and to her shoulder, pulling the cap sleeve down until it's completely bare.
The desperate need to rid herself of her clothing becomes dire when the hand that had been on her neck pulls away and sinks between her knees where the hem of her dress stops. It travels up, beneath the soft cotton fabric, until it's nestled between her thighs and the lace panties that cover her sex. She knows he shouldn't be doing this, that his injuries have yet to heal, but she can't stop herself.
It's been a week since she allowed him to touch her, a week filled with agony for both of them, and now she wants nothing more than for his fingers to dip beneath the lace and do what they do best. "Oliver…" This time his name comes out as a desperate cry and she can feel the smile that curls along his lips as he kisses her neck.
"Yeah, baby?" he whispers in that rough, gravelly voice that ignites the fire in her veins when they lay in bed together. The fingers between her thighs gently stroke the lace fabric and she knows he can feel the moisture gathering there. She wants him, needs him to sate the beast that lives in her loins, that's been insatiable since she'd decided it was best for the two of them to stay away from each other until he had recovered. Her hand and the variety of toys she had in her nightstand had been useless against it. He is the only one that could tame that particular dragon.
"Please!" she cries out when the hand fondling her breast pinches and twists her nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure deep into her core. She loves it when he gets rough with her, and right now the contrast between the gentle stroking along her lace clad slit and his incessant hand on her breast sends her into overdrive. She parts her knees and slides down her chair a few fractions of an inch, rubbing herself against his fingers for more friction.
His smile widens as his tongue traces around the shell of her ear before he sucks the lobe into his mouth. "Tell me what you want me to do," he says, his voice retaining that gravelly tone that drives her wild. His hand moves to her other breast, giving it the same attention as the first while the other strokes a little harder against her panties, building the heat that stokes the flames of her desire.
"Touch me," she moans.
"I'm already touching you," he replies. "You need to be more specific. How do you want me to touch you? What do you want me to touch?"
"My clit," she answers between gritted teeth. And suddenly his fingers dip beneath the lace material of her panties and find the little nub, calloused pads stroking over it roughly. A scream of pleasure rips from her throat as she arches her back, her hips grinding against his palm. "Oh, fuck yes!" she mutters. "Just like that."
He brings her to the brink quickly as her hips follow his movements. It feels like forever since he's brought her to an earth shattering orgasm, and just as she's about to hit her peak, he stops, withdraws his hand from both her panties and her dress, then smooths the material over her body. She cries out in agony, grabbing his wrist, trying to force it back between her legs, but he's stronger and easily rebuffs her advances.
"What the fuck, Oliver?!" she angrily yells when he turns her chair around and she sees he smirk on his face.
"Payback's a bitch, isn't it, Felicity?" he replies before turning around and heading towards the training mats.
She's left to watch his retreating back as he strips off his shirt and throws it off to the side. Her mouth drops. Just you wait, she thinks. Tonight you'll see what payback really is like.