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“You know, this sounded fun in theory,” you sigh as you climb onto the mattress, crawling toward where Oliver’s sitting blindfolded against the headboard. “But I have to admit, I’m sad I can’t see my favorite part of your face now.”
Oliver’s lips pull upward as you sink into his lap, though his hands remain obediently at his sides for the time being. “Then you’ll just have to be my eyes, won’t you?”
He leans in, his lips swiftly finding the shell of your ear with a precise ease that makes you shiver as he continues, “Show me what you’re wearing, sweetheart.”
It’s funny—how even now, when you should be the one that’s in control, it’s still your spine that’s arching for him under the heat of his breath and the deep rasp of his voice. Taking one of his hands in yours, you gently drag his fingertips over the delicate, sheer lace that covers your breasts.
“This is new,” he murmurs before you can even say anything.
You nod, though you quickly remember he can’t see and add, “Yes.”
His thumb ghosts over one of your nipples before sliding back to drag careful circles against the sensitive bud until it’s stiff beneath his touch.
“What color is it?”
Biting your lip, you try to stifle the whimper that crawls up your throat when he pinches your nipple, and he smirks—you can never get anything past him.
“Guess.”
Oliver cups your sides just below the swell of your breasts with both hands, leaning in to mouth at your other neglected nipple through the lacey fabric of your bra. He takes his time, sucking until the fabric is damp and sticky with saliva.
“Red,” he breathes out.
You blink, moaning softly when he slips a hand beneath the bra and drags his fingers over bare, supple skin. “How—”
You shouldn’t be surprised.
Oliver presses an open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone, dragging his nose against your skin, blindfold still firmly in place. “I just know you.”
Heat licks its way through your gut, and you inhale sharply.
“These are new, too,” you tell him, directing his touch to the matching lace that hugs your hips.
But this—
Oliver makes a thoughtful sound as he splays both large hands against your hip bones, eyebrows shooting up beneath the mask as his fingers slide further back.
“Oh?” he chokes out.
You bite your lower lip, smiling triumphantly at having finally caught him off guard. “Well, I thought I’d make things a little easier.”
His hands rove the globes of your ass, fingertips pressing into the bare skin where the fabric of your panties should be (crotchless bottoms had seemed appropriate for the occasion).
Forehead leaning into yours, Oliver whispers against your lips, “You’re cruel.”
“Am I?”
He nods, tongue sliding against your bottom lip from one end to the other. “I wanna see.”
Fingers carding into the green hair that rests against the nape of his neck, you tug at it. “Use your imagination.”
Oliver’s chin tilts upward as you pull his hair even harder, and he grins. “I have a better idea.”
Between one breath and the next, you suddenly find yourself pinned beneath Oliver’s large form and your rumpled sheets. And really, it should come as no surprise—the familiarity with which he navigates the shape of your body horizontally beneath his own. The way he doesn’t need his eyes to guide his hands and mouth from the column of your neck to the swell of your breasts, from your belly button down to the heat between your thighs.
Your heart hammers in your chest.
He spreads your legs, humming in satisfaction when the pads of his fingers once again find the hole in the lace that leaves your wet cunt exposed.
“Being blindfolded is supposed to enhance your other senses, yeah?” He asks, a hint of amusement in his voice, as if he can feel the way your muscles are already tensed with anticipation.
“Yeah, that’s why you were supposed to sit there and be good and let me give you a blow—”
You cut yourself off with a moan of surprise as Oliver buries his face between your legs, eagerly dragging his tongue through your dripping folds.
“Oliver,” you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets as he groans against your pussy, nose pushing into your clit while he shoves his tongue into your tight hole.
He laps at your cunt with fervor, his own hips grinding downward into the mattress. Pleasure ripples through you at a reckless pace, the only thing keeping your body from wildly bucking upward off of the mattress being the firm pressure of Oliver’s hands against your hips.
“You taste so fucking good,” he pants, his plush lips and dark stubble glistening with your sticky arousal.
Taste.
Your tight walls spasm, your whines of pleasure at odds with the filthy, wet sounds of him tongue-fucking your soaked pussy.
“Come on my tongue,” he groans, two fingers rubbing against your swollen clit. “Let me feel it.”
It’s a wonder how the blindfold’s still in place, you think to yourself. Your last coherent thought before Oliver stuffs two thick fingers into your cunt. And he doesn’t need to see anything to know how to curl them inside of you, where to apply pressure as he sucks and licks and—
You explode with a burst of white-hot pleasure from the inside out, and clear liquid sprays from your pussy as you ride out your blistering climax on his fingers and tongue.
It’s only once your body’s stopped trembling that Oliver pushes the blindfold up on top of his head, grinning brazenly as he uses his hand to wipe away the evidence of you squirting all over his face—only to pointedly hold your gaze while he drags his tongue from the heel of his palm to the tip of his middle finger.
Still breathing hard, you shake your head. “You cheated.”
“I make my own rules.” Oliver shrugs innocently, twirling the blindfold on a finger, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Now can I see these from the back?”